June 02, 2002 - 7.45 pm
I'm writing this entry while doing 17 quantrillion other things. I'm trying to do something with my hair, running up and down the stairs doing laundry, cooking au grautin potatoes, you know. The usual. Someone once told me that the average woman is programmed to muti-task- hold and child and stir the sauce, talk on the telephone and take notes, run a business meeting and write a speech. It makes sense, I guess.
This entry has been a long time in coming. I've been . . . in a mood lately, I guess. I had a really dark day, where sometimes I just wished this thing would finally kill me because I don't know how much more of all of this that I can take. I felt like a burden to everyone I know -- I always talk about how loved I am, but when you feel like you're a burden to the people that you would kill for, it's an immense pain. I haven't talked about it a whole lot here and I'm not going to. But I'm facing some . . . some surgury, some hospital time and the god damned insurance company is making it so difficult. I have to be practically on my fucking deathbed to get this done, and so I've been having all these appointments and tests to prove that this could, potentially kill me in time. Now don't get all upset, I'm not (to my knowledge at any rate) going to die tomorrow or the day after but every time I have another appointment, I just get so angry and so hurt and so sad. I made my mom cry because I cried the other day. And as I was driving back to Boulder, I had to pull my car over to the side of the road for a half hour because I was crying so hard, telling my mom I was sorry, begging her not to be mad, and she wasn't even there. Let's just say, it was bad. Writing an entry that day couldn've probably put me away for a good long time. Because I would rather die than hurt the people I love. Paradoxically, if I died I would hurt the people I love. And even now, almost a week later, that feeling hasn't entirely gone away. I'm not about to slash my wrists or take pills or anything, but I just. . .I feel like I'm a burden to anyone I've ever loved, and anyone who has ever loved me. For the first time I think I've probably gotten a tiny taste of what it feels like to be clinically depressed. I didn't want to move, I laid in a dark room all day not moving, not reading, not listening to music, not writing, just lying. L called and invited me over, which probably helped a lot but I was crabby and snappy and dispondant. This is a path L can't really go down with me. "Going it alone."
Anyway. Enough.
A really nice thing happened. A high school teacher, (we'll call her Mrs. P) discovered this site and has taken some of my Tia entries to help some of her students who are going through the death of a classmate. I'm so profoundly grateful that I can have created something that will help them and in a selfish, egotistic way, I'm glad someone thinks enough of what I'm writing to be reading here. If you ever want to get somewhere with me, I can be blatently bought for compliments. ;)
Sorry. This was kind of a dark entry. I'll write more substantial, goodnatured things later.
Emily
