April 2nd, 2004


Synthetic entry

Today was really pissy.

I got out of bed early for school because I thought it was the last day of classes.

I feel REALLY pissed off that Graham stood us up.

I'm so angry. Paul is grounded. AGAIN! And I'm not allowed to see him. EVER. It's just NOT FAIR. I hate his mom and I wish she was dead. This wouldn't happen if he was allowed to live with his dad.

Last night I had to finish my term paper on the history of premenstral syndrome. I focussed on the needs of women. I think it's ok, but if I don't pass this I'll lose my scholarship.

I want to tell the world that my girlfriend Michelle is the bomb! She made pizza last night, and even though I burnt my lips on the cheese, it was awesome!!!

I am sharpening my knives before I go to school today, because I'm going to cut, losing my mind while I wait for the mail.

Today, I got a digital camera! Yes! Here's some photos of my girlfriend in the nude (but don't tell her that I've posted them here - she'll kill me!)

I want to say thanks to the world for absolutely fucking nothing! You all suck. I feel so alone, no one ever reads this journal, or even comments to let me know that I'm not suffering alone. It's cold here, and I want to die, but I cannot figure out how many of you to take with me when I go or who wants to come.

I went to the doctor yesterday, and he said I have borderline personality disorder, which makes me different enough to be interesting, but the same as all the other cool people with mood disorders.

You should all do this quiz! It's amazingly accurate. You just put in your name and birthday, and it will tell you what kind of day you had!

Paul Sweeney is an ignorant, inconsiderate, and condescending asshole.

That's enough for now. But I'll leave you with this poem I wrote. It's about my friend Robert, who has bipolar disorder. Just like me. And Heidi,
roses are red, violets are purple, the baby is crying, what will stop him? a burp will

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Buie and Maltzberger described suicide as resulting from "two types of imperative impulses: murderous hate and an urgent need to escape suffering". ~p.331, The House of Leaves