Today was.. weird. I mean, everythings getting kinda unreal as it is, but today seemed more like it had been taken straight from a film. Thinking back on it, it's more like Im watching it, but it wasn't me.

I got up at a sane time, got dressed, even ate breakfast in a desperate attempt to flatten the butterlies squirming in my stomach.
C* was supposed to be going with me to the doctors, and I have to admit I wasn't compleatly sure it was fair to have her waiting in the clostraphobically stuffy waiting room half an hour while I had my brain raped and my blood stolen. Still, it hacked another part of my trust in people away when she said she'd rather go and watch J* dump her cheating boyfrind.
The nurse was happy to take the blood from my right arm, three. Thyroxine, a general test, and another I was too preocupied with getting my jacket off to hear properly. I didn't mind it so much, it's just blood when all's said and done.
Then I waited until Peter arrived.

I'm positive the toys in the kids area are more than a decade old. I remember playing with them going for my booster injections with Gran, I can't have been more than 5 or 6.
I'm nervous as hell, sweating, shaking, and wanting to run out of that damn place But I have to stay there, I have to do this.

Half an hour later and I've got the words severly depressed, anxiety, and therapy running round my head. It's nothing new, only now it's official. Two years of hell, and it took half an hour of questions and suggestion, suggesting nothing I didn't already know was good for me, and it still hits me like a train.
I laugh inwadly at his discrete method of asking do you want to die? It went somthing along the lines of "Have you ever felt like you don't want to wake up.. ever?"

I sit at the front of the top deck on the bus, where usually I like to see everything and prevent any unecessary social anxiety, today it felt better to see nothing. I'm not even sure why I wanted to go to town, I ended up seeing them for an hour, spending £5 on food, cakes I didn't feel like eating and a drink I left in the shop. Just leaving that drink left the guilty, pathetic but very real nauseous feeling in my stomach again. I walked down market street feeling unreal and as if I was running across a shooting range thinking only of getting to the people I feel safest with, and when I got there, there was no safety, no relief, just lonelyness and craving for understanding. The hugs were passive and there was no interest in where I'd been or what was wrong. All attention was on the girl with the cheating ex, not the one with the mental ilness. Not that I'd have done anything with the attention than hide in the shadow of the person making the biggest scene (had I been feeling a little less shit I'd have created my own to hide within)

I got the bus back home, said my goodbye and walked right past my house. It's 5pm, dark cold and raining, but I don't want to go home to the cold empty house. I feel lost, lonely, abused. The counsellor pryed into the parts of my brain never seen before, and I feel like I desperatly need some kind of secure feeling. I keep wakling, heading towards my grans house, remembering the security I always feel there sat by her knee watching the 6 O'clock news eating cadburys fruit and nut. But as I'm walking there, I remember that I've just been told I'm severly depressed, I've just told the counsellor that I wish I wasn't alive, that I don't like myself. I keep thinking about this strangness, this cold, unreal, alien feeling that has become me, and it would be compleatly hypocritical to then walk into Grans and hope to feel like I did when I barely knew the meaning of fear and hoplessness.

Instead I walk for an hour in the drizzle, thinking about nothing. thinking about how all I want is someone to find me, and hold me, and tell me that I'm going to be alright. That it's all going to be okay.

I get back to my house, empty the trash and dishwasher before Mum gets home, get to my room and turn on the PC. Check E-mails and roaming around not actually doing anything. When Mum gets here the conversation's killed by inability to show enthusiasm for speech, so she gives up. I like it better that way, I don't have to pretend I like existing.

I checked LiveJournal, and everyone's happy. No one want's to know about the new levels of depression I've just found exist. No one really wants to pretend they care that much, so I find a new blog.
And in this new blog, I'm not going to hold anything back.

If this doesn't die as soon as it begins, it might end up having more effort put in it than my GCSE coursework. Here's to a blog I don't lie in, and keep.

What I want to cover..
-me/interests/personality/lifestyle
-past/family
-this crap started
-what it is then?
-doctors #1
-doctors #2
-hopes and fears
-influences and why
-friends
-the future at a glance

Until next time...x