Korn and Angelina Jolie rock my world.

I'm sick of the insomnia. I'm sick of the hypersomnia. I'm sick of not being able to concentrate. I'm sick of the fear of losing control. I'm sick of everything! God, I think I have a fever.

Life doesn't feel like it's worth living. It hasn't done so for years now, and between the crashes and highs normalcy just seems so rare that I want to cling to it and never let it go. But, of course, it always slips away.

I find that the thing that used to get me through it all was self-harming. I'd cut myself with any sharp object, sometimes to feel better, and honestly, sometimes to gain attention. It felt nice, to feel needed by someone. Eventually it wasn't enough though, and thank God I realized that because that's what stopped me from cutting altogether. Even though I still think about it now.

Thing is (and I'm thinking of maybe bringing this up to my therapist, although he'll probably sprout some shitty crap that's totally irrelevant as usual) I think my whole life's been about getting attention. I know that what follows will sound like a bunch of whiny crap; and frankly, I don't care. It's purging.

Ever since I was born, I've had to struggle to gain attention. I'm the fourth in a family of boys, all of whom are far more talented than myself. Neil and Dave are good at Maths and Tyler's good at gym. The thing I'm best at, I think, is writing, and even that is laughably novice. Mom and dad never appreciated that I was good at writing either; Tyler and I were mostly put aside 'cause Neil and Dave were the soon-to-be-moneymakers. Tyler's always been considered as the 'cute' brother though; when relatives came over, they'd always fuss over Tyler. I don't want to go into much detail, but mom and dad never bothered trying to hide how much they liked my brothers over myself. I remember dad once yelling, in a fit, that he wished I weren't such a waste of space and were more like Dave or Neil. When mom got breast cancer when I was ten, I didn't care. I was angry. Everyone cared even more for mom than they did for me; even when I got back grades I slaved over to acheive. I think I met Rachel and Dallas roundabout this time; you guys remember how goal-driven I was, don't you?

Then I met Charles. He hated me. I got bullied a lot. Thinking back now, part of me actually liked it, that someone was finally giving me enough attention to actually do something, even if it hurt. At the same time, Neil and Dave started pushing me around because I was the "grade grind", and mom and dad didn't really care. They just told me to hit them back. So I took martial arts lessons, and one day, when everything got all built up I just snapped. Charles' arm, that is. I got suspended, I got screamed at, my brothers laughed at me because of it, and I just lost all interest in school. When I came back, my grades fell through the floor to the core of the earth.

I think I learned from there that pain is often associated with attention. I met Jeremy the next year, if I'm not wrong, as well as Michelle. Neither of them knew at the time of what I was really like; I was doing the whole 'masks' thing that so many people do. My parents now think that my mental health only turned serious this year; not true. It's been building up. When I tried to kill myself the first time, it was just a month after I broke up with my girlfriend. It sounds so stupid, but our breaking up just reinforced the fears I'd been having throughout the whole relationship that I wasn't worthy. Then I got my report card back a couple days before, and my parents were both angry and disappointed (fair enough), and refused to talk to me, and I snapped. By that point I was already entertaining thoughts that this existence wasn't meant for me. It'd been a thought I'd had ever since I met Charles, but I'd never really followed it through before. It wasn't difficult taking the pills. I just did it. Second time was admittedly harder; Jeremy and 'Shell knew, by this point, and were doing their damned best to make me feel loved. Them, and the tight circle of netfriends I have, Dallas and Rachel; and I did feel loved, sometimes, but then I'd think it was an illusion. I thought that slashing my wrists again and again would do it, but no. I just have scars now. Bathos.

It's all been an experience though, and were it not for me being clinically depressed/whatever the hell the therapist wants to misdiagnose me as, I'd say that I'm ready to look for the goodness in life again. I want to put everything behind me; leave everything at the proverbial doorstep, as it were, and start a new life, sans the fucking medication. I get so envious of people who don't need medication sometimes; they at least can be as they are and aren't always mindfucked.

I find that certain things calm me down, nowadays. When I think that I'm not worth it, I just close my eyes and find a better place. And breathe slowly. It helps somewhat; I'm effectively distracted.

Sometimes I really hate my mind. I wish I could trade it for someone else's. Anyone's.

