Not a therapist but I'd like to try

Meet me at Midnight

Fanfic- Mcr

29.10, 03.20am
Hey, name's Gerard. This is my therapy diary. It saves me some time to just show this instead of having to talk about my days. I won't lie in this book, I promise.
It's not like I really want to get better or so- I don't care if I end up slitting my wrists. I mean even more than already, no- actually I mean vertically. Now that I look at them and see how big white scars mark where I cut out my flesh I notice that that's what u had wanted to say. Haha, I'm a wreck.

Yeah- anyways, I'm gonna write down the rough outlines of my every day here every-time before sleeping.
Today - which actually would be yesterday I got up just in time for therapy, went there and returned to lock myself in with a snack to draw And revel in my bittersweet melancholy. Yeah- sometimes it actually is bittersweet. Why? Well, it's a bit like... Cutting for example. Cutting has this bittersweet taste to it that makes you shiver. It's bitter when you look at the scars and pain but so sweetly relieving.

So is my depression. It's so bitter, how it makes me feel and what it makes me do to myself, how it cripples me both mentally and physically. But such a sweet source of dark inspiration for my oeuvres. By which I mean my art on canvas just like my art laid in words or in the form of simple sketches on a scratch paper.
I mean what kind of persons draws girls who hung themselves with helium filled balloons, their corpses flying over a shallow city or slit open wrists with scars spelling words like "Lost" carved into the dead flesh?

It's not even an idea- it's a fantasy of mine. And by fantasy I mean what you might think, that I desire to have some of that happen to me. Some times I do desire it. My death could be a work of art itself.
Reminds me of an EAP quote.
Mr Poe once claimed that "there is nothing more poetic than a young girls suicide".
To me the gender of the person doesn't matter. Maybe because I don't think I'm entirely straight.. - but then again I think I could be asexual because I hate the majority of people anyways, no matter what they got in their pants...

Also if I think about what I just wrote I might sound narcistic. I may or may not be. That's something strange about me actually. I manage to think I'm better than all those superficial people- but on the other hand I think I'm nothing more than worthless waste of resources. But then again- aren't we all?

Wow, that sure was depressing. Welcome to the Life of Gerard Way.

21.10- 04:56 am
Today I painted, ate and smoked.

25.10- 11:32pm
I kind of got out of a tough four-day-low this afternoon. I'm sorry if I don't write that much. Might happen if I have had a bad day. I didn't sleep yesterday so I might sleep now.

27.10 3:38am
I've been on an emotional roller coaster now. If I had to describe it I'd describe it with the metaphor of the sea between America and Asia. It's long and deep but there were some islands of "happy" or at least "depressed but not suicidal" I could save myself to - sometimes far from drowning, sometimes with water on its way to fill up my crippled smoker-lounges.
But also I guess the struggle is useless because I can feel the swimming and fighting against the whipping waves of anxiety and depression is too exhausting already.

29.10-02:45 am
I fought with my parents after hanging out with my brother a bit. I love him and I want him to know. But it's hard to do that when you don't want to be around people. We chilled in his room and talked about music, drinking beer and eating together. As I came out after couple of hours my dad gave me shit for locking myself in and my mom just watched us and cried.

They don't understand me.

Oh, God, I feel like such a white girl writing shit like this in a diary like- honestly, if it were a real book instead of daily emails by I would already have torn out the pages.