Thursday, July 1, 1999, 1.34

"You have no new messages."

That's what NetAddress says everytime I check my address (at least once a day), which is my anonymous address I used to contact ********. So that same sentence also appeared a few minutes ago, when once again I checked it. It hit me like a bomb --- again. But this time it was even worse, because ******** will leave the country tomorrow (which is actually today, to be precise).

Today I went to the university again, officially to check out my grades, but actually I was just hoping to see ********. But I didn't. Later today I talked to a guy who goes to the same school as she does, and he said they've been having vacation for more than a week. So it was kind of pointless to try to run in to her.

But after tomorrow, my existence will be completely pointless for the whole summer. When I went home from the university today I had a really sad feeling. That felt familiar, but still it was different this time. On the subway I was just staring ahead of me, looking at nothing, not living in the world where the other people live.

To be honest, I have no idea why I still want to see her so badly. I mean, I already know she doesn't care about me at all, and that she'd probably rather get rid of me. So why do I still want to see her? I don't know.

Maybe it's just because the world seems happier where she is. I would love to tell you where she lives so you could check it out , but that doesn't seem like the right thing to do. But if you would go there, you'd see: there are more flowers, there are more birds, the grass is greener, the sun always shines, life just seems better there. I don't come there often, but I know exactly what kind of atmosphere there is in her borough (and in a wide range around it). It won't be the same without her.

Tomorrow she's leaving.

I couldn't describe it better than the weather forecast did: "The day will start sunny, but later in the afternoon it will get more and more cloudy, which is followed by rain in the evening."

So this is life when you know it's over. When you know your most beautiful dream, your most important dream, the only dream that really matters in the end... is just a dream.




Sunday, July 4, 1999, 1.27

Today (here I go again... I mean yesterday (why isn't the border between two days just at a time when I'm asleep? that would make things a whole lot easier)) I had to work in a Chinese supermarket. I had to be there at 9 a.m. so I had to get up at 7. At first I was afraid that I would sleep right through my alarm clock (yeah right, like I cared...), but that didn't happen for the simple reason that I hardly slept that night. I've slept about 20 minutes I guess. I was feeling so sad and desperate and a bit scared again. And later a mosquito kept me awake, and besides, it was really hot last night. Well anyway, it wasn't hard to get up at 7. And I even managed to be at the bus stop in time. And moreover: the bus managed to be there in time! It's really a miracle that I even got to work in time, 'cause Connexxion (the widely appreciated (NOT) buscompany) got the widely appreciated (...) idea to change the bus schedule from one day to another without ever informing anyone. But anyway, I got there in time and I was really tired, but somehow everything went rather fine. So I even made money.

Sometimes I wonder if what I have is really a depression. All this pain I feel, is it really caused by some imbalance in my brain? Isn't it just the truth?

I was going to write so much more, but it seems like my thoughts are "stuck"... I can't write more at the moment.




Tuesday, July 6, 1999, 1.19

The world seems so hostile. Even my parents seem out to hurt me. They keep whining "don't spend so much time under the shower," "don't get up so late," "do you really have to go to bed so late every night?" etc.

Yes, I HAVE to go to bed so late every night. Because when everyone's asleep and I'm alone here in the shed, that's the only time of the day when I can be myself, cry, and talk to other depressed people. I would go insane if I couldn't do that every night. And I always try to go to bed at 2, but often I'm still crying at 2. So I try to stop, which takes some time.

And yes, I HAVE to get up so late (compared to other people). Because I usually can't sleep until 4 o'clock at night. And when I'm sleeping, at least I don't feel pain (well, sometimes I'm having a nightmare). As soon as I wake up I'm in pain, and nothing can distract my attention from it. I used to get up at 2 in the afternoon, but a few weeks ago my parents made an "agreement" with me to get up at 10. Agreement is between quotation marks because it's how they (my parents) call it. But it implies: they say "get up at 10" and I'll have to live with it. The last few days they let me sleep until 12 so I had some hope that maybe they'd let me live my own life (life?) a little, but this evening during dinner my dad said I would have to get up at 10 again from now on. And tomorrow is going to be even worse: my dad wants us (the whole family) to give the living room a big cleanup. I'll have to get up even earlier, and then my dad will yell at me the whole time 'cause I can't do anything right in his eyes.

