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11-25-01 - 9:44 p.m. I wish I could build a house a million miles away from everything and pay someone with credit cards to drop food and supplies every week from a plane so I wouldn't have to deal with anyone or anything. I wouldn't even have any pets. I'd rather be lonely than smothered. And I'd rather be a hermit than a socialite. Hermits don't have to put up with the kind of bullshit I do. I'm in so much pain, emotionally, that it hurts me physically to the point where I have to stop what I'm doing and calm my ass down. Have you ever felt that way? It's all-consuming, it hurts so much you have to hold on to something so as not to collapse. It strangles your throat and stabs you in the heart, it kicks in your knees and beats your spine. I don't even want to cut. I'm in enough pain as it is. Plus I can't breathe. I'm seeing Janet tomorrow. She'll probably refer me to Doug, her partner and a psychiatrist, who will want to up my dosage or something till I'm a zombie. Then she'll want me to talk about everything. But I don't want to talk about it. Talking=feeling, and feeling=pain. I hope I was still contagious this weekend. If I've managed to infect upwards of 20 people, then at least I'll have accomplished something. They can all suffer with me. i need to go to bed now.
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