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Friday, February 29, 2008


I read my handwritten diary of scribbles and notes and prayers and thoughts; and I cry at the level of sadness pain anguish that must have been present for those words to take shape, and over so much time. I know I should not be saying this, but the next time I try to die, I will make sure I succeed. What is holding me back right now is not the absence of suicidal ideation, but the roti jala net of friends and parents and promises to stay alive and get better. I still feel like dying to remove this pain and sadness. I have been sad all my life, all my life, and even on meds, I still feel the sadness seeping through sometimes. It is inherent. In the end, isn't it still all about keeping up appearances?