Can someone please tell me what is wrong with me? I was reading through my blue book, which is filled with nothing but laments about boys, and general gripes about being lonely and friendless in Madison, Sarasota, and New York. I only write in that thing when I am depressed so much so that I am not even in front of a computer, that I am in my bed writing, sad, shut off from everyone and wanting to cry. And this morning, I scratched at this never-healing scab on my ankle until it bled. I scrubbed at the dryness on my face until it was red and also bled a little. I do these things and I don't know why. You know when you were a kid, and you would purposely break things that meant a lot to you when you were upset. There was this tricerotops model that my mom and I had spent forever assembling, and one day in a lonely, self-hating rage in elementary school, I remember breaking the thing to pieces in my room and crying. It is one of my few childhood memories that I can remember distinctly, and it still makes me sad - the hatred with myself I felt then, and the later manifestions of it.
Yesterday, Matt called and asked if I wanted to hang out when I got off work. I told him that if I did, I would call him, and if I didn't, I wouldn't. I did not call him. Today, I did. He called me back and invited me to come over and eat at his house. I said no, and said I was going to read. Going to read? What the hell is wrong with me? He sounded confused and said that he did not know what he was going to do now that I wasn't going to hang out, that he was going to have think of new plans for his evening. I was at work for less than three hours today before I left. I am not sure what is going on with me these days. I have drunk way too much coffee. I am so anxious. The weather sucks. I want the sun and the warmth. Please, someone help me. I am learning how to live. I am picking up the phone and calling him back. (Fingers crossed).