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[Blog #297] --- Depressed --- [Wednesday] - ....Gah.
depression-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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I seriously fucking scared myself today.
I was reunited with that blackened, blankened emptiness in my head - the very same one I had when I spat on Ash from the top of the wonky stairs, when I punched her in the face by construction and the several major arguments with Shelly where I came close to strangling her.
I don't even remember what the build up to it was - I can only remember the during and the afterwards.
I remember getting more and more frustrated with her, knowing she was being a fucking stupid cunt as usual - being so damned selfish, self-centred, self-important, spiteful and generally immature - to the point where I ended up leaning over her, pinning her to my bed by her shoulders - actually not using a massive amount of strength, but she wasn't able to fight me off.
I wasn't violent - I didn't hit her - but I spoke with that incredibly sarcastic, patronising, calm-yet-very-violent tone - making no effort to swallow excess saliva - so when I said my harsh consonants, she got my wet rage on her cheeks. And I said a lot of harsh consonants.
I wanted her to be scared, and I knew when Shelly gets that scared, she has accidents. I wanted her to piss herself - I wanted her to be humiliated, ashamed - I wanted her to have no control over herself.
I spoke to her like this for about 10 minutes, then went to sit at my computer for a while. What I did, I don't remember - but she didn't move - she stayed on my bed, laid in the same position.
I went back over to her afterwards and returned to what I was doing previously - but harsher.
At one point, I saw her flush red and she started crying hard - as opposed to the watery eyes she'd had for the rest of the time. I had a feeling I may have accomplished what I set out to do - but I made her admit to it to humiliate her further.
There's another gap in my recollection - but after this, I went to lay in my special space - between my bed and drawers. I took a pillow and laid on the floor, my head by the boiler and my feet by the desk. I cried a little bit, because I felt guilty. Then I cried a lot, because I was depressed and ashamed.
I couldn't apologise for a very long time - nor could I bring myself to look at Shelly. She made me eventually and I gave a sort-of apology. I don't think it was good enough, but she assured me that it was.
She made me tell her some events from "5 to 15" that I don't like talking about. She insists that they have some answers to why I feel the way I do now.
Well I'm willing to bet they do - but not as significant as she makes out. She fucking assumes wrong all the time. How dare she fucking assume and then go ahead to state that I ENJOY feeling depressed all the time. No, I'm not fucking content in my own depression. If that was the fucking case, I wouldn't have agreed to more sessions with Dianne. I wouldn't fight with myself every fucking night to stop myself cutting.
She is the fucking stupidest cunt I know. Who the fuck would say I enjoy being depressed? You can CLEARLY fucking see that I don't! Anybody could fucking tell you that!!
Dixie currently feels:
Depressed
Depressed -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Blog #297
....Gah.
....Gah.
I seriously fucking scared myself today.
I was reunited with that blackened, blankened emptiness in my head - the very same one I had when I spat on Ash from the top of the wonky stairs, when I punched her in the face by construction and the several major arguments with Shelly where I came close to strangling her.
I don't even remember what the build up to it was - I can only remember the during and the afterwards.
I remember getting more and more frustrated with her, knowing she was being a fucking stupid cunt as usual - being so damned selfish, self-centred, self-important, spiteful and generally immature - to the point where I ended up leaning over her, pinning her to my bed by her shoulders - actually not using a massive amount of strength, but she wasn't able to fight me off.
I wasn't violent - I didn't hit her - but I spoke with that incredibly sarcastic, patronising, calm-yet-very-violent tone - making no effort to swallow excess saliva - so when I said my harsh consonants, she got my wet rage on her cheeks. And I said a lot of harsh consonants.
I wanted her to be scared, and I knew when Shelly gets that scared, she has accidents. I wanted her to piss herself - I wanted her to be humiliated, ashamed - I wanted her to have no control over herself.
I spoke to her like this for about 10 minutes, then went to sit at my computer for a while. What I did, I don't remember - but she didn't move - she stayed on my bed, laid in the same position.
I went back over to her afterwards and returned to what I was doing previously - but harsher.
At one point, I saw her flush red and she started crying hard - as opposed to the watery eyes she'd had for the rest of the time. I had a feeling I may have accomplished what I set out to do - but I made her admit to it to humiliate her further.
There's another gap in my recollection - but after this, I went to lay in my special space - between my bed and drawers. I took a pillow and laid on the floor, my head by the boiler and my feet by the desk. I cried a little bit, because I felt guilty. Then I cried a lot, because I was depressed and ashamed.
I couldn't apologise for a very long time - nor could I bring myself to look at Shelly. She made me eventually and I gave a sort-of apology. I don't think it was good enough, but she assured me that it was.
She made me tell her some events from "5 to 15" that I don't like talking about. She insists that they have some answers to why I feel the way I do now.
Well I'm willing to bet they do - but not as significant as she makes out. She fucking assumes wrong all the time. How dare she fucking assume and then go ahead to state that I ENJOY feeling depressed all the time. No, I'm not fucking content in my own depression. If that was the fucking case, I wouldn't have agreed to more sessions with Dianne. I wouldn't fight with myself every fucking night to stop myself cutting.
She is the fucking stupidest cunt I know. Who the fuck would say I enjoy being depressed? You can CLEARLY fucking see that I don't! Anybody could fucking tell you that!!
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