I feel like crap. I had to call 911 on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, because Sarah was threatening to commit suicide. The scariest part was when I found out that she might have convinced the EMTs that she was fine (she didn't), which would have meant that they'd have let her go, which meant she probably would have been on her way to my huose to kill me. Anyway, now she's in a hostpital somewhere, and she hates my guts for putting her there, even though all I wanna do is help her.
I wanna cry, but I can't. I'm not sad. I'm just angry: angry that her parents never helped her, angry that thee are loopholes that put me in danger, angry that the cops and the EMTs and everyone else at fucking 911 has no idea what they're doing and gave me the runaround and were mean and impatient and made me more scared, not less (with a few exceptions, who have my eternal gratitude), and angry that my shrink doesn't understand that just breaking it off with her isn't possible (unless I want to ignore my ringing phone 24/7) or safe (at least right now I get advance warning if she's gonna kill me). So now she's in some hospital somewhere, my mom's taking me to get a restraining order on her tomorrow (my shrinks advice; my mom and I both know it won't help), and all I can think is that I don't care anymore. She's been suicidal for almost ten years now, and maybe we'd all be better off if she offed herself. I just don't want her to take other people with her.
And that's the part that makes me sick, and sad (hehe, "Next, on Sick Sad World!"): that I don't care anymore if she kills herself. I just don't. And now, now I'd so tired and depressed that I don't give a flying fuck about the world, either. My mom woke me up this morning and told me that London got bombed, and I rolled over and went back to sleep. I hate myself, because I've gone beyond callous into completely apathetic. I just don't give a fuck.
I wanna cry.
And to top it off, I just noticed that on my iTunes playlist of "Cool Rocking Songs" (cutom, obviously), more than half of them are depressing as hell: "Jackie" by Sinead O'Connor, "Girlfriend in a Coma" by The Smiths, "Spanish Eddie" by Laura Branigan, and "Don't Leave Me" by Blink-182. Not to mention that two of my favorite artists at the moment are Warren Zevon (king of the morbid lyrics) and The Wicked Messengers (country-rock, or as they put it "alternative country"; basically, mostly-at-least-somewhat-depressing country, with a great beat and great lyrics).
I wish I wanted to binge. Instead, I just have no appetite at all. If someone offered me anything but lobster right now, I'd tell them to fuck themselves. (I never turn down lobster).
I wanna cry. I wanna cry and scream and throw things and tear the walls apart with my bare hands.
But I'm too tired.
I am, however, proud of myself: I kept my rule about not drinking when I'm upset, even though I was at the Rodeo Bar seeing The Wicked Messengers, and I really wanted a drink. So the score is now one good thing to twenty bad things. Great ratio, huh?