My Wagon

Soo, if this would have happened maybe a week later, I would be okay. But no. I don't think I can do it. I really don't.

I can't keep this up. I... fuck.

As we all know, I lost my grandfather when I was in 4th grade, but I didn't feel that he was gone until 8th grade. And that's when the sadness hit me along with my teenage hormonal imbalances that...

That's what I wrote when I felt really bad. I'm feeling better.

But, I was pretty much turning it down. I felt insanely depressed. Everything I used to do when I felt down. I thought of everything bad I have ever done, anything bad I've ever done to anyone, whether on purpose or on accident. All the bad, the millions of things that weren't my fault but I've easily convinced myself that it all is my fault.

It all came back. I was fighting close it by distracting myself. Because I will do anything and everything to make myself feel horrible. I ate an abnormal amount, which would be called binging. I binged today, not too much, but much more than I should be.

I hate all of that. I feel better now, I didn't reach the suicidal thoughts or the self injuring thoughts.

Well that's a lie, I did think about self injuring. I looked at my scars and I had a Cookish type moment. I thought, "It's not too bad, what's wrong with it? I'm mean sure I'm mutilating myself, but it makes me feel good, it makes me feel better, so what's wrong with it? Other than the fact I am mutilating myself." And you know? I still can't convince myself that there is something wrong with it.

I'm just not in a good place. I'm not depressed but I really want to be.

I know what you're thinking. Who WANTS to be depressed? And I don't know why I do.

It's what I know, I've been depressed since around the age of 13-14 and I don't know what else there is.

In all honesty happiness scares me. Because I can only think of the bad. I will see the black first and then this of the white if you flash a black and white paper.

Ugh, it's a horrible mental problem. I know.

I hate this sooo much.

I should be happy, I'm accepted to a school I really want to go to, someone I would like to fuck wants to fuck me back, I'm a senior, I'm leaving for college in months, I have lost weight, I have a new DS and pokemon black, I have a great best friend, I started talking with another friend, and I have 20 dollars.

You know, even while typing that, I could only think of the bad.
The school is states away and I will have to leave my best friend, the very fuckable person is in a committed relationship but he still wants to, I'm leaving my life and friends forever, I will be in a completely new environment with completely different people in a few months, I am losing weight due to my oncoming depression, I have a DS and Pokemon Black that I went to get this spring break, where I did nothing, in my green station wagon that was stolen earlier today from my driveway, my best friend whatever, I started speaking with my friend and I can only think about how much I didn't do before, I have 20 dollars and someone stole my freaking car that I've made so many memories in and I fucking loved and hoped to keep until I had to leave.

And someone is in my fucking car taking advantage of everything that has happened in there, everything that would have happened in there, all the places it would have taken me, all the places it did take me, everything that it has done for me. And someone fucking stole it.

I keep imagining that there is a reason it happened, that it was supposed to blow up and the people who stole it have now exploded along with my car (which still pisses me off because they don't deserve to die with my precious fucked up car. I keep seeing bad things happening to the car hoping that that's why it no longer resides with me. I keep the illusion that it will just appear outside in my driveway and everything will be okay. I loved that car. I really hope that fate had a reason for someone taking it.

I think my car is a good thing to cry over, a worthy thing to cry about. It is, because I love it. It was a great car. I kind of feel the need to make a small car out of wood or something that resembles my wagon and I paint it green, and then I burn it and spread the ashes every where it took me.

Maybe it's just the nostalgia. But I really loved that car.