Aww, hell. “Not this again,” I thought, “I was feeling excellent and spiraled down after a reasonable amount of time.”

I’ve been such a moody mess lately. Maybe it’s hormones. Maybe it’s depression. Maybe it’s WHATEVER. It still affects me. Everything was running along fine. I was in a brand new home and town. I had started in a new school. Then I had to sulk in my room almost all day and cry and cry and cry. I had to start skipping school. I’m a goddamn cowardly mess.

In school I made the mistake of wanting to acquaint with people and made them feel pretty bored. I couldn’t shut up about Pola Negri. Then again, they didn’t even know who Charlie Chaplin was so it’s not my fault. They giggle! They think me strange surely. At lunch, I felt anxious as hell after obtaining my food from the cafeteria and all humans were crawling upon me. I drowned! I ran to the counseling office and begged the school to let me go home. See? I’m a moody mess. I didn’t attend school all week and stayed in my room and watched Queer as Folk (UK version). That made me happy for some hours but then I had moments of emptiness.

Zoloft just didn’t have that effect on me anymore. I felt joyous ecstasy when listening to Type O Negative’s October Rust almost every day which I should stop because I will get tired of it. I’ve thought of dying ever single goddamned day and I don’t know what to think anymore. Such disrespect for my own life! Such betrayal! Suicide is not a new topic for me. I’ve thought of it very strongly since I was fifteen. Everything I say and create is a cliché. My dreams are silly! I feel embarrassed of even writing of my feelings right now.

Thank you, Joan Bennett.
Thank you, Joan Bennett.

I feel obsessed and damnably crazy. I worship my dead movie stars and I don’t know if that’s even good for me . I am a foolish girl who should just cheer the hell up and go on with her life and stop whining about how her heart is shattered and more silliness!! My memory is faulty and WHATEVER!! I am making drama and am damaging my own mental state.

At times I feel worthless and at times I do not. Another thought is thought, another tear is shed. I don’t even know why I bother to feel like this.

I should feel good. I got an Ernst Lubitsch silent movie set (his work in Germany) as an early birthday present. I fell for James Cagney when I saw The Public Enemy and for Laurence Olivier in Pride and Prejudice. My birthday is in four days. I will catch a screening of a Harold Lloyd short followed by a Gloria Swanson movie later on today.

My thoughts are swift, sharp and my brain bleeds sadness. I should appreciate myself, shouldn’t I? Should I think highly of myself, to a narcissistic point? I’m dangling on hope and hopelessness.

I felt hopeless as hell and thought of suicide when I was supposed to feel HAPPY. I listened to my favorite band’s ultra rare EP and…..I don’t know what came over me. Once it was done, I stormed to my room and sobbed. “I am shit.” I thought. “I am occupying too much space on this planet.” I cried to Gone With the Wind yesterday because I felt fucking sad and I just wanted to turn it off. Maybe I’ve seen it too many times.

I have great people in my life. My family, the friends I’ve made here (in the internet overall) and in real human life. They are all very supportive. Yet I whine and frown.

I am acting like James Dean in his moody teenage boy roles.

Maybe I am dealing with that monthly female trouble that I so despise. Who knows? All I know is that I must breathe and listen to Type O Negative  and hate the absolute fact that the man singing in my albums is dead. This band helps me with those unstoppable, doomed feelings.

Vivien Leigh must understand.  I mean, she was my age some eighty years ago.

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Thank you dead movie star friends for understanding my childish feelings. Thank you for not infantilizing me. I do feel a bit better for spilling my feelings somehow. My soul is cleansed at last.

I must remember to be patient. I have been stressed. This is how I react. I’ve got to cut myself some slack. I was at home for three months and did not have to deal with upcoming due assignments and youngsters who look at you. I read Bukowski to feel better and identify with the girls from Ghost World.


I should cheer up. I really should. I’m so sick of having to talk about this all the time. I also do remember that I tend to feel gloomy when my birthday is approaching. Another year in the world. Another year of maybe blissful happiness or tears?