I sit in the dark again, back up against the wall. Half in a daze of boredom and sleep deprivation, half in one of those uncomfortable ways of being with yourself, when you hate who you are. I wonder how long I am going to drag this one out. It’s already been three weeks since I really locked myself up. Not bad, I went a whole week without going up to the first floor. My sisters brought me food. I really appreciate them. But they can really annoy me when they hang around to talk. I do not want to talk. I want to be left alone with myself so I can dissect everything going through my mind. So I can learn to be alone with me and my thoughts because I know that one day I will be left alone without a choice and I am afraid of that day. I scare myself. On a bad day I wonder why I haven’t killed myself. On a good day I tell myself: Wouldn’t today have been a perfect last day? With everything in order. Then there are the in between days. Good moments and bad moments blended together. I don’t know what to think then. I don’t pay close enough attention on those days to cling to what I do think. The fan is blowing back and forth. I get irritated at fans when they do that. I don’t know why. The window is open but only a crack because of the thunderstorm outside. I like to hear the rain and thunder and see the flashes of lightening. Surging energy, just beautiful. I know I’m a good person, better than most I dare say. I am very empathetic, I am very kind and loving. I know when to stand up for myself, I am a strong person. My way of thinking and doing things may perhaps at times be too noble for this capitalist consumer society. But overall I know I am a good person. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have my moments where I yell, when I cry, where I can’t take anything anymore. It doesn’t mean that I don’t, at times, do somewhat senseless things. It doesn’t mean that I don’t drink or that I have never done drugs. It means that when it comes down to it and when I see the way other people are I can honestly say I like who I am and I would like there to be more people who act the way I do. Without the constant returns to suicidal depression of course. I don’t know where it comes from. There is no real reason for it. There must be a cause but I don’t think it’s psychological, it’s definitely not conscious. Then again when is it? I don’t know how serious it is. Self evaluation doesn’t seem very effective. In the fall I’ll take advantage of the school’s counselling centre then I’ll get an Idea. It’s not that I want to die. It’s just that at times it becomes so hard to live especially on the days you get a sense it’s going nowhere.