I've considered moving out, but that would have too many disadvantages: 1) I would have to work to pay the rent, no matter how bad I would be feeling (to the exploiment agency I can at least say no if I'm feeling too bad), and 2) I wouldn't see Kobusje, the cat, anymore, and he's the only person who is around me and also knows how I feel, and can comfort me, and 3) I wouldn't have a computer anymore so I'd have to live without the internet, which would probably kill me - literally. That may sound sick and like I'm spoiled, well maybe I am, but the internet is the only way for me to be in touch with people who feel kind of similar, and cheer me up.

Yeah, luckily there are people who cheer me up. Through this way I would like to thank you all for making my life worth living a little. Jennifer, Michelle, Michael, and everyone else who signs my guestbook or sends me a supportive e-mail: thanks for being there. You make me cry happy tears for a change. I know you'll read this, and I just want you to know: you are appreciated. All of you. All day it seems like the whole world is trying to put me down, but at night when I check my e-mail and guestbook, you make me realise there's a reason for me to live. And that reason is you. I don't know how my life would be without you, and I don't want to find out.




Wednesday, July 7, 1999, 1.38

Nothing I must do, nowhere I should be, no one in my life, to answer to but me. No more candlelight, no more purpled skies, no one to be near, as my heart slowly dies. If I could hold you one more time, like in the days when you were mine, I'd look at you 'till I was blind, so you would stay. I'd say a prayer each time you smiled, greet all the moments like a child, I'd stop the world if only I could hold you one more time. I've memorized your face, I know your touch by heart. Still lost in your embrace, I dream of where you are. I dream of where you are. If I could hold you one more time, like in the days when you were mine, I'd look at you 'till I was blind, so you would stay. I'd say a prayer each time you smiled, greet all the moments like a child. I'd stop the world if only I could hold you one more time.

That's not the description of my life; those are the lyrics of a wonderful song (maybe there are a few phrases a little different than I've written). This song is played on the radio quite a lot, and a few days ago I managed to tape it. It makes me cry almost every time I listen to it. Only one strange thing: on the radio they never say what the song is called, or who sings it. It doesn't really matter to me, but I am a little curious.

Yesterday I heard it on the radio again. So I thought "maybe this time they'll mention the title and artist." So the song ended... "You're listening to Radio West".... and the next song began.

Was this song ever written? Was it ever sung by anyone? Or was it just there? Like there's water, and there are trees? Maybe it's supposed to be a mystery?

A few hours ago it was on the radio again. So I thought "maybe this time..." But no. After it ended, the next song immediately began. No one to say "and that was the wonderful song (......) by (......)."

The legend continues...




Saturday, July 10, 1999, 1.31

Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God... if I could kill myself (if I had an easy and painless way / if I had the guts) I would have done it a hundred times the last few days. I feel so desperate and hopeless. It's getting worse... everything is getting worse... they hate me... I don't know exactly who they are, but one thing's for sure: they have power, they have influence. This is serious... this has got to end soon, or else...

When I'm feeling like I am right now, I couldn't commit suicide I think. Everything seems so scary, including suicide. But when I'm feeling like I was earlier tonight, I could maybe just drink something deadly, lay down and die. Nothing mattered; nothing could make me feel something. I just sat / laid there on the couch for more than an hour. I felt nothing, I had no energy, it was like I had no will.

Tomorrow lots of relatives are coming over. I hope I can deal with it. Well, at 5 in the afternoon I have to work in Capelle aan den IJssel. On the other side of the city (near the borough where ******** lives); a drive of about an hour I think, if I can find it at my first attempt. But I guess I can, since I've already worked there a few times, although I got there by subway then while now I'm going by car (luckily).

Hmm... I'm feeling a little better now. But in a few minutes I'll have to enter the dark and lonely night again... I'd better take my walkman with me, that has helped me much a few times. But it would be so much better if there was just someone with me... a shoulder to cry on... someone who cared... but who cares? Yeah I know, surely there are people who care... but still. It's all red around my eyes, which is caused by whiping away so many tears... still no one asks if everything's alright. On one hand I'm glad, 'cause I wouldn't want everyone to interfear with my trouble, but on the other hand, I think it also indicates how little people around me care about me.

