My Week in Hell

This week was the week I pleasantly refer to as Hell Week. I started my period on Sunday, in the middle of the nine-hundred degree heat wave, and did not conclude the bleeding from my vagina until Friday night. Usually, that thing called PMS doesn't hit me that hard, but Lord if I wasn't in the most pain I've ever felt on Monday morning. My back was killing me. My stomach cried out with the most furious voice, "GIVE ME CHOCOLATE OR GIVE ME DEATH." Normally, I don't like chocolate. I'm just not that stereotypical power-woman who screams over a tiny square of fudge in her red satin bathrobe. Sex and the City can suck it.

But it was not only the PMS taking its toll on my mood, it was the mental disorder I suspect that I've caught, Cyclothymia. It's Bipolar Disorder for wimps. But the hardest part of this suspected mental disorder is that it's that kind of disorder, where you've got it for the rest of your life, and yes, it will kill you. Not in the "Oh my god, my liver! The cyclothymia is eating my liver!" sense, in the "I'm going to kill myself because I am sad because of the goddamn cyclothymia because nobody likes me." And that is what I felt pretty much every day this week.

I hate to start this entry so darkly. Yes, hello, my name's Andi, I like cats and SUICIDE. But that's what's "going on" in my life. It's pretty funny actually, I'm becoming almost addicted to the feeling of being dead, like Harold and Maude but the real thing. But I mostly just think about it, I've only tried a few times, and only gotten close to succeeding once or twice in my whole existence. The thing is that my life is pretty damn great comparatively, but it's thumping pain when I'm thinking in terms of my well-being and happiness.

Really, if there's one way I'm most likely going to die, it's suicide. Or I'll get hit by a car, I tend to worry about that enough that God's just having a nice laugh planning for me to get mowed down by a Hummer some day crossing the street.

I like to draw.

In other news, I should give you all a back history on my life as a young American brat. My name is Andi, I'm from Utah, I hate dogs and children. I currently live in the suburbs, which is a breeding ground for both dogs and children. My favorite bands are Fall Out Boy and the Doors. My favorite writers are Pete Wentz and Jim Morrison, oddly enough, and Tom Robbins holds a quick third place. Right now, I'm reading WE by Yevgeny Zamyatin. It was a book given to me by my good Humanities teacher, and she was completely correct in giving it to me. My favorite book for a long time was Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, and recently I've been trying very hard to get into Catch 22, by Joseph Hellerman. I don't exactly get where it's trying to go so far. So lately I've been putting it aside in place of something with more of a story, which happens to be the Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman [?]. As you can tell, I'm a big reader.

I like to think that I'm a writer. I write best during school, unsurprisingly, because that's just the brand of torture I need to get me through the day. Right now, I'm on my last summer vacation before high school. It's a very frightening topic. I promised myself that I'd never say the name of the school on this blog in case they expelled me, [even though I want nothing more than that] so I'll just refer to it as Hell School for the rest of the duration.

So this will be a blog, indeed it shall be.
xoxo Andi