This thing called life. I’m not really sure where I’m taking this thing, not that I generally take it all that seriously. I’ve been looking after myself and I don’t know why. Making sure I brush my teeth twice a day, taking my meds, trying to lose weight healthily. I don’t know why I’m doing it but I think it’s one of those control things. Because I don’t really feel happier doing it, but it’s helping me to keep track of each day.
Time is speeding so fast and the world seems to rush past me as I do more of nothing. My life isn’t much but it’s still mine and I guess I’m trying to appreciate more since she died. But then maybe it’s the meds? I really don’t know. I have hardly self harmed since starting them and have only have 2 or 3 outbursts with threats of suicide. It’s ridiculous that such a thing like that could be an achievement. It just makes everything seem even more ludicrous. I think I’m hurting but I can’t really feel it. I’ve been spending excessively and loving how I know I shouldn’t. Then the next day I feel like an awful excuse of a human being. So many people work so hard for what they have and still struggle and I do bugger all I get handed things. I just go out and spend what I want, although with no income it will run out. But psychologically, an excessive spender only breakdown when that moment of bankrupsy occurs.
I always imagined that I would end up on the streets because in the end people will stop helping me, when they realise I’m probably not going to help myself in the end. All these horrible things I have always imagined for my future and yet I don’t care because I just think, if worst comes to the worst I can just end it all. Easy peasy!
So many people wish for millions and yet I know I would be a miserable millionaire. I wouldn’t have to do anything for myself and would therefore have zero motivation to achieve anything. Money doesn’t make me happy, it hinders me. I don’t know if I will learn or if I really want to. Sometimes I feel like I’m waiting for that day when I finally just fade off the face of the earth. I don’t really expect to live very long let along have any kind of future. I don’t have a future, I have a consistancy of nothingness that I’m condemned to. And it’s all my own doing.
She didn’t deserve to die, I deserve it much more than her because she worked so hard for what she wanted to achieve and her I am, self indulgent brat who can’t appreciate anything. I should be the one who was killed by the person they loved. I imagine if anyone were to kill me, It should probably be my husband because I make his life hell. Of course the top candidate is myself but then if it weren’t I would like it to be him. As some kind of reward for putting up with my lazy, narcissistic self.
He says he loves me and I feel so confused everytime he say it because I really don’t know what’s going on for him. He loves me and yet I am not worth the time of day. I complain, I nag, I cry, I argue, I shout, I hate with so much passion. I often think maybe he likes the company but then I remember how anti- social he really is. I don’t know what it is. And I love him too when I’m not too busy hating him for some menial reason or screaming abuse and trying to get him to stop me topping myself to show that he cares. It’s not pretty, our relationship.Yet, our relationship may be a thing of beauty. Because all the anger and hatred spurs only more love when we realise that the only reason we are screaming is because we are hurting from our own demons. We scream at eachother only to breakdown and try and protect eachother from ourselves. It’s hard for me to be romantic, I get embaressed and the words I love you don’t often come from mouth because I have to be 100% sure I am feeling that way at the time. I refuse to say the words I love you without feelings deep and undying wonder at the being infront of me. Love means too much to be thrown around at every occasion.
I don’t know if I can cope going to Catherine’s funeral. It means acceptance. I just feel like if I didn’t go then I would be hated by the other people who would expect my attendance. Yet I know Catherine wouldn’t hate me, she would want me to be safe and okay. I have had one awful breakdown over her death and I don’t know how I would manage in public. I imagine it and just feel scared. I feel trauma. I wish I could save her, one day to be with her would just feel like I could then say goodbye. Instead of leaving it with unfinished plans of spending new year together. Not lighting a candle on New Years Eve and crying until it hurt when the clock struck midnight. It’s just all feels so wrong and one awful.
I just wish I could find that one photo of us from primary school. 6 years old and grinning with your arm round my shoulder. I could watch the video that was made at school, that’s the only way to see you living, breathing and moving again but then you were 11 then and we have experienced so much since.