There is a copper outside my window, just when I want to light a spliff

Today has been so dreadful I don't even know where to start. ********, this girl I used to work with, came by the office to visit us and I was quite pleased to see her, as I have always been very fond of her. She has just finished doing some sort of amazing Phd at Harvard, and came to say goodbye before moving to Switzerland, where she has been offered some awesome job or other. When she asked my manager why we had let ******** resign, one of our co workers, a brilliant guy, she said because he knew there was no career progression in the job. As soon as I heard those words, gloom engulfed me. I had to stop myself from bursting into tears, but I somehow managed. I also managed to go out with the girls from the office for a drink, though 1 hour and one drink was as much as I could take , I needed to get away from there as soon as possible.

I walked to the station nearly in tears, horrified that someone would see me, as I was so close to work. ********** phoned me telling me that her and the girls were at a bar, if I fancied joining them. As always I gave my pathetic excuses and headed home. By then I was so desperate I couldn't get the idea out of my mind of getting home and hurting myself. I stopped at Boots to buy razor blades in case I needed them, but as I write this I am not sure I will be using them tonight.

When I got it, I found a letter from Sarah, saying how my sessions with her had actually gone. It was meant to be for my GP, I think she sent me a copy. As soon as I opened, I started to cry. Which was unfortunate because ******** my housemate was still in the kitchen. By now I feel so paranoid about my behaviour that I feel I ought to apologize to him for being no fun, an antisocial. I mustered some bullshit about my medication not working, or me going back on it, when in reality I have no idea what is going to happen to me. I suppose something will come out of it because now my GP knows, thanks to Sarah, that I am in the "severely depressed" category.

God, policeman, go away. I just want to have a spliff.

Fucking **************, trying to fuck up with my head. I want to tell him "look, my insanity is MINE, so dont try to add to it". I had ignored him for over a week, and this morning first thing in the morning he texts me with "hey you, how are you doing?".

I don't text, as I figured I would do it later, and I spend the entire day finding the perfect phrase. I thought I would throw some glorious desperate line such as "I have finally gone insane and I know I am not coming back from this one". But instead I just send " I'm ok , thanks. And you?" I thought it was an ok line, as I am too tired by now to even explain anything to him, and I just want him to leave me alone. So he replies:

"Good, thanks. What you been up to?"

At this point, and after my 3rd spliff, I can no longer hold it and I tell him "well I have waved my sanity goodbye, but that is nothing new. And you?"

Nothing. Not a word. Not a question, not a reassurance. Nothing.

The fucking bastard.

And this is the man who was once appointed to save myself. I will give nothing to him. Nothing. I will be like a hard shelled cockroach, that he will have to squash and split open to get to see what is underneath. And when he sees that gooey yellow mess of guts, he will realize how ugly that is, and finally, FINALLY..... he will leave me alone for good. Because I cannot bring myself to leave him first. And eventhough he left me long ago, exactly a week after I slept with him, and has left me over and over again over the past two years, he still sticks around eventually, like one of those bored old cats that only sniff at and play with their food before giving it one disgusted lick.

Today I had my last session with Sarah. It was quite hard and emotional, and I had to read a letter that I wrote to her, and then she read one back to me. Then I went to work like nothing had happened and I had all day my brain in a bit of a haze. I don't think I accomplished much, but it is not like I cared anyways.

I realize my life is crumbling to pieces and it is starting to show. I phoned ***** and, God bless his heart, I don't even know why I did that. I told him that I was now allowing myself to freefall into madness, and I had to quote some Prozac Nation, due to lack of me ever being able to articulate how I feel.

I did not mean to worry him, but he couldn't come up with anything better to say other than " I am thinking of you sometimes" and asking me details on what is going to happen to me now that I have finished therapy. I did not know what to say to him, in any ocassion or as an answer to any of his questions. I know I am probably being unfair to him, but I suppose it is just that I seem to have now decided that I am going to fully embrace madness, as there seems to be nothing I can do about it.

Also on a bad note, the girls at work have invited me out for drinks this Friday night. And I honestly cannot think of anything more dreadful. If they only knew... but I have already given them hundreds of excuses not to hang out with them, that I thought I might as well just do it. All I want to do on Friday night is come home, have a few spliffs, watch the telly, have a bath and go to bed. Now I am going to have to go weed shopping on Thursday.

