(4) My Diary '9th November 2016'

9th November 2016 I worte;

((( I'm not ignoring you baby. My mind isn't ignoring you but my writing skill are. I leave tomorrow. Holy Fuck. Scared life. I have to keep myself together. Somehow. Open up? To who? How? Where? No attention seeking. It will help won't it? My stomachs churning. I need you. So much. My thoughts are insane. Distractions are needed. Normality needs to move elsewhere. Gosh I beg of you, your spirit, your something to help me out. Craving our life together as we knew it. As we planned. Perfectness. You correcting and protecting me. You will always own me. My stupid thoughts are so desperate. Not caring much about the future now but wanting it to be as good as we were going to have it, scares me. Being alone in this, I thought I found my rock. I DID. Life decayed you. I only caught your pebbles through my fingertips.

I will love you forever. Humans, and feelings. The worst and best thing ever. I'm so cold, physically without you. Mentally cold, the way I was before I met you. I was warming up to life as you opened me up. You, you were my alcohol, my drug. I crave your feelings. Your feeling physically. Your atmosphere. Everyone loves you. Clearly. They don't know how much I do. I can't show them. Ever. Not without you. Other news. The plane ride tomorrow. Fuck. It's going to suck. I had a life to look forward to on the way here. I had you in my arms within half an hour of landing. I'm so alone now. Scared as fuck without you. Hell. Help. Anyone. Finally fragile. Open up and listen. The folk in England don't do that. They don't care the way people do over here. I'm going to miss everything. Help me. )))

Hi again. I wrote this the day before I was flying back from GA, USA to England. I was extremely scared. I had so much to look forward to on the way there, but it had all been ripped away from me during my stay. So the ride home was going to suck like hell. And it did. The plane ride lasted what felt like days. I was so dehydrated I just wanted to die. I was also on a comedown. I had his shades on the whole time so people couldnt see how upset I was. I hated the thought of coming back to England. The people I had to face. The questions. Ugh. The misery that was placed before me, that I was flying straight into. Anywhere else seemed more appealing. I wished the plane would've landed in the USA, before we hit the ocean. So I could've just ran away, forever.

I truly miss my love. And all his friends. I miss the house we stayed in. I miss the weather, and the bike rides. I miss absolutely everything. I get so depressed sometimes. All the time. I'm not gonna lie. I don't even have to be thinking about anything to do with my trip to America. And I feel depressed. A few months ago after I got back from the United States. After everything that happened. I went to my GP.. I went to him to seek help. It really wasn't like me but I was tired of my suicidal thoughts and attempts. I was sick of myself. I was crying every night, or whenever I was on my own. I was tired of hiding my emotions. It took a lot of strength to keep back tears every time someone looked at me. So I went to him and I just cried. I couldn't even speak properly. The thoughts in my head were so sober, I actually remember thinking how pathetic I sounded crying, sitting there, infront of him. I barely know my GP but he managed to get enough out of me to prescribe me some antidepressants. He told me I'd stop crying, so immediately I thought this was it. I was going to get better. I was going to feel better at least.

The antidepressants worked. I got about half way through the pack. And it occured to me that I wasn't crying anymore. Now I thought this would've been what I wanted. The whole reason I started taking them was because I was so sick of crying. But in the end, crying is what I missed the most. It felt so weird, so horrible to think about my love and not cry. Not crying felt like a burden. Like I was cheating his memory. Like my feelings weren't meant enough. I immediately stopped taking them. i threw out the packet. I actually felt quite sick of myself. I love him so much, how could I live with myself if I don't show the emotion I feel when I think of him? Loss. I know this is hard to understand. But I really hated being sad without being able to cry. It kept me awake at night. Every night. My sleeping pattern was trash anyway. I had quit my job. I couldn't bare going back there. I hated everything to do with coming back to England. And I still feel that same fucking way.

It's gotten to the stage where I think I need to go back on antidepressants. But I want to be able to cry. I don't know what to do. I don't tell anyone about my problems, because it'd feel like I was exposed. My feelings for the only man I ever loved belong with me. But it's killing me. I guess I have trust issues is all. Or maybe I've seen enough around me to know I don't want to become apart of their game. Really confused, lost.

I'll write more diary writings soon, thanks.