August 3

I had a panic attack last night thinking about what’s going to happen when school starts and I went into full blown catastrophe mode when I got my “reassurance” message.  My conscience was calling me a foolish romantic to think that I could just make things better, if only a little.  I made no difference.  I don’t regret my gesture since it made me happy, but I do feel foolish and embarrassed by it.  I really did think things would get better.  I was too late and I should have known.  I didn’t make a difference.  I might have made things worse.  I did irreparable damage and I don’t think there’s anything I can do to make it better.  I fucked everything up way too much and I just have to deal with the consequences, like losing friends.

I finally stopped crying around 3 and walked around the house saying “I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay,” but I wasn’t.  I was mad at myself.  I needed to get out of the house.  I needed to run away.  I needed a drink.  I needed to hide.  I needed my meds.  I needed to be okay.

I think I’m done.  I don’t want to be, but I don’t think it’s wise to keep trying where my efforts aren’t wanted/won’t do any good.  I can’t fight for something that isn’t there anymore.  Hope isn’t good enough, but at least I can really get on with things now.  At least I tried.  At least I proved how far, literally, I’ll go.  I really do have to start over this year.  I think I’m done blogging too.  It’s been a good run, but it’s caused more harm than good.  And if I need to say something, I should just say it.  No more writing to cyberspace where nobody reads it anyway.