My father is constantly complaining to me. It's like I can't do anything right. If he just sees my face, he has something to complain about. Imagine how things will become if I tell my parents how I did on my last tests... I had two 4's and a 2.6 (the Dutch grade scale goes from 1 to 10; a 1 is an F(minus?); a 10 is an A+; 5.5 and higher means you passed)... the other grade I don't even know, but that doesn't matter since we had to turn in a report on something, which we didn't.

Oh, and as if things weren't going bad enough, someone screwed up my guestbook today.

In a week and a few days, my parents & brother & sister will be gone for 2 weeks... no one to stop me if I............




Tuesday, July 13, 1999, 1.31

Well, I'm feeling somewhat better now. Empty, like I deliberately don't think about certain things, but at least I don't feel so desperate.

My dad was actually nice to me today. Maybe it was because I helped him with his accountancy this morning. And because I hardly saw him. And because he didn't do much (usually when he's at home he's always building things and then everything goes wrong, which pisses him off). But at least he didn't complain about me all the time.

What a beautiful day it was today! And yesterday and the day before that, too. Yesterday it's been up to 40 degrees (104 in Fahrenheit, according to an old Censius and Fahrenheit thermometer) at some places. In most warm countries people can deal with it, but here most people can't because the air is always rather humid. So when it's 40 (104) degrees (it only gets that warm in a few places, like our terrace to the south, and some other places, but on average it's "only" 30-35 (86-plm.95)) it's terribly sultry. So you have to spray deodorant with every step you take. I like it when it's so hot, though, 'cause I have a natural aversion against cold.

I think maybe I'm gonna put some of my writings online. At first that will be some things I wrote ********. Maybe it's not the right thing to do, but then, everyone reacts to my suicidal thoughts but her (when I had contact with her, I told her a few times that I wanted to kill myself, but she always just ignored it). And when I ever write other writings (I have, but they're not in English), I'll probably put those up too.

I'll start translating right away, so maybe I have it put up next week. But I can't make any promises of course.




Thursday, July 15, 1999, 2.07

I haven't got time to write anything now, but I just wanted to say I'm done with the translating (see my previous entry). As soon as I have the time I'll make a seperate "writings-page," but until that time, you can read my first message to ******** by clicking here. (I'll also make write some sort of "disclaimer" in a while, until I've done that, please don't complain ;-)




Saturday, July 17, 1999, 1.22

It's no use. My life is meaningless. Empty. I'm thinking about going to a doctor but I don't think it will be any use. Maybe I would feel better. But my life probably wouldn't be any better. My heart would still be broke. And even if I managed to heal it, it would get broken again. And again. And again. Until it gets too much for me. Wait, isn't that what happened? Isn't that what this site is all about? Yeah I think it is. I might as well fade away now, and let people think I wasn't real - I was just their imagination. I was never here. I never existed. You're not reading this, you're just dreaming. It's time to wake up now.

But it probably won't work. I'll probably just wake up again tomorrow. And continue with what is called "my life." I wish I would wake up being, I don't know, Brad Pitt or something. (I have no idea who Brad Pitt is, but from what I hear / read about him, he seems to be a quite attractive guy (well, not for Shania Twain).) Yeah, that seems nice... wake up as some very attractive guy, knowing that what I'm going through now was just a dream, thinking "so that's what it's like to be a loser who has no idea what it's like to feel love." But then, if I were some very attractive guy who could get every girl in the world (except Shania Twain), I would probably think stupid things, like "men aren't supposed to cry" or "women are just for a (few) night(s) of pleasure and should be dumped afterwards." I would probably be the kind of guy that goes with a girl just to look cool, to impress people. Without ever loving her, or considering how she might feel, or even looking into her eyes.

No, then let me be someone like, say, Bert Konterman (soccer player of Dutch champions Feyenoord, and the Dutch national team). Having millions of fans all throughout the city, or even all over the world. And whenever I would make a mistake, Kees van Wonderen (BK and KvW are the central defenders of Feyenoord; the two of them are probably the best soccer defence in the world) would make it right. And if he couldn't do it, then Jerzy ("Jurek") Dudek (the goalkeeper) could. But then, Real Madrid would get on my nerves by constantly asking me if I would want to play for them. Yeah, like I would EVER wanna play soccer in Spain.