I honestly don't know what I am going to do with my life, I seem to keep putting off desitions until tomorrow. And these are truly life changing desitions: a part of me is saying that the time has come for the mask to fall off, and if I am going to be struggling each and every day, I might as well gove in and stop fighting. Another part of me says no, you can do this, you can get better. But the voices in my head are back, probably stronger than they have ever been before, and they are whispering to me all the time. It drives me crazy.

I was thinking on the way home that I have just decided to disappear... that I am going to blend into the background and be noticed by nobody, so little by little everyone will eventually forget about me and leave me alone for once and all. I used to think I would regret doing something like this, but so what of it? Who do I want to care about me? *******? He was once appointed to save my life, but he got over all of this and I am nothing but a puppy that someone left on his door one night and he felt sorry for.
*****? I can't do that to him either, because he got tired of me driving him crazy and the repeated times that I showed him that I had long ago stopped loving him.... which was true. The one thing that kills me is thinking about my friends, who I know already know I am crazy and they no longer bother with me anymore. And who can blame them? I feel sorry for them because they have to live with me, put up with me, listen to me, or see me get off my face on drugs and slurr my words in the morning on my way to work. I can't expect them to understand how sick I actually am or how crazy I feel. I just hope they never really know.

Ew

Today is mother's bday, and so is Freddie Mercury's. I have been very good, you know apart from the usual self hatred...but apart from that, I have not eaten any crap so far.

I am tempted to. I sat down with a small plate of curry from last night, and I was very hungry because I had been starving all day long, but I thought I would ruin a good day's work if I ate it all, so I made myself think of something disgusting. And I thought of that Channel 4 programme "Virgin School". It is about this guy who looks like someone I know, and he loses his virginity some old women in...Amsterdam, of all places. And it is not like I have anything against pensioner sex... I just would rather not.... oh god, I have proper gone off my curry now.

Picking up again

Saturday night, listening to Moz as per usual. I came back home from ********* house as couldn't face the prospect of pretending to be having a good time after I spotted ********** with his girlfriend walking around Dalston. Wish I had never seen that. I stopped on my tracks and nearly dropped my turkish pizza, and called over to Caroline as if trying to show her the biggest injustice being paraded infront of my eyes. I have the feeling that this is going to be one of those moments that my brain will reproduce over and over in years to come whenever I feel like being mean to myself.

I am being ridiculous and I know it....I read once somewhere that insanity is knowing that what you're doing is completely idiotic, but still, somehow, you just can't stop it. And that is exactly what I do.

Came home and decided to finish writting that letter for Sarah, my therapist, while listening over and over to "Please,please,please let me get what I want" by The Smiths. Of course, managed to make myself cry in the process ( I am very good at that), when Alex my housemate walked in the house. I had to make up some stupid excuse about me watching a particularly emotional movie to account for my puffy red eyes and the make up down my cheeks.

Very bad day, but then again, they all are. I had a plan when I came home, a plan that involved me getting in the bathtub and with my little sharp scissors and harm myself a bit, but so far I have managed to avoid it. I am not really fighting it, I am just doing something else at the moment. I know I will do it before the night is over, because, sadly, I had a good lay in today and I know I will not be able to fall asleep tonight: I will just replay in my head those 5 seconds that earlier tonight made my existance intolerable. And therefore I just need to be emotionally exhausted, which normally leads to physical exhaustion.

My last session with Sarah is this coming Wednesday, and I feel very ambivalent about it. On the one hand, I am glad it is over, but on the other hand I know that the reasons why I am glad it will be over are all the wrong ones. I should not be left to my own devices.... things really are getting worse than ever. I am losing my mind again and I can't help it. Rather: I don't want to help it. I don't want to keep trying. I just want out. Even being around my friends and the people that I love has become extremely difficult, and most of the time I just want people to disappear. The cracks are starting to show

I used to think that I could write how I feel so one day I could look back on it, and see how much my life has moved on. Now I don't do it anymore because I can't put my ideas together.... nothing comes out of depression,there is no sudden rapture of genius. I suppose you DO have to be Van Gogh or Bukowski to do something like that. When you are an artist, you will create...regardless of what is happening inside you or around you.

I will smoke one last cigarette and listen to "my love life" by you know who one last time before I decide what I do with myself.