Boredom rules all.

11:07
I noticed this morning, after posting the last blog, that the time the site shows is when I start the blog, not when I finish and post. So I've decided to put the times at the beginning and ending to see how long it actually takes and when I actually finished.

Still bored stupid but not thinking about dying anymore. An improvement, I think. Our pop machines just got restocked. I was walking to my dorm building and saw the Coke truck pulling out of the back parking lot and thought 'I think the pop machines got filled'. So I baught a Coke. Now, when it comes to Coke vs. Pepsi, I'm usually a water person, but I haven't had any thick, syrupy, artificially flavored, sugar filled liquids in several weeks, so I've decided to indulge. And it is good.

So. Perhaps some of you remember that I'm on medication. What kind? Citalopram, an anti-depressant. Oh yeah, you say. That makes sense, since she told us she's depressed. But, why am I depressed, you ask? To be honest, I have no effing clue. I just am. Before we start, I need to let you know that what I'll write may bother you as there will likely be mention of blood. Here's what I remember of what's happened in the past three years:

Tenth grade, February.
The winter Olympics were going on, I was in Health and Science with the same teacher back-to-back, Health had too many students and, as the last one alphabetically, I had to sit at the table next to his desk and turn completely around to stare at his back during lectures. Yay.

I began to do odd things. In Science one day, I began biting my nails. This was strange because that habit had been broken on my braces that had only come off at the start of the school year. Later on, I did this at home and my mom noticed and asked. I honestly didn't know why.
In English one day I was taking a test and the thought of jabbing my pencil through my hand came to mind. I did not like this idea. It scared the crap out of me.

Mostly I was scared because a bunch of stuff was going on. The nail biting, the vivid image of the pencil in my hand, and some other off-putting thoughts. If these things had been more spaced out or increased their frequency more slowly, I wouldn't have been worried, but it all happened at once. I didn't know what to do.

I wanted to tell my teacher, but this was first period. More students would be coming in and I had another class to go to. So at some point I decided to tell my History teacher. Partly because that was my last class and partly because I really liked and trusted him. When I finally write a book there will be a dedication to him.

But how to tell him? "Mr. Bocian, this morning I thought about hurting myself"? Just saying it seemed too hard, so I wrote a note. I left it for him, but he didn't find it that day. Which, honestly, was my fault. The next morning I went in and picked it up before a student found it. The rest of the day I was thinking about it. How to get it to him?

In class that day we were taking a quiz or a test. I couldn't focus. I was just sitting, staring at him, wishing he would look at me and ask what was wrong. Or just know. Or something. Then he looked at me. And asked if he could help me or something (I can't remember exactly). I stood up, went to his desk, put down the note, and then took my quiz. After a few minutes he said my name and told me he would talk to me after class.

I'm aware that the note was very self-pitying and full of low-self-esteem and guilt-tripping techniques. I was aware of it when I gave it to him. I didn't want it to be, but it was how I was feeling. I wrote what had happened the past few days and that I would like to talk to him. That if he didn't want to, I would understand. I felt bad saying these things, because I should have known he would talk to me no matter what, but I didnt' want him to feel obligated, and... I just didn't know what to say.

After class I spoke to him and the vice-principal. My sister came in for a second, wondering where I was, and I told her I'd be there soon. I asked them to call my mom and let her know I needed to talk to her. When we got home she told me Bocian had called but hadn't told what I'd said. The next night, Saturday, I told my mom on the way to my grandma's for the night. Then I started seeing my therapist.

My friends from Middle School weren't paying much attention to me anymore, but I was making friends my sister's age (she was a freshman at the time). For about two and a half years I visited my therapist every other week or so. I was at camp all summer, so visits were more spread out then, and some stuff happened there, too.

I was working in the barn and was trying to help a younger girl with her horse (she was afraid of him and I was trying to...tack? or bridal?) and I got yelled at by a counselor. I really like this counselor but she made me feel like shit. I ended up sitting down somewhere, and to make it worse I then thought of getting drawn and quartered. Drawn and quartered! What is wrong with me?! I ended up crying because I was scared of the thought, though it was more of a picture in my mind because I couldn't put the words 'drawn and quartered' to it then, and I was upset by the way I was treated. I had just been trying to help!

Eventually, like this past winter/spring, I managed to convey to my therapist that these 'suicidal thoughts' were more of 'horrifying images of being injured'. Quite the difference there. She had me visit a coleague who specializes in recognizing disorders like OCD, because she thought that may possibly be what I had.

Well, in the end, I don't have OCD, but I have some tendencies, and I have a mild blood-phobia. I knew that much. If you had asked me anytime in the past ten years to pick a phobia that I might have, I would have said, without much hesitation, "Hemaphobia." It was just obvious to me. But whatever.

So we decided that, if I was going to try meds, I needed to start them sooner than later, because starting a new medication while working at a summer camp or starting college and being away from my therapist would be a bad idea. A very bad idea. The meds made me feel so much better at first. And even for a while after 'at first'. I'm starting to think maybe we should up the dose again, but I don't know.

Anyway... That's pretty much how I got to yesterday. Sometimes I have days like that, where I just hate everything and sorta want to die, and sometimes I have great days, where I love everything and am glad to be alive. Sometimes I have inbetween days, which are the most common, though the 'happy' days are definitely the least common.

...I think that's all I have for now. Still bored and still an hour until class. I guess I'll just be...bored then. Huh. I hate boredom.

