I made it through another day..

I've left college. I officially finished yesterday. Once my exams are done, I will be out of full-time education and ready to go off into the big wide world.
My last day was pretty pathetic. No big send-off. No emotional goodbye. It was every year 13 sat in a hall, listening to a priest trying to convince us to join a church for an hour. And then we ate horrible free food that the useless canteen staff made, and we went to the pub.
I had fun, kind of. My friends made the boring assembly much more entertaining. And going to the pub was fun. Reminiscing, laughing, joking, insulting each other, and talking about the weird men sat near us. But I didn't feel happy. I didn't feel carefree. Part of me didn't want to go to the pub. I don't know why - I just didn't look forward to it.
I wasn't sad. I just felt.. drained.

To me, what was apparently an important day in my life was just another day I'd just about managed to get through.

It's okay not to be okay

The other day I cracked.
I got home from college, and at the first sight of my revision notes, I broke. What little sanity and stability I had crumbled and I cried. For five hours. I stopped around 11 o'clock at night for ten minutes or so, and then it came back. The self-loathing, the regret, the guilt.
I curled up into a ball, hiding under my duvet, and sobbed quietly to myself for another few hours. All the while, my mind was riddled with suicidal thoughts. I had the blade. When I stopped sobbing long enough to sit up, I held the blade to my wrist and I damn near did it.
I don't know what stopped me. Maybe it's because I've actually got friends now. But I still wonder if they'd miss me if I did do it.
I forced myself to put the blade away and after that, I started crying again. I cried well into the early hours of the morning and only stopped when I finally fell asleep for a couple of hours.

But the episode messed me up that night. The lack of sleep left me irritable and exhausted the next day. I took up my mother's offer of visiting my brother instead of going to college - I couldn't have coped with college.

This is becoming more frequent.

I'm worried that someday, I'm going to do it.

I just hope my friends and family would forgive me if I did.

"You're inventing your own misery."

I'm sorry, what?
Why do people believe that telling someone to "stop being miserable and just be happy" will make things any better? What the fuck?
Right now, I'm battling through my revision and thinking how utterly useless it is since I'm a useless, worthless idiot who can't do anything right and so I will inevitably fail and revision is therefore a waste of time. I think like that because my thought process is nothing but self-loathing, regret and guilt.
Oh, of course.
My suicidal, self-hating thoughts will just go away if I 'stop being miserable'.
Please, do tell me.
How the fuck do I stop being miserable?
I don't want to be miserable. This isn't a goddamn fucking choice. I would give anything to be happy, but it's not as easy as that. I spend most of my time either at college or doing college work, and it's draining. I don't have time to go out and socialise and try and cheer myself up, because all the things I have to do are in the back of my mind.
And I can't just not worry, since my exams are basically deciding my future. If I fail, I'm fucked. Done. My uni place is gone and I've fucked up royally.

But of course, I'll just be  happy. That will make everything go away.

Fucking idiots. Don't talk shit about things you don't understand.

I hate myself.

I really do.
I hate being second best all the time.
I hate that I find a skill I'm relatively good at, and then someone else comes along and completely overshadows me and then I'm back to being useless again.
I hate that I can't get the motivation to do anything productive because I know there's no point since I'm going to fail anyway.

I hate myself so much.

You are the first thing I believed in.

I wish I could say I was going to amount to something. I wish I could say that I had some kind of talent or skill that will take me far.
We all have those friends that you just know are going to be successful. They'll be a musician, they'll be a lawyer, an actor, a photographer, a painter, a teacher, a model, a designer, a sportsman, a director, a businessperson. They'll do well.
I have plenty of those friends. I can see them going places, doing things.
But me?
I can't see a future for myself.
It's not just my sheer lack of skills. I mean, I'm hopeless at everything. Writing is my main talent and even that is shoddy. Photography a close second and I've only taken a couple of photographs in four years that I'm proud of.
I just can't do it. I can't handle the pressure. My self-loathing and anxiety won't let me get anywhere. And because I'm going nowhere, I hate myself more and more.

I just wish I could be good at something.

A guy goes nuts if he ain't got nobody.

I'm having moments again.
Those times when I have flashes of .. nothing. Emptiness. Nothingness. As though none of this is real, and in reality there is nothing but darkness.
It lasts just a moment. A split second. Barely there, but long enough to make my heart pound.
I went a few weeks without it but it's happening again.

I've been lonely this evening, and most of today. I got blanked or interrupted by most of my friends and family throughout the day. The only full conversation I've had today was with a friend on the bus this afternoon. We were sat at the back, in the corner, talking mindless chatter. It was all unimportant, irrelevant, but lovely. And we weren't interrupted.
I come home, and as usual I don't really have much conversation. We have tea, I listen to my mother moan about my sister and her friend making noise. I go upstairs, I stare at the computer screen. And then later this evening, I make an attempt to talk to my mother about my favourite book, Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. I began to read out quotes. Partly to feed my own desperate desire to read it again, and partly to make suggestions for a family friend (he's currently doing his GCSEs and Of Mice and Men is on the curriculum.)
My mother blatantly interrupted me and ignored me.
I tell her about the terrible dreams I've been having. I can't remember what happens in them, but I wake up sweating with my heart pounding, shaking all over and feeling so ill I want to throw up. The reaction lasts about an hour, although I still find myself extremely anxious for most of the day.
She says, "it's just a dream" and walks away.

Moving away is sounding incredibly appealing right now.