back to Hell...

Waking up at 5:45, going to seminary, going to school... it was like earning a sabbatical from Hell, and having to go back again. I was somewhat numb, plodding through the day. And right now I should be working on my huge project in music theory that's due tomorrow, or studying my AP bio test book, which I am going to flunk, or doing my math homework, but I am not, I am here.
I am still amazed at how much Virginia Woolf thinks like me. I've found so many fantastic quotes in her book that I've wanted to post but I keep reading and forget where they are... This one I really need to post though:
She had a sense of being past everything, through everything, out of everything... as if there was an eddy... and one could be in it, or one could be out of it. It's all come to end, she thought.... And meanwhile she waited, passively, for someone to answer her, for something ot happen. But this is not a thing, she thought... that one says.... She felt, more and more strongly, outside that eddy; or as if a shade had fallen, and, robbed of color, she saw things truly.
The harder I try to reach out, to interact, the more I yearn to just withdraw into myself forever, the more convinced I am that in the end it isn't worth it. I try to feel a part of life, try to feel a part of the cosmic journey my friends seem to be on, but I only feel as if I am standing on the sidelines, confused, watching, and content with being alone and unnoticed. I guess that's why I'm a wallflower. Because I don't even participate in life anymore, as most people do. Nobody will ever marry me or have a relationship with me at this rate.
Even the thought of relationships, of having to be friends with people, or to be someone's girlfriend, even thinking about it is exhausting. I want to curl up in my bed with a thousand books and just read, write, and listen to music forever and ever and never have to get up or leave or talk or try to act normal.
I guess this is depression. And my new year's resolutions include an attempt to start taking my medicine regularly, not just overdosing, so I can try to be normal again, not bipolar. Of course I will always to an extent be bipolar, there is no median to my emotion, but I can make the poles closer together. I do feel the slight twinging in me that means I am about to (after these weeks of depression) bounce to mania for a few days. Which sounds very inviting, because I usually get very happy (occasionally I just get angry and annoyed), but I think that mania is more terrifying than depression because of the delusions and hallucinations and psychosis, and all the things that seem rational when I'm manic that seem crazily irrational now, such as jumping off the roof or driving very fast, thinking that I am invincible.
On a different tangent, Stevie wrote me this note with my Christmas present:
I want to say thank you. For being you. I have always trusted you. You are such a fantastic person. You've so many things to do, but you always have time to be a great person. You make me laugh, and you can help me with anything. I feel like just meeting you has made me grow so much as a person. Lindsay, I LOVE YOU!
And I suppose that note should make me feel good about myself, and the countless notes identical to it basically that I have recieved in the past two years since I have forced myself to develop friendships and stop reading so much, but they don't. I just feel like a liar, like I have made my friends believe something about me that isn't true.
I don't know. I don't know anymore. I just feel so guilty all the time. I know I need to let go of the guilt, because until I move past I can make no improvements emotionally, but I almost feel as if I need the guilt, I deserve it, and if I ever do manage to move past it, it will all really just be a lie, because I deserve to live forever in this hellish pergatory.
Anyway I really must get back to my music theory project now. I'm just feeling a bit socially discouraged. How do most people find it so easy to maintain friendships and a grasp on the world? My therapist told me I'll never truly have healed until I can say that the world of clothes and objects is just as real to me as the world of emotions and guilt that I live in. Right now, the world I live in is still more real. But I'm trying to reach out, I'm trying to break this dissociation. It's just hard.