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I don't know what to say and I don't know how to fix it. It feels like my fault, because it wouldn't have happened if I weren't there, but I didn't do anything wrong and neither did she. I love her so much and I don't know how to make her better, and that hurts so fucking much. If this is how I made her feel, it's no wonder things ended the way they did. Thinking that makes me want to murder myself--real, violent murder, not a suicide to escape pain. I'll never do it, though, because I have a shadow of a hope that maybe I can make her a little happier.

Feelings are…confusing. And frustrating. My thoughts have this thing they do where they refuse to turn off, even when I try to make them, and I’m not sure what to do about that.

Also, I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Terrific.

There’s something very refreshing about being able to cry and scream until your throat is raw and your head is light and spinning. Something akin to peace results, and you can’t be scared of the outcome even though things are horrible and you wish you could throw away your family.

Ironic how lovely things and awful things in my life can occupy such close spans of time; my birthday sleepover—which followed another familial meltdown in which there was screaming and I was crying but that was ok because it was just me in tears; this time it was my mom and my brother and maybe Dad cried, too, when the phone was down—was so wonderful and we had such a fantastic time and Sweeney Todd was delightfully melodramatic (although very few people in the movie could sing.) And, of course, the food was adored.

Happiness doesn’t know how to last, I guess.

I’m calm now, though, which is good because I have to put on a calm and smiling face for my interview with Occidental. After all, it’s a hope for escape. Lord knows I need one of those.