Draco

Sometimes I have to just sit back and realize how truly ill I am. The Prozac got hiked up another 10mg. Maybe it will help.

I sit back and realize how long I’ve been feeling like this, and I just wonder why. Why me? It’s like I’m incapable of obtaining any kind of satisfaction out of life. I feel so robotic, as if I’m being programmed to do the same thing every day. I feel like my depression truly is a terminal illness. Maybe I would be better off seeing it as such, and less guilty about killing myself.

I’m thinking about my schoolwork. I am so bored with school, it’s all I know and I’ve never done anything else with my life. I’m ready to get out of the constant charade. I’m just tired tired tired of my life revolving around school.

I may need to just fall. Maybe my illness is just too much for me to haandle. It’s turned into an incredible handicap, a barrier for me from functioning like everyone else. I could just go into a hospital and stay there a while and stop worrying about school and life for a while.

I could so easily destroy the rest of my life if I wanted to. Maybe that’s why I’m so afraid of trying, because maybe I feel I’m destined for failure. Failure is so easy. All I’d have to do is stab my parents to death with a kitchen knife and bam, I’m on death row. I’d be a lifeless prisoner with no feelings and no cares or fears. I’d be a nobody, a loser, one of the 2 million people in America behind bars who couldn’t handle the ways of the real world.

I hate my life. If there is a terminally ill cancer patient who’d say I’m taking life for granted, then I’d seriously say “let’s trade.” I’d gladly place my life in a donation bin to give to someone who wants one. I guess depression and cancer are more alike than they are different.

Philadelphia’s atmosphere is buzzing with excitement over the Phillies arrival at the 2009 World Series. I’m not into baseball, but I see things are growing tense around here as the conclusion of the baseball games approaches. We all know there will either be massive celebration or devastation, just as when the Phillies won the World Series last year—fans went crazy, marching down Philadelphia’s Broad Street in droves, drunk, climbing light posts and turning over cars.

E-mails from university police have been sent to students and staff, threatening arrest and prosecution for anyone who is disorderly after the final game. The media has reported that Philadelphia police are also prepared to arrest disorderly persons. Apparently the cops are lining up in riot gear after the games now and are being overbearing to innocent people, rushing everyone to their cars and homes and demanding crowds disperse.

The news has reported that the city has also begun an operation where lamp posts, bus stops, and anything people may climb is being thickly coated with a vasiline kind of gew to make things slippery. It’s not a rumor—it’s actually true. Clever and ridiculous at the same time.

And I hate all of it. I hate the threats from my school and from local law enforcement. I HATE THE THREATS! They agitate me so much internally, I want to scream “SHUT UP LEAVE ME ALONE” because I am so bitter and tormented about police officers. They arrest people, like me, three years ago this December.

It all makes me want to stay home and in bed until the World Series is done, so I can stop being afraid.

My feelings are all pent-up inside and I don’t know how to express them. I feel emotionally constipated. I’m depressed like I usually am at this time of night, thinking about the constant tomorrows ahead of me. I am so lonely. I need to get a dog or something. Anything that could give me a more powerful illusion of positive, loving human contact. I am so unhappy. I can’t figure out why. I feel increasingly hopeless and lifeless, completely dead inside. The things I thought I looked forward to seem less and less successful in pulling me out of bed. I’m nearly ready to give up. I’ve been nearly ready to give up for years, though. I can’t believe I still feel this way. I’m thinking I may have to put next semester’s classes on hold. I’m completely tired of college. I feel like every day is the same, and has been the same for the past two years.

The anniversary of my arrest is in two months. It will be three years.

I think I want to stay home tomorrow, just forget about all my responsibilities. I could spend the day writing goodbye letters to my family and friends, and I could draft elaborate or simple methods for suicide. Just finally say “fuck it” to the entire world, to my past, present, and future. Just fuck it. I’m beyond it. I don’t want any part of anything. I just want to dissappear forever and finally not feel like this anymore. That is what I want to do.