Anyway, thanks for reading this crap, and I hope you understand me a little better. If you leave a comment, go ahead and ask me something about my life. Or my beliefs or opinions or something.

Until next time, take care.~
11:56

It's me again. Obviously.

Okay, I know I just posted two hours ago, but I'm still bored. I have homework, but I'm putting it off, I could call home, but I'm afraid I'll sound depressed. I can't even work up my kinda-fake smile.

Normally when I see people, just in passing, I smile at them when we make eyecontact. Just for a few seconds, then I go back to my neutral face. Yesterday I did that to Kevin at Fellowship. He's nice, and kinda cute in an untraditional way. Anyway, he was standing with a group of people talking and we saw each other and I smiled. Then I let the smile drop. He saw it and made a face, like he was asking why I'd stopped smiling. This was the first time anyone ever acknowledged seeing the immediate change. It made me embarrassed that he'd seen and worried he might have thought it was because I didn't like him, but it made me feel good that he took notice and cared enough to question it.

I went to get dinner and had my head down the whole time. I didn't smile at the servers like I usually do, and I was just unenthusiastic. I sat alone, like always, and didn't eat the desert I'd gotten. It was cherry cheesecake. When I saw the cheesecake I thought, 'Aww. It's like little cheesecakes.' Then I went on to think, the only reason I wasn't speaking out loud was because there were people around me, that if I weren't feeling so down I would be making embarrassing noises of excitement about it. Which I would have.

So now, I suppose I should give in and do my homework. That's it for now, thanks for reading, and until next time, take care!~

Hey everybody. Let's get started.

So... What to say? Hi. I'm your host, lonelystar, and welcome to my secret place.

As stated in the 'about me' section of my profile, I'm a college student. I'm also depressed. I've started this out of boredom and a need to talk about what's happening. I went to talk to the school counselor today, even though I just saw her, but she's not here today. I would call home, but I don't want to share with my parents or my sister. Of course, knowing me, I'll end up telling my sister about this. Oh well.

I don't know if anybody's reading this, and I guess it doesn't really matter since, even if you are, you don't know me and I don't know you and we don't care about each other's problems too much. Maybe enough to hold our interestest, maybe leave a comment, maybe watch each other's blogs. But not so much we would be called 'friends'. Not so much we would talk daily or even regularly. Hell, I'm not in regular contact with the people that are my friends. Except my sister. Practically daily on Skype.

Now, I would normally now apologize for getting all 'emo' on you if I were on another site, with people who 'know' me and are my 'friends', or people who actually do know me and are my friends. But I won't. Because I'm not sorry. This is why I made this blog. So I can write down how I feel and what I think. So I can get some feedback from people who don't have a preconcieved idea of me.

That, and I have nothing else of interest to do right now.

So. Why did I decide to do this? I have a livejournal. I have a youtube. I have a myspace and a facebook. I have a sheezyart and a devart. Why not put this crap up there? I already told you: my sister is friended on all of those but facebook. Coworkers and classmates are friended on facebook. Other friends are on myspace and youtube. And I don't want them to hear some of this. Or see it, I suppose.

Why here and not another site? A new account on livejournal? Convinience. I was Googling myself (looking myself up online, pervs), and was just clicking ever thing I could to search. I clicked on 'blogs' and this came up. I didn't know Google had a blogging system. So I decided to try it out.

Why today? Boredom and circumstance. I was here, might as well. I slept through a class today and almost missed my piano lesson. This is the second time I've slept through this class, I've been late to it twice, been late to math, and missed two piano lessons, one by sleeping and the other because I didn't know it was scheduled yet. All that just in a month. It's not good. Because of this, I was thinking to myself about how I hate myself for sleeping through classes and how I hate my life for making me go on living through this crap, which is honestly not as bad as it could be but about as bad as it's ever been for me. That tells you just how good my life really has been.

I almost got hit by a van today. I looked both ways, waited for the cars to pass, crossed halfway, thinking about how much I suck at life, and then realized two vans were coming towards me so I stepped back. I had thought I could cross before they got there and if I hadn't looked up I would have stepped right in front of them. As the second one passed, it thought 'I could have been killed.' I then held a short conversation with myself, which I do often and out loud, about how I could have stepped forward again instead of back and just gotten it over with. Of course, that didn't occur to me until after the incident and did me no good, but I also knew I wouldn't have done it even if it had occurred to me. Because I know I can't kill myself.

After my lesson, which is where I was headed, I thought about the fact that I may be becoming suicidal. I don't really want to kill myself. I don't know how I would do it. I have a knife in my room, for eating so it's not very sharp, and I have my pills and some ibuprofin. yeah, that'll kill me. *eyes roll sarcastically* I only have a week and a half's worth of medicine left, anyway.

That's when I decided I should talk to the counselor, because I needed to tell someone what I was thinking, even if I knew I wouldn't do it. But she isn't here on Tuesdays. I could call home, because my parents have today off from work, but I don't want to tell them this. My sister was still at school at the time, but she would be home now. But I'm not going to tell her either. I wasn't sure what I would do, and then I found this.

It was like God was telling me where I could pour out my emotions and secrets and not be ridiculed. Not be judged. Not be embarrassed. So I am.

That's what I wanted to say today. This is my secret place, where my sister, friends, parents, teachers, and classmates can't find me. It's just me, the keyboard, and anyone who happens to read. So thanks for putting up with me.~