("Whom" being Dee and Ray, of course):

One thing I've learned about females over the past seventeen years of my life is that they're utter hellcats. I mean, I'm sure Dee agrees. (Rachel, you too are a hellcat. That part of you is just suppressed/latent. Trust me, it does show.) I don't mean to say that you're malicious. What I mean to say is that, a female hardly ever lets herself go down without a fight. Women are the stronger sex, in so many ways. And you two? Shouldn't even think that you can't handle or deal, because I know you can. You think you have low will-power; I have no doubt that if your will-power was combined and turned physical you'd be able to stop a nuclear bomb.

Everyone's entitled to their bad days. You're two of the best cyberfriends I have. You're not allowed to let the bad days get to you. Understand? Or I'll have to go over there and hit you both.

Lots of love,

Terry Blake.

So much has changed since my last few posts. I've been (mis)diagnosed with a plethora of different mental disorders, have been doped up to the brim with medication, have ineffectively committed suicide thrice, and have learned so much since then, mostly about myself. My weakness and, in effect, strength, if that doesn't sound too pretentious. I don't care about what mental disorder I have. I know there's something wrong with me, but, as Rachel so wisely said after my third suicide attempt: "If you're strong enough to commit suicide, you're strong enough to fight against depression."

Truth be told, I'm not so sure about that statement. I know to her suicide is a really big leap of strength, to be able to fight off your body's natural survival instinct, but to me it really is nothing. I feel as if I don't have anything left to live for, hence suicide.

Thing is though, I think I've been subconsciously pushing people away. Jeremy, other friends. I think on an unconscious level, I've just been being nasty to them in the hopes that they'll find me repulsive and push me aside as a result. It makes my conscience better; and again, I have to credit Rachel for this. For having that conversation with me so many months ago, about how suicide is just as bad and inconsiderate an act as murder. For making me realize that my committing suicide could be one of the most painful acts, not for me, but for my friends. I guess it was only after the third time when I saw Jeremy break down and cry that I realized that it was true. Thanks for that, man. I'm probably embarassing you to death (heh, pun) right now, but it really helped break through my obstinate thick skull and give my common sense a swift kick in the ass.

God. I sound so mushy.

Fact is, it's so hard, and I don't know if anyone ever understands this, but it really is, to be able to convince yourself that you really are unloved, when the whole world seems to be telling you different. I really have so many people to thank for pulling me through this and giving me the clarity of mind I need, and most of all for putting up with me when all I was doing was being an ungrateful bitch. I think I especially need to thank you, Dallas, for having the courage to actually ring up my parents and talk to them. You're one of the bravest people I've ever met.

Anyway. I just needed to let that out. For people who're reading and who helped me through the worst moments of my life, thank you. I think I really am over it now, and all I need is to re-focus and sort my life back in order. Thanks.

Congratulations America for voting the biggest dumbass possible as president. We should all give ourselves a big pat on the back for effectively enlisting ourselves for four more years of digging ourselves into our graves.

I feel so fucking tired. Screw school, I'm off to the mall.

Why do I have this? My attempts at keeping a Blurty already failed. Oh well, whatever. It should be fun to see how long I can keep at this without it shooting down.

Just out of the random. If people are interested in knowing what my username (anhedonia) means, it's (according to Dictionary.com): "The absence of pleasure or the ability to experience it." I wouldn't say that I have that exactly, but I get that quite a bit and so I thought it was fitting. I won't go into further detail.

The letter from Mr. Fucktard-Wannabe-Teacher arrived this morning. Mom got up at 7 and managed to snatch it away from me. I'm now grounded (again), after an hour of having been screamed at. You'd think the woman would learn to shut up, considering I hardly ever listen to her. Worse, she went and dragged dad in to have a yell as well. How sad, you'd think a parent would know how to handle her child properly. As if shouting at me is really going to do any good. Anyway, it was the same old argument: I should pay attention, I should work, I shouldn't show so much mouth to Mr. Fucktard because he's the teacher and he assigns the grades, I wasn't depressed and there's no such thing as depression and I should snap out of my shitty fuck. Blah, blah, blah. I told them they were both assholes and didn't know the teacher, so I guess the grounding's also a little of my fault.

Gotta end this post now. I've been borrowing Ty's laptop for an hour now and he says he'll snitch if I don't give it back in two minutes. Bye everyone.

Oh, and love to Rachel and Dallas. Chill out chicks, life's not worth working hard stressing over. =]