I can't say I'm feeling a whole lot better really. I don't know why I wrote that last post. It's not like I'm going to talk to anyone about it. I've talked to people I don't even know, on t'internet, and I've spoken to one person about it. He was very understanding - scarily so in fact, as I'm now worried to ever speak to him again for fear of what I might say next. He tried to convince me that I'm being irrational, but I genuinely believe that I'm being completely rational. I'm not stupid, I know what's going on. Whatever, it's FINE and even if it's not, I'll just lie and say it is. You know me, that's my thing.
I'm so tired, I want to sleep forever. I slept in the common room. Then I tried to sleep on a desk. Now I'm at home and I have made some conversation and done the only thing have any talent for (proofreading) and I'm so tired that I don't think I can sleep.
I want it all to go away. If I had read better books in my life I would be more articulate and I would be able to express myself through the medium of words rather than crying and being horrible to people and cutting myself. I don't think I have any words left. I am desolate. I am a disappointment. I am alone.
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