Maybe I Read Too Much Into It

Maybe I read too much into Josiah’s words or maybe I just paid too much attention to his attitude at Denny’s, but I still believe that he would kill me. I don’t know that I could keep myself from slapping him, and I can’t keep myself from feeling betrayed that someone of my friends are still choosing to be his friend. Maybe I’m just a drama queen, but I don’t know. I grew up with so much crap and hearing so much of things like this, and it never turned out well. Things were always thrown or people felt like they were going to be killed or something bad always happened, and it scares me. I feel like a little kid when I hear those things or read them.

I don’t feel safe now, and I don’t ever want to be in the same room as him. And I don’t see why he comes to our stuff anyway. He’s from Atlanta, not Huntsville or Cullman or Florence. He is not in our stake or even in our state. If we shouldn’t go to some of the stuff from outside of our area, then why can he come to ours?

Ugh. I feel like not going to any YSA stuff anymore because I’m never going to know when he’s there. Ever. I know he won’t be at Institute or FHE, but if I hear about things there, then I’m going to want to go to them. And then I’ll be scared, and I don’t want to be scared.

I don’t know how much of this BPD, how much is Schizo, how much is Panic, and how much is legitimate fear. I don’t want to find out.

I just want to know why my friends can see what he says and still want to be his friend. I want to know how he can still be welcome. I also want to know why for the past few weeks I’ve felt unwelcome. I mean, maybe they’re telling me something. I’ve gone to things and been virtually ignored by most of them. I went to a dance with people that I’ve known for months and I got asked to dance twice. Felt rejected. I went to the Corn Maze, and I was virtually ignored even though I was still in a state of panic from the events of the day. I was actually able to sit in the back seat of Dennis’s car and cry for about forty minutes (from Decatur to my house) and neither he nor Jennifer noticed. I was contemplating my demise, and I did so silently. I can be in a room with thirty people and I’m so alone. I think about suicide a lot when I’m around them, not because they’re that maddening, but because I feel like no one cares. I feel like I’m suffering by myself. I have no one that I can talk to about it either, except some of you who read this, and you’re not there 24/7. I can’t tell my mom, who I tell everything to, because she thinks I’m making myself depressed this time. She thinks that I’m letting myself fall. Maybe I am.

I don’t get it.

Why am I so lonely? Am I forcing this on myself or is legitimate?

Ugh. I so want to cut right now, but I’m not going to…not because I’ve gone so long without doing so. More because my blade won’t cut anything right now, and neither will any of the knives. (Oh, did you know I can shock some of my YSA friends by my intimate knowledge of how well things cut? They get very disturbed when I tell them how dull things can tear the skin better than sharpened ones and how that matters.)

BTW, I’m crying. I thought Obama winning would be a happy point for me, but it’s not. I’m happy for him and the country, but I just feel so down. I wish I could still take Lortab because I would hunt until I found some so that I could get that rush they gave me when I was younger. I miss that, too.

Ugh, as I think of all this stuff I said, I think I know what I need, but I don’t have time to do it. I need the hospital or lots of therapy, but I’m supposed to learn how to drive. My mom already wrote out the check, so I’m supposed to put on a brave face and get behind the wheel and just learn to drive.

Published by

Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.