your playstation is not your best friend (I hope)

I decided to win something of my own. It'll keep me from killing someone, at least.

I'm going for this contest: http://money007.com/2008/06/win-a-playstation-3-grand-theft-auto-4-bundle/

It's fairly simple. You simply subscribe (to what looks like a fairly good RSS feed) for one entry, Stumble, Digg, or Del.icio.us for 2 entries (each option), Twitter (for 5 or 8 entries, 5 for an update with the link and 8 for following money007), blog post (15 entries! whoa!), and 20 for a video.

I can't do a video, because my roomie spilled booze on my laptop with the webcam, but I'm doing the other stuff.

Contestblogger has come through, it seems.

damn

I just took 4 Zoloft. I has one left. I could take that one,twoo, and then it would be 500mg, and Ginger only gave me back 3 hydroxyine but I could take thbose too and it would be stupid. i hate this ficking keyboard becasuse it's missing alf the letters, so fcjk typin correctly i don't care. damnit, sivck sick, damn, i knwr this wold happen an i failed. ack.

distraction

That flexing in my chest everytime I think of certain things didn't start until a few minutes ago, when I thought about a certain someone being somewhere else with an uncertain someone that I'm at least certain isn't me.

Srsly, I'd be happier if I found out he was gay.

Because it would...I don't know. I'm being childish.

I haven't felt acutely suicidal all day, which would ordinarily make me mad because that's my original mission in creating this blog, except I managed to sell Star Ocean 2, and that's another $37 to cover the ever increasing wad of financial idiocy that is my overdrawn checking account.

So far I've sold: Sims 2 (won't run on my piece of shit, dead ass laptop), Star Ocean 2, a DS Browser (except I have no idea where I put it, which is fucking bad) and volume 14 of Fushigi Yugi. It should have ended where it was.

The end goal at the moment is not suicide, but Fable 2, which takes precedence over suicide.

So the confirmed release date for Fable 2 is early October, and I need to have an Xbox 360 at my disposal at that point.

Looking over the specs, equipment included, and reviews, I've decided to go ahead and get an Elite -- which is going to run me $449; a pro would be $339 with only a 20GB hard drive, and honestly, it's me, so 120GB is more ideal. I am scared, because I want to do this very badly, but I've never bought such an expensive game system before.

Still, I can almost feel that box in my hands, holding my lovely black 360 and it's even lovelier 3-year warranty. It's like when I bought my tiny PS2, a couple of years ago, and I actually wanted to hug the box because it was so fucking small and cute.

I really just want to go on a shopping spree, and buy a white PSP, a sky blue DS Lite (import only, but whatever), and a ceramic white PS2 and a Vera Bradley bag to carry them around in.

I should explain right now that I am also a weird breed of girl in that I love clothes -- but only glittery, shiny ones, or ones that look interesting, I love designer bags -- but only messenger bags, and only Vera Bradley at that, and I love gadgets -- pretty is okay but most of all I like small and functional. Flashing lights are good, too. Small and compact nearly gives me a nerdgasm, so you can imagine how I feel about the Nintendo DS Lite.

So I have the option to either buy an XBox 360 Elite at the end of the month, or new clothing, and I'm only slightly torn. Only slightly.

This might be hypomania. I have never learned to actually recognize it for what it is.

Either way, that thing I mentioned before is still stinging, except it's sunken to the pit of my stomach like an alien being doing gymnastics in my gut. So I'll talk about video games, so that my mind forgets that it's supposed to be miserable.

I understand that in order to successfully pull off this whole loss of will fiasco I'm probably supposed to be miserable and not forget that I'm miserable. Some days are better than others, and we instinctively hold on to them like clinging to a cliffside with 25 meter drop behind us.

I don't think anyone really wants to be miserable. You just get so used to it that you can't fathom it being any way else for you.

sea of similar faces

I feel awful, so I'll write some more.

I should study for that fucking stupid test I have Monday, but if this weekend gets any worse there won't be a test on Monday so I can afford to push it aside for a few hours or so.

I don't want to say too much, because while I'm pretty sure no one I know will ever come across this blog, especially since blogger hosts a fuckton of other people's blogs, but you can never be too secure with your internet footprint. Whether I want to die or not, and no matter how long it takes for me to die, I have to live before that, and getting shipped off to the psych ward again and losing my job because my boss found my suicide blog would just be stupid and irritating.

Although given that I spent most of my time at work Wednesday crying I might not have a job anymore. Damnit.

