So, apparently people say there are no paragraph indents in this new tblog. Put paragraph marks where you see fit.

I go to the court counselor's on Tuesday, the 7th.  And if I'm seen as 'mentally unstable' then we can't change anything.  Hopefully, I won't cry, I won't mention that I see things, I won't talk about what's on my stomach or arms, and they'll change the laws.  My heart is up in my throat, and I started crying too much on the phone with Ian.  I really don't feel...good. Fuck it, I don't even care anymore. Yea, marks on my body aren't good.  No, bruises don't help.  I know crying myself to sleep three nights out of four is unhealthy. And my level of exhaustion is unsurpassed by any human.

Did I mention that I'm on Ambien?  And that it fucking sucks?  That it has a 'slight risk of dependence', which means that Natalie already needs one and a half to fall asleep within 90 minutes.  And it gives me headaches for the first time in my life. 
Stopping those pills.



On the only happy subject(it's actually depressing, but disguised well) I think I severely have a dependency problem on Ian.  A couple days ago I called his house every 20 minutes from 2 till 6 because he wasn't picking up the phone. I even brought the phone with me in the fucking shower in case he called.  And when I thought he was coming over 'later' I waited by my window for an hour hoping he'd round the corner.  When someone mentions his name, my breathing gets really shallow, my eyes bug out, and my heart tries to break through my rib cage.  I worry about him, and can't do my school work because I'm thinking about if he's walking home in the cold and dark.  Spending two and a half hours on the phone isn't enough because I miss his voice the moment he hangs up.  We talk about getting married, and, most the time...I want to. I don't care what our future looks like, I just want to know that Morales is covering Minas, and that at the end of the day, he sleeps next to me.

Is this love?  It pisses me off. I never wanted to fall in love. I still don't.  I don't want to do this. (shut up you idiot girl) I don't want to have to be so fucking dependant (he's good for you) on someone I've only been dating for three months.  Wearing the ring (the one that you stare at when you don't sleep? and think about replacing it with a real one some day?) reminds me how deep I'm in this. And how badly I want out. (don't fucking say that).  I hate having to think about him every day (you mean all night?) And I don't want to have to be tugged around so easily by his words (those words that are always perfect).  I hate the commitment and the obligation that I'm reminded of every time we talk about growing up together (you hate being safe for once?) I loathe the fact that my plans for college, and life, and kids, and marriage are fucking revolving around this 15 year old kid who means more to life than me.  The fact that I'd die for him, and very literally mean that, scares me (why? Because you know he'd do the same thing?) It's fucking helpless, and hopeless, and frightening being held so fragilely by his hands (that would never let you down...ever).  I'm dangling on a thread that can snap whenever this ends (IF it ever ends) And when it ends, I'll kill myself (Why bother living when your life isn't in your arms?)

I love him, but fucking hate the fact that I'm so helpless. =/

I wasn't made for love. At all. I was meant to be a hermit my entire life, and I'll be one. (But, Jesus, no way in hell you'd let him out of your grasp.  You'd rather swallow razorblades than know that he can't have your name be synonymous with girlfriend)

I don't want to sleep. I don't want to move from my bed. I don't want to live. I don't want to try. I don't want to know I'll fail.  I don't want to attempt to do...anything.  I don't want to live.

Natalie

There's a lot of expressions that people use when things turn sour.
The shit has hit the fan seems to be my favorite.

So...
The shit has hit the fan at record speeds.

An internet journal is not what I need right now, and I figure only about four people read this, and if they wanted to know what was going on, they'd ask me.  So here's a brief synopsis with fits of anger and depression thrown in.  I probably won't update this thing for a long time. 

I'm back in counseling.  Watch me slit my arms and drowned in a pool of my therapy-loathing blood.  Sure, everyone's in counseling, sure it helps everyone. Not me. I don't have a problem. And they can't fucking fix this...it's not broken. They can't tell me that things are going to be oh-so-fucking perfect when I can see that they're not.
They're damn liars.
And it's fucking sick what they do to try and help people.

How I reached my breaking point is as follows:  My mom said she went to family courts. I cry.  First time she's seen me cry seriously in a long time.  Try...3 years? Maybe? I couldn't stop for an hour and a half. She asked me what was wrong and every thing that had to be kept inside so I could hold my sister up came out.  All the times I bit my tongue so I wouldn't start a fight with my dad spilled.  Every part of my past that's been neglected from pain surfaced.
It made her cry.
Because she never knew I was hurting. And she never knew I was upset. And she never knew that things weren't okay.

Family Courts says we have a 40% chance of losing the case. And that 40% means that I'll be living at my dad's full time, with my mom paying child support.  There's been lots of talk going around and lots of meetings and lots of my sister crying...and dad still isn't the wiser. We're going to put my into the psycho ward and see what the shrink says and then go change it. And if we lose, I'm going to kill myself.  And when I say that, I don't mean the way that those preps go, 'Oh my god...I'm going to KILL MYSELF.' I mean that I'll take all the pills and maybe alcohol, a knife if I feel brave, go to the bathroom at my dad's house, turn on the shower, and 'self conclude myself'.  Nothing flashy, nothing big. No note, don't want it dramatic. Clean. Simple. He won't notice for atleast an hour.

One of my friends was admitted to the hospital because of severe depression, and his visiting rights are limited to family members. I can't say his name becuase people aren't supposed to know yet, but...You're only admitted to the hospital if you've tried to kill yourself...
Jesus, ________, I'm so sorry.  so so so damn sorry. I love you. I love you, and I mean it.

My sister is withdrawn.

My mom cries now.

I'm going to my dad's house tomorrow.

Scarred body adornments remind me of everything that's failed.  Maybe they're new, I'm not sure. 

I can't remember what I was saying everything above there about.  I just know that I don't exactly want to see tomorrow.  I don't ...I...how do you say this? I lost the lust for living?  I quit?

Mike said only wussies quit.
I'm a wussy.
He said that I don't want to die.
You're a fucking liar and you know that. You don't know what I want to do, and you can't feel what's happening.

I remember this feeling where it's a lost cause. And you don't want anything, and I don't want to laugh at people's fucking stupid jokes, and I don't want to smile, and I don't want to hug anyone. I want to stay in my bed, and sleep and cry and maybe if I'm lucky god will kill me.
I'll ask.

This thing really is stupid, Bye for a long time

Natalie