6:40 p.m. - 01/06/02
[[if my..mind..would-just-stop---racing---.>>>
In these moments, tired is an understatement. In these self-proclaimed atlas moments, I want to crawl into the smallest, most tucked-away room in this semi-house, and sleep for days. No persons, no thoughts, no negativity allowed in. There are moments when I feel like my body and expressions are two-dimensional cutouts hiding all the thoughts, pain, and problems I manage to find. As if my frontal reflection is a plain adolescent being, but turned around I'd be a mass of gray-purple problem swirls.

I lock my door when I sleep at night. I have enough stress to keep from sleeping, somehow I like knowing that nothing- no good, no evil, no in-betweens, can get to me during the night, that I am in the room with my own messes, and nothing else will come in until morning. Unfortunately those messes are so massive at the moment that I usually end up sleeping on the couch, and I cannot lock the living room. This house has far too few doors for my taste. Recent events leave me believing safety may be forever out of reach.

So. tired.

The new font has gotten good reviews. As much as I like feeling coded, I'm glad that people can read now without eye strain. And the number of people who told me in the past hour that they copied my entries into notepad to read them makes it clear that this change was necessary. I don't hate the new font too much. Even I was a little tired of the temporary blindness that followed the process of journal-reading...

I want to be alone for a little while. Not really alone; I just want to be away from the people who usually *keep* me from being alone. How is it that weekends are so difficult, yet I dread the coming week? I should be clicking my heels thinking that I can get away from my parents tomorrow for hours on end; instead, I'm praying for snow so that I don't have to back out of the day-program, and I don't have to go to it. My anxiety is shit lately. I'm not having panic attacks; I'm just overwhelmed with this constant feeling that something really awful is about to happen. Like a clairvoyant Chicken Little two minutes before the sky falls. There's nothing I know to do to fix it, there's nothing I know to change it, and there's no one to escape being crushed.

I feel like there are four songs in my head, all being played at different speeds. I can't distinguish any of them, can't tune any of them out, and can't keep from being deafened.

I feel, in short, like being put out of my misery...and to make things more painful, I know someone who would be more than willing to pull the trigger on me.

Revised To-Do List:

People To E-mail:
Brooke
Mandy
Shandi
Lindsey
Laura Laura
Nikki

People To Write Or Finish Writing:
Dave
Brea
Stacy*
Katia
Heather
Chas

People To Call:
Silje
Chas?
Harriet Harriet (check-in)

--

insane
chord

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