Настроение сейчас - frazzled, very .

: My depression hasn't bettered, it's gotten worse.
Not only have I been extra snappy, escapist and avoidant, I've turned to overeating* and self-mutilation** for any strange comfort they offer.
Writing and drawing definitely help, but they simply keep me from becoming suicidal - I still can't get anything done.

I'm sad, confused and uncertain. And no, denial doesn't help anymore.

I don't know what's to happen next, because cutely enough, this is how I've begotten the first and only thing on my criminal record (trespassing) - I freaked out beyond what my usual haunts could alleviate and did something I clearly wasn't supposed to do. Then applied every effort to get myself caught
- and punished. Very Virgo of me, isn't it?

* * * *

Under present circumstances I'm unlikely to see things in a better light, so analyze yourselves - or don't.

Notes:
* "Overeating", by my standards is no more than a square of chocolate or a slice of bread day, but that isn't the point - I know why I'm going for them (for comfort) and that isn't good.
Like many things, it is a "cry for help", but given that it'll never show (I don't gain weight - no matter what I do) it won't help me.
** Self-mutilation in my case is mild, all I'm wont to do is stretch myself a bit too far (yes, that's the reason I first started doing splits at twenty) until the pain distracts me from whatever's on my mind.
It has not yet reached a point where I don't know what's making me worse - what I do to myself or what's making me worse.
In a few months, ask me if I've got any spine problems.
Love,
-- Jenya