• So much has happened since that last update. I don't know if I have the energy to even explain, or if I just want to leave it hidden in Bubba (my real journal.) I've been in therapy for about a month now I suppose. I've been feeling better lately, so maybe it's working. She's hinted I have severe depression with psychotic behaviors. It sounds a lot cooler than it really is. I got really confused for a while and decided to kill myself, but I didn't. I told Camden about it instead, knowing that if I told someone I wouldn't do it. I still wanted to, everyday, every hour, every second I thought about how to do it, and when. Night, day, morning, weekend, weekday. It makes me feel sick to think about it now. My stomach pains and I want to cry, I feel so guilty. I was so selfish. The scent of cinnamon and Camden's voice kept me alive. I could never thank him enough. I got really confused a while ago again, I wasn't sure what or whom I wanted in my life anymore. That sort of fixed itself I guess. "Ik denk dat ik verliefd op je, het spijt me." I wish it would stop haunting me. It's in my drawings, and my writing, and my thoughts. It's getting better, I'm getting better, I'm going to be better. Camden said I'm not broken, that made me feel nice. He says nice things. I wanted to write about how I'm feeling better and how life is better, and how the sun shines even though it's cold outside, and now I'm feeling scattered and low, and forgotten, and sad. I'm so afraid of dying again. Of forever, and of ending. I wish I just had an answer, even if it wasn't a right answer, just an answer, or a wish, or something to make me sleep at night. Sometimes I wonder if I should be on medicince, but Todd says I shouldn't, and I believe him. I have this dream where there's nothing but this scene that has a road stretched out in front of me, it curves slightly to the right, and at the end I can see the most beautifully fanned out tree I've lain my eyes upon. It is perfect. Even though it's breathtaking and fascinating, I know what it means, it means the end, it means death, it means I'm over. I stand there frozen, afraid to look at it, and afraid to look away. A wind pushes me forth, and though my feet aren't moving I gravitate toward the tree until it's high above me, like a looming skyscraper, it's branches entice me to climb, but I'm frozen and trembling, tears run smoothly down my face. I breathe in, but my throat is closed. I wake up afraid, usually staring at the ceiling, afraid to look around because I know I'll see something from the corner of my eye. I grab for one of two things; Blue the stuffed dog I sleep with or Dar beside me. Sometimes I grab nothing and I lay there, terrified, until tiredness takes over and pulls me back into the abyss of my subconscious. Sometimes I wish you hadn't said those things, expressed those thoughts, and shared those feelings. However, it has brought me so much relief to know, I just wish I could make decisions better, and that I thought more clearly. I hope you fall deeply in love and forget me and this fickle heart residing in this chest of mine. I got this fortune that read; 'you will make many changes before settling down.' My fortunes always come true, it's very creepy and almost never failing. I received this fortune, and side glanced to the right of me, at Dar, my heart ached and I hoped he wasn't the change, but then another part of me did because I thought of someone else. I felt guilty and like shit. I didn't talk much after that. I'm sorry to everyone I have failed and everyone I will eventually fail. I wish I wasn't such a crappy friend, and that I could have made him feel better. I wish I could not think so much and feel better about things. I wish I could stop this horrid hilly climb of emotions. It feels as though I'm walking through a dark forest, and I finally find the light, but at that very second I fall into a puddle 100 feet deep, and I'm emerged in muddy,dark, cold water where I'm confused and afraid. I just want to stay in the light where I can dry and nurse my frightened mind. This is getting long and I'm beginning to ramble. Quote of the Day: ~"“The voice of the intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest until it has gained a hearing” --Sigmund Freud I really wish the growing tuft of soft cotton would cease to exist inside my seemingly empty cage of ribs. It feels as though I'm the main character in a Michel Gondry film, and my insides are his playing area for creating odd materials dance as in a stop-motion animation film.

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