Next week, on tuesday, I'm not 18 anymore, but 19 (really, I'm not planning on getting up before 06.25, so that's a safe statement). Recently I'm thinking about how much I've accomplished, and it's not much.
I'm a little more focused on school this year, but I'm not able to make homework.
At home, few is helping me to avoid a new depression. I ruined my herbal garden, don't give my rabbit enough attention (it can't walk in the room anymore, and his cage hidden under that of the Guinea pig) and I've still fights with my mother.
I've got a batty self-image.
But at least I've got two people who escort me, and I've made some new friends.

I don't own my live, and that's a terrible feeling. Mainly because it doesn't seem to be of someone else either. Everything in my life has to be adapted, I crawl back in books and the computer and nothing seems to be okay. I can be really happy, for example when the sun shines on my face and nothing else is happpening. The presence of people scares me off, though I don't run away from my friends. My heart feels so poisened.

Am I really less depressed than last year? *grins*
I have a dark humour. I hope I get some more self-mockery, it will be a good sign.
Hopefully I've got time this weekend to create a sunnier journal.

Love,

Sarina