I'm still reading Prozac Nation. Yes, I'm still reading it. So I'm a slow reader. Who cares, I've been piled with work and busy with boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, social lives etc etc etc for almost ever. Since June last year and I'm in desperate need of a break. A long break. Perhaps one where I won't have to come back from. I guess I was wrong about Wurtzle. Eliza warned me but I didn't listen haha... Beginning to get more paranoid and depressed than ever.

I'm one of those strange people that wants to die but is too afraid to do it. No, it's not weird, it's an actual condition. I begin to think that I need help. And unlike some people I know (or don't for that matter) I can admit that I'm troubled. I am. And I wish that I could get help. Most people in my position would probably have gotten help by now but somehow I didn't.

You'd think with my perfect life and being 'spoiled' all the damned time like some people claim, I'd be happy. But... yea... you know.