I'd rather be alone, than with anyone else than him. God, I'm so pathetic... how did I get this way? I promised not to fall in love, but I did it anyway. I tried for a while, I really did, but it was harder to not love him than it is to love him.
It's been getting worse lately. The feelings are more often overwhelming, and it's hard focusing on anything else. I do try though... sometimes. Other times it's just easier to wallow in the emotions, for some reason.
I'm drifting in and out of various states of apathy, longing, hopelessness, wanting, lack of appetite, some appetite, sleeplessness, sorrow, greed, wishing and hoping. I want those feelings to go away but I don't know what I want to feel instead. Some things I just can't get. His love in return, feeling complete, loved, appreciated, beautiful and content with myself and the life I live. That's never gonna happen, so I suppose I'm trying to make the best of what I do have in a bizarre, potentially fatal way.
Giving in... that has never been a good thing to do when it comes to my decisions in life. That's what has lead me to addictions, self destruction and suicide attempts in the past. When I just let go and let my mind and heart tear me to pieces. Or maybe I'm just mixing up "giving in" with "giving up" cause they tend to look a bit like twins from where I stand.
I can't help but wonder how much longer this can go on. Weeks, months, years? I can't be in love with him for years, right? That sounds so damn... painful. It's been two months already and I can barely endure it as of now. It's growing stronger, and every day it becomes a little more painful, a little more fatal. And by fatal I do mean suicide.
I'm gonna try to avoid that though, but lovesickness isn't something shrinks understand, it's not in their hands. But suicide is, and whatever the reason. It's just that if they have no idea how to handle a patient with severe lovesickness, then how would they be able to help me if it was to come to that?
I suppose I will have to help myself as usual... and that's gone well in the past... not. Sometimes I wonder that if I had ever gotten any useful help from the psychiatry I wouldn't be so fucked up as I am today. I've been thinking on and off that I should just cut off all contact with the psychiatry, they're just making everything worse. And I ask myself why I'm even going there.
So... (yes, this entry will go on forever) I really don't have a solution to what I should do if this gets any worse. I can take medication and seek comfort in others, but that's about it. And sad to say, but that has never been enough. I don't know what would be enough, I just know what isn't working. I'm tired of constantly trying to find new methods in how to survive, and repeating the old ones that didn't work. But what else can I do? Maybe this is what living is?
Try, fail and repeat. Over and over and over until there won't be any more repeat. I don't know how to sleep or eat, I don't know how to feel and think, I don't know how to be social or keep friends, I don't know how to heal or function, I don't know how to love and sometimes I forget to breathe. I don't know how to live, or even if I want to live. I'm mentally disabled and it's screwing with my soul.
I'm chain smoking again. That was a while ago. Well, not that long, come to think of it. Literally chain smoking, lighting a new cigarette right after putting the one before out. Today started out alright, but then I fell again. I should eat, take some pills, cut myself, whatever will help. I'm way past distractions now, but still far from an anxiety attack. I hope...
Everything isn't hopeless. Why do I keep forgetting that?! I'm eating, at least once a day. Though all I eat is pancakes and frozen microwave meals, but still. It could be classified as food. I have a circadian rhythm, though it's very hard for me to fall asleep and I don't get enough sleep, but still. I'm on hormones legally and supervised, and I will go in for surgery in the somewhat near future. Everything points to that at least, though it's been awfully quiet from the hospital. The point is: everything really isn't hopeless. It really isn't. It isn't hopeless. It isn't hopeless. Mantras, I've been doing that a lot lately. Doubt they help, but you never know.
Wanna see how much I can write at once without taking a break or deleting anything? Of course you do. Pausing for lighting a cigarette doesn't count.
I realise I really can go on forever with this. Weighting the pros and cons of being in love, of being alive. It's sad to say that no matter how I count, the negative always weighs more. But what am I gonna do about it? I have to own the whole world and be loved by everyone for the scale to tip the other way. But I don't want that, sounds strenuous... My dreams are too big and my hopes are too small. No, my hopes are also sky high.
My mind takes me to strange places when I think about meeting him in person. I just can't keep it on a realistic level. Just can't stop hoping, for what will never happen unless I'm EXTREMELY lucky, and I'm never extremely lucky. Not even close. Basically everything that I have to be thankful for in my life came to me because I put in a lot of effort, took a lot of risks and was very patient. So why am I hoping for a miracle, it will only hurt more than it already does because I know that won't happen. Not in this reality.
Perhaps it's because this is the last hope I can have in regards to this lovesickness: how he would react if or when I tell him. Cause after that there is no more. Then I can go back to hating everyone and blocking my own Facebook account again. Realising that being around people just makes everything worse, and that I'm better off far away from people.
Cause that's what the end of lovesickness reaches to. I break into even smaller and sharper pieces and shun the world and all that resembles it. At least I know what to expect this time. I just want it to be over, just want it to be over... and maybe that's the real reason why I wanna tell him, cause it might be the first step to some sort of recovery. But in that case it is selfish, and why place such a burden on him, the person I love so damn much I just wanna rip my heart out?
I don't understand myself, or the thoughts that I'm thinking. Nothing makes any sense! Believe me, I just want to do what is right, but I don't know what right is. I keep confusing right with wrong and all the shades in between. Is telling him wrong, is it right or just somewhere in between? If it's selfish, then it is wrong. But if not telling him is breaking me apart, isn't that also wrong? Is letting him know righteous, would he even want to know?
I'm completely analysing this into mashed potato. One moment, one feeling, one meeting that hasn't even taken place yet, analysed into a 1297 words long blog entry. Wow.
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