No, then let me just be me. At least then I know who I am, and what I feel. At least then I appreciate the good things in my life. At least I've been on both ends of the scale of happiness. At least I know I have feelings. At least I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. At least I know I have love inside of me. Now if only there'd be some girl to give it to...

Yeah, let me just be me. But without living to see 21, please.




Monday, July 19, 1999, 1.25

Tomorrow my parents, brother and sister are going on a vacation. They'll be far away in Germany for at least two weeks. That's good. Then I can cry whenever I want to. Maybe I can come to my sences a little.

And I can fill the fridge with only usefull stuff, like soda, chocolate and beer instead of things like milk, yoghurt and vegetables.

I got a letter from the university. A passage: "As we know little of you as an individual student about study-effort, motivation and other important factors that have determined your study results until now, we can't give you an individual advice. It's evident, though, that your results are disappointing to our faculty. If your results of the tests in August are also disappointing, then we request you to seriously reconsider your choice for this study."

Tests in August... yeah, the first one is at the second of August. I haven't studied a single minute.

I could write more, but I think I'm going to translate some of my writings to ******** now. Or maybe I'm gonna look for some clinic-thing to go to.




Thursday, July 22, 1999, 1.47

It's good to be alone. I'm so glad that I can cry whenever I need to -- which is often. And when I'm going crazy at night, I can just turn on the radio.

I've been having severe mood swings lately. Like last night. I was feeling so desperate, so scared. I was a bit afraid that I would kill myself soon, even though I didn't want to do that. (Good thing that I haven't got enough energy to do it.) I was crying all the time, and I think I was even screaming (not too loud though, besides, I live in a detached house, so no one could hear me). And then suddenly it became quiet and peaceful in my head. So I would be able to get some sleep, if it weren't for all those mosquitos. They kept me awake until 7 o'clock. Then I finally felt asleep. I woke up at 2.15 in the afternoon, and I was going back to sleep again but then suddenly I remembered that I had an appointment at the bank at 3 o'clock.

And today it was the exact opposite. I was feeling good. I even went to the supermarket. Monday and Tuesday I couldn't; I was feeling too depressed for that. I couldn't face people then. But today I could. And I kept feeling good. This evening there was a show about the European Championship (soccer, for those of you who were still wondering) of 1988 -- we (the Netherlands) won that tournament. They showed all those matches again and it was great. I was 8 and 9 years old at the time (my birthday was during the tournament) and I don't remember much of it, but I do know that we were at my aunt & uncle's the day of the final. I'll never forget when we drove home that night. People were standing along the road, and on fly-overs... everyone was waving and cheering. And everyone was dressed in orange -- the color of the Dutch team. But I'm straying from the subject now. So anyway, I was feeling pretty good while watching that program, when suddenly I got all sad. I started crying and the feeling of despair came back again. It was terrible.

As for now... I'm a little in between. It could go either way in a few minutes, when I'll be going to bed.

And on average, I'm not doing well. I'm feeling sad and listless most of the time. The only reason why I'm still eating things is that it's a habit; because I'm used to eating. Nothing tastes good. I've been eating the same stuff for three days in a row, and I don't care at all. I'm never really hungry; eating is just like breathing (but why am I still breathing anyway?).

I know I should really seek help now. But I still don't have the guts. I don't know why, but I just don't dare to go to a doctor. A few minutes ago I checked out the site of the RIAGG (=Regionale Instelling voor Ambulante Geestelijke Gezondheidszorg = Regional Institution for Ambulant Psychiatrical Healthcare). But somehow I'm too afraid to give them a call.

I know I'll have to give them a call soon. Because this is going wrong. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'll do something to myself while I don't even want to. I remember what I read on another page a few months ago: "Suicide isn't something that you choose to do; it's something that happens to you." Well I guess suicide can be something you choose to do, but not for me. But it can happen to me.




Wednesday, July 28, 1999, 1.45

Before my family went on a vacation, I figured I could work on my page a lot 'cause after all I'm home alone. But this is how my days go by now.

11.21 -- I get out of bed to feed the cat, who by the way is hardly ever home at that time.

11.25 -- I go back to bed again.

