now it's time to sing along

mood: off
music: wglt in mum and da's room
CPCetc: how 'bout you angst some more? you...muffin.

I just realised I haven't updated in frickin' forever. Yes, a week is frickin' forever to me. No, I'm not kidding.

I'm feeling a bit off recently. It's strange, really. And, no, I haven't talked to anyone about it and, no, I'm not trying to get all of you to worry. And, no, I really didn't have much intention of talking about it to anyone. It's one of those sensations that just needs to get spewed into a couple of paragraphs, and then it's fine. So that's what I'm doing. I don't mean anyone offense or worry. It's just what I do.

I got really depressed after and during TheatreFest. Partly because I didn't get very much sleep and partly because of stupid arguments most likely caused by very little sleep (that actually happened with more than one person). Then there was the part that got depressed because I spent an hour and a half sorting through personal baggage with Scotch and Gin. Which was a really brilliant thing to do; it might even be my favourite thing about TheatreFest. You get so much time together, which makes you hate and love your friends in the same instance. Alas, this year's Sorting o' the Baggage did not yield the plentiful lightness of last year's. Or maybe that was just the fact that I went home and suffered through a week of amazingly unnecessary angst, thus giving the weekend that was TheatreFest 2005 a lemony-fresh scent in my memory. I don't know, but it definitely didn't happen this year.

Now I'm going in and out of random manic-depressive episodes and I keep being either down or up without much space in between. And I realise that it's only Monday and Fest ended two days ago and I really have no reason to be describing this as a chronic thing. It's just...I hate feeling depressed. It's so terribly dull.

I feel really trapped right now, that's all. Trapped inside my head and trapped in this house and trapped with my parents and trapped in this stupid little dick town with an uninteresting and self-descriptive name. And I really just want to cut off all my hair or punch a wall or run about naked or something. Or scream bloody murder for a couple of hours. But I have a performance on Sunday. So fuck that shite.

I'd never cut my wrists; I really wouldn't. But I'm starting to see why someone would do it. Someone that's not trying to commit suicide. I can see why they like to hurt themselves. Isn't it kinder than hurting someone else?

...

...

...Jesus! Did I just write that?? You've got to be kidding me!!

'Oh! Look at me! I'm tho hardcore! Muthic ith my life! Only Linkin Park underthandth me!!!'

God. I do not deserve to breathe. Oy.