Anyway.

I'm a college student, entering 4th year. The school I'm at is unnecessarily hard, especially seeing as I'm a liberal arts major. I'm guessing the message that's being transmitted to those of us that are liberal arts or history or what the fuck ever is that we don't belong, and so they're going to give us as hard of a time as possible.

I'm 21. I didn't plan on being 19, when I was 18, and then I didn't plan on being 20 when I was 19, so I'm guessing I have no say in the matter. You just wake up and you're 25, and you say to yourself, goddamnit, I was planning on catching the bus before I hit 23, how the fuck did this shit happen?

I'm a girl. This means I have a vagina, and boobs, and I bleed for more than three days without dying sometimes. Although I've been bleeding for awhile now without stopping. I'm pretty sure it's stress-related. But seeing as stress is an inevitable (there goes that word again) part of life, there doesn't seem to be jack shit I can do to stop it. Sometimes my body says "Well, babe, we've been doing this shit for three months straight, and frankly, I'm tired as fuck and you don't have ANY BLOOD LEFT, so I'm going to take a break for a week, and then we can pick up where we left off." So actually, I'm a reverse girl - I bleed for three weeks and then I don't for another week.

Damnit, typing that out made me mad. Is it TMI? Maybe. I didn't ask you to read this entire post. You knew when you saw the title of this blog that you were going to end up being disturbed, and while I'm not blowfly girl, I'm fucking human and humans with vaginas and all their reproductive equipment in tact bleed. Get used to it.

I'm bipolar, type two I think. I have been since I was a kid. It sucked when I was a kid, and it sucks now, but at least it makes for good literary fodder. If I wasn't planning to kill myself, I'd write the bipolar equivalent of Prozac Nation, drop out of school, and spend the rest of my life living on a beach in Fiji, fishing for food and playing SNES roms on my shitty laptop, except (1) I don't know whether you can get electric power in a hut made from sticks and palm leaves, and (2) my laptop won't turn on anymore, and (3) I'm going to kill myself, so there is no point to completing the first step and thus everything else is moot.

I'm usually depressive. I get manic, every blue moon, and order $350 in Playstation 2 games from Amazon. I ordered a silver PS2 once. I had to cancel it, of course, but I still want that fucker. Sometimes I get manic, and then I get drunk, and the end result is me being stupid in public. Not slutty stupid, but "Hey, dance with me, DANCE WITH ME DAMNIT!!!" stupid. Sometimes I get manic and depressive at the same time, and then I take Coke or Sprite cans, rip them in half, and slash my arms with the metal, or take too many pills, just to see what will happen.

So, the complete picture: 21-year old female college student, bipolar type two.

Those are all the details I want to give, because they're very general. I don't want people to figure out who I am. Everything I've said places me as a person who could be at least a thousand other people in America. A couple of the details worry me, but I'm still going with the 'no one will see this shit' option so screw being paranoid, for the most part.

paint it black

First off, I know if anyone stumbles across this shit, and given how epic the title/URL is I'm pretty damn sure someone's going to pop up eventually, the first thought that's going to go through their head is that I'm probably emo.

Clarification. I'm not emo. I'm about as far from emo as you can get, because I like colors. Namely pink. Pink is a very good color. If I'd had the option to have a pink and black layout, I would have jumped all over it. I know some emo people like colors. But only in hair.

Ordinarily, I'd make my own layout, do some awesome coding, fire up Photoshop, the works. Having a space on the web is the same as moving into a new house -- it's just cheaper to redecorate.

But honestly, when you make a blog to document your downward spiral, there's no need to spruce up. It's like going to an abandoned warehouse to kill yourself -- you don't bring Pinesol and a mop, you bring a bag of pills and a bottle of rum.

And that is the point of this blog. I've decided to will myself to lose the will to live, which will be hard as fuck considering that my body doesn't want me to do it, and neither does 45% of my mind, and the whole process, because it is me, and most of everything I set out to do could be written into the plot of any given primetime sitcom, will probably be at least slightly amusing to someone out there.

At any rate, if there is an afterlife, I can read this shit wherever I end up, ninth circle or seventh heaven, and be entertained by my own stupidity.

So yeah. Imagine that they turned '5 Minutes to Kill Yourself' into a Final Fantasy length rpg, and you've got this blog.

Please feel free to get the hell out of here if this is weirding you out, because it'll get a hell of a lot worse before we're done, folks. : )