15.00 -- I wake up and get out of bed as soon as I can (which sometimes is at 15.30). Then I go brush my teeth, shave, take a shower and get dressed.

16.00 -- Sometimes I eat a sandwich. I also listen to the radio. Usually I'm too tired to stand up and do something useful. But after a while I realise that I have things to do, so then I do the laundry, go to the supermarket, feed the animals, set up the VCR to tape some tv programs, and whatever else I gotta do. Usually that takes until 6 o'clock.

18.00 -- I start making dinner, which means I get something out of the freezer and defrost it. And if I still have time, I prepare the espresso machine.

18.20 -- I eat my dinner while watching Boy Meets World. These are all old episode which I've already seen at least once. And another thing: why do so many comedies turn into drama series? Not only Boy Meets World, but also Roseanne, Saved By The Bell (which by the way is one big Postbus 51-show, which means it's some kind of commercial saying "Don't smoke, don't drink alcohol, don't do drugs (by the way, tobacco (nicotin) and alcohol are both drugs), don't cheat during a test, go vote, etc.), Growing Pains, California Dreams, and I'm sure I've left out a few.

18.45 -- I've finished dinner, and I go clean up the horrendous mess I've made during the day (which, by the way, isn't half as bad as the mess my 12-year old sister makes in 5 minutes). Then I usually listen to the radio, lay down, cry or feel nothing, and do stuff on my computer (like playing this great soccer game FIFA 99, or send e-mails).

20.00 -- I watch all the tv shows I have taped earlier, which are The Dukes Of Hazzard (old episodes which I've all seen before, but it never gets boring), Married With Children (old episodes which I've all seen at least twice before, but they never bore either, besides, at least it doesn't turn into a drama serie), Hollyoaks, Family Matters, and sometimes Beverly Hills 90210 or Party of Five (PoF is only on Mondays; the rest of the shows are all daily during weekdays).

23.30 -- I go for a ride on my bike.

00.30 -- I come home and feed some animals.

00.45 -- I go to the shed and start internetting (I don't know which verb to use there). And sometimes I work on my page. But the general thing is: I let out my emotions (if I can).

Somewhere between 2.15 and 3.00 -- I go to bed. I cry, listen to the radio, try to sleep, cry again, turn on the radio again, try to sleep, cry, etc.

Somewhere between 4.30 and 7.30 -- I fall asleep.

11.21 -- The circle is round.




Friday, July 30, 1999, 3.02

Yeah I know, it's a little late to still be working on my page. But the last week I haven't been able to sleep before 4.30 or so, so I figured I'd just as well stay up a little later. After all, the times that I'm lieing in my bed without getting any sleep, are probably the worst episodes of my depression.

I was this close to calling the Riagg yesterday, or the day before. But first I wanted to make sure that I could be treated without my parents knowing about it. So I sent them an e-mail (too bad you can't make an appointment by e-mail. If that would be possible, maybe I'd done it weeks ago). This "morning" (which was actually 16.30, but it felt like morning) I checked my mailbox, and they had replied. It's indeed possible to go there without anyone finding out. That was the good news. The bad news was, that they said I'd better see my family doctor first. But I can't! I don't know exactly why, but I'd just feel much more comfortable talking to a professional I've never met before. So when I read their message, I was devestated. I went to the living room, dropped myself on the floor and kept lieing (lying? laying?) there for a while, crying my heart out... I was thinking "my last spark of hope is gone... this is it; my life is over... there's no place for me... there's no one to help me..."

I mailed them back, asking if maybe I could be treated there without going to my family doctor first. I think that it could be possible, although it's not the usual process. But after all, if I'd go to my family doctor, there would be a big chance that he'd send me to the Riagg. So now I can only hope for the best... I told them it was my last hope, and actually it felt like that. And it still feels like that, although maybe one day I could get the courage to go to the doctor, or tell my mom.

I felt so devestated... I felt só close to being "rescued." And then when I read that e-mail it felt like all my newly-created hope was flushed down the drain.

It wouldn't be fair if I gave up the fight now, after all the things that people have done for me... I mean, I've received so many supportive e-mails 'n' stuff, and some people even begged me to get help (u know who u r...)... it wouldn't be very nice of me if I would bail on you now.