This is what goes on inside a psychology student's mind when you ask to be analyzed.
Tuesday, 04/15/03 - 2:08 pm.

I finally talked to Cel last night. Her computer is back up and running, and she's coming over tomorrow to watch The Beatles concert on TV with me. And I'm going to her place on thursday.

Guess what? I was wrong! I was so wrong. I can't rebuild the friendship. At least not now. I logged on last night, and I talked to D, and...well, it was a common conversation. No sign of anything deep. I don't know why his nickname, "blondes wanted", upset me so much. Christ, it's not like he's cheating on me. CHRIST! it's not like he was serious (and even if he was, CHRIST! it's none of my bussiness).

I don't know how to put this....it's what I said yesterday: we all know what happens when I try to give it a shot. Things get worse (he's the same, nothing changes, and that's what get things worse) and I end up bitching and crying and attempting-to-attempt suicide, saying I shouldn't have given it a shot.

Why, yes. I was wrong when I said he could have a little notion of how much he hurt me. He's alright. He has no regrets. I said to myself that I'm gonna stop trying to "rebuild the friendship". It's no use, I am not ready, I suck.

But this morning I took it lighter. I don't know why I was kind of happy, but I was. I was smiling. I was in the mood for a walk with Frog, and so I took her out. I practiced piano and studied a bit for my midterm next tuesday. I found myself singing Beatles song in the shower, as a completely uncoscious act. It's like I come back to reality in the middle of the chorus and I go: "have I been singing the entire song?". I even went shopping, and bought nice clothes at some kind of flea-market mall. I bought cheap clothes, and they are so very comfortable. I've found out that the more expensive the clothes, the less comfortable they are for me. It's not guilt over the money, it's just that it seems that the more prestigious the designer, the less of the style I want I get.

But anyway, all that good mood may be just one of those self-defense mechanisms that Freud mentioned. I think it's repression. But that's alright. I've had a good day thanks to it.

Speaking of Freud, let me give YOU a little advice. Or ask you a favor, if you will.

When someone tells you "oh, I am a psychologist" or "I'm majoring in psychology", don't you never, NEVER, go: "oh, really? analyze me, please", or anything to that effect, OK?!

You see, as I made the huge mistake of logging on last night, not only D was on, but Norman, too. Now, I love the guy and everything, he's great and everything, but CHRIST! he's such a self-centered human being at times.

He says: "Damn, you know...analyze me, please. I have mood swings. But like, sudden mood swings. I get all lame and rude. You know I'm the party kind of guy, but now I don't even laugh at good jokes" - blah, blah, blah. I ask him if he'll pay cash or credit. I tell him I'll prescribe him two aspirins and come back to see me next week, that it's probably the pressure and his enviroment. I did what I could to explain it, not wanting to.

Because you know what? I've been studying psychology for a month. A MONTH. I haven't graduated, I'm not on my 3rd year, it's not 6 months. IT'S A MONTH! And it's not my duty to cure my egocentric friends' psychosomatic states of mind. Mood swings, WE ALL HAVE MOOD SWINGS, DON'T WE ALL?

Christ, their mood becomes a little rotten and suddenly they think they need psychotherapy and medication (psychologists DO NOT prescribe medication, psychiatrists DO), and they call themselves "psychos". What the hell do they know about what a REAL mental disease is? I don't, and certainly neither do they.

It DID piss me off. You're a psychologist (hell, I'm not even a psychologist yet) and they label you as the person who will say: "oh, yeah, you have this and you should do this to cure it". It's not that way.

Besides, I was feeling bad enough to try to find the explanation to Norman's mood swings. D has just logged out, and I'd discovered what a mistake *I* am for being so positive about our relationship. You know what I want to do? I want to tell him that I hate him and that I will never forgive him, and that I don't care if he thinks he did no harm to me, because he DID, and I have the scars and keloids to prove it (because a shattered heart is something you cannot phisically show, you realize).

So anyway, I was hating myself, wanting to cry, hating him and regretting having him in my life, and Norman comes and says: "oh, I have mood swings". "oh, I'm so weird". "Oh, I am this and I am that". "Oh, I want to get away from here" (something I deeply hate, is when people have something that's bothering them and act like they're so unique for feeling that way, when in reality, I am feeling that way, too...but oh, no, I'm a psychologist, I don't have feelings of my own). "Oh, I cut my nails today" (that's got to be one of the dumbest happenings I've ever been told....gee, thanks for sharing). "Oh, I am emotionally tired"....

Well, I am emotionally tired of you and of all my stupid little self-centered friends.

Like I predicted, I attempted to attempt suicide last night. But I failed when I said it'd be over D. It wasn't JUST over D, I wanted to state my own pain, I wanted to get rid of my past, of all the memories of my stupid friends, D, Veronica, Carmen, Norman, the guy (I think this is the top 5 MOST annoying people in my life - not that I don't love them, but I can't stand them at times, because they hurt me really bad).

It's because I've found myself surrounded by people like Norman that I've always feel this ignored, worthless little freak. It's not that I want the conversations to be all about ME, but it annoys me that all their conversations have to be all about THEM. Yes, they ask you "how are you", but as soon as you say "fine" they start: "oh, I am this and that because this happened and I am SO this and blah, blah, blah, what do you think?".

It's like the Steven Tyler saying: enough about me, let's talk about you: what do YOU think of ME?

And so, I was so pissed off, I cut my wrists. Pain has never been sweeter. Indeed, the wrist is the best place to cut. They didn't bleed, because my razor is sharpless now (talk about safety), but the slashes are there.

They make me feel better, thanks a lot.

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