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judgement day
Mar. 7th, 2002 02:07 pmOkay. job one is done. Cleared out phone messages. Must try to pick up phone from now on. Yes, I know many of you share this strange issue with the phone. I am trying to get over it.
Now: must get nice clothes on and walk down to....yeah. Bad place. To do scary things. And then I will sleep like a baby tonight. I will be gleeful. I will cook good food for myself and dance around. I will sing along to my mp3s and stand on my balcony just breathing because it's nice to be alive. I will not look down and think about how it would feel to sail through 26 storeys worth of air. Because I am not suicidal, not in the least. Really. I'm not. But I won't look down. I'll look over toward Rosedale where people have lots of money. Or over th Cabbagetown where they have equally lots. And I will remember that I have some dreams to fulfill here. And I'd better start fulfilling them.
Thank you.
Thank you for giving me a chance to find out that there was more to me than I thought there was. Enough more of me to fill out a whole other person. That I can get great enjoyment out of things other than the ones I had planned to for the last eight years. That there are other ways for me to be in this world.
My friend J. says that depression is a crisis of the imagination. The last three months have been a crisis of imagination for me; I could imagine Harry and Draco, but not myself. I need a plot.
This is not a goodbye. This is me pysching myself up. I wish you were here. I wish you were here and could be with me while I do this. Because no one understands why this is so difficult for me, least of all me. Maybe you understand better.
Nothing will be this hard again. I won't let it.
Now: must get nice clothes on and walk down to....yeah. Bad place. To do scary things. And then I will sleep like a baby tonight. I will be gleeful. I will cook good food for myself and dance around. I will sing along to my mp3s and stand on my balcony just breathing because it's nice to be alive. I will not look down and think about how it would feel to sail through 26 storeys worth of air. Because I am not suicidal, not in the least. Really. I'm not. But I won't look down. I'll look over toward Rosedale where people have lots of money. Or over th Cabbagetown where they have equally lots. And I will remember that I have some dreams to fulfill here. And I'd better start fulfilling them.
Thank you.
Thank you for giving me a chance to find out that there was more to me than I thought there was. Enough more of me to fill out a whole other person. That I can get great enjoyment out of things other than the ones I had planned to for the last eight years. That there are other ways for me to be in this world.
My friend J. says that depression is a crisis of the imagination. The last three months have been a crisis of imagination for me; I could imagine Harry and Draco, but not myself. I need a plot.
This is not a goodbye. This is me pysching myself up. I wish you were here. I wish you were here and could be with me while I do this. Because no one understands why this is so difficult for me, least of all me. Maybe you understand better.
Nothing will be this hard again. I won't let it.
