Cathartic Phone Call 9/6/2001
I called my mother today. I meant to keep the conversation on plane tickets. Originally I wasn't going to go home until October to get my winter stuff, but now I'm thinking of going home in later September because it's already starting to get a little cold. My mother said that I still didn't sound well and I started to cry. I really tried not to. I told her what was going on and she was totally sympathetic. She said the first few weeks away are the worst. It's not the homesickness that's killing me though; its the fact that no one likes me. My mother told me to come home for four days because "I would feel totally refreshed." As much as I want to come home, I don't. I have to