I'm going to write this, though no doubt he'll take it wrong like he's taken just about everything else I've written...

...Puppy called. Said what I'd said about him was bullshit, that he never said any of that, that I was overreacting and making shit up and that if I didn't stop writing things that offended him, he, AND I QUOTE THIS, will stop reading my journal, stop dealing with me. And then he got annoyed when I couldn't keep from crying again, made it sound like he thought I was crying on purpose, or just faking it.

I've been crying ALL FUCKING DAY. I can't go more than an hour without tears. I've taken my lorazipam, and it's done nothing. I've tried to meditate, to calm down, and I end up passing out and dreaming about slicing my skin into ribbons and LIKING the damn dream, wishing I was still dreaming.

I can't talk to anyone - whenever I pick up the phone it's like my brain short-circuits before it can get anything coherent to my mouth, Cate's working, Rhia... is to some extent part of the problem, so talking to her won't really work, there's no one else HERE and I keep having panic attacks bad enough that I don't dare leave the house unless I WANT to have a seizure in public.

I don't care how much he hates me saying this where the world can see, but dammit, I wish Puppy would at least stop yelling at me. I know he's got a life of his own, I know all the reasons why he's not here, it's ok, but Daya, if I'm having a hard time stopping crying when trying to talk with him, raising his voice and ranting at me only makes it worse, not better. I've started flinching every time the phone rings.

Torian... gods, little one, I would be furious if I wasn't so fucking envious. Hell, I wouldn't mind if you did it again right now, maybe I'd dream it again and maybe that'll be enough to make my own desire for it fade.

I haven't felt like this in years. I've had bad days, I've had my 3AM depressions, but it's not been like this. I feel like I'm 17 again. I feel like my heart got ripped out somehow, cut into tiny pieces, jammed full of broken glass, and shoved back into my chest in this messy, bloody, lump of agony. I'm having trouble breathing even.

All I want right now is to stop feeling. I want the pain to stop, I want the depression to stop, I want this... this fucking terrifying hell of an existence to stop. I'm writing, trying to pour it out here so I don't DO anything stupid... heh. Want another reason I'm frustrated with him?

I do a braindump onto here that from anyone else would BE a suicide note, and he calls up about what? Complaining that it makes him look bad. I'm sure you can imagine how good that made me feel.

He used to tell me I was strong... I told him then that he lied. I told him, I tell anyone I'm with, that there are holes in my heart and my head, that I'm not sane, not stable, NOT OK. Most of them, even after reading this, still won't believe me, and hey, that's ok. It's good to know that when I do die, no matter when it is or of what causes, there'll be somebody to stand around looking stupid and saying "I don't understand, she seemed just fine to me".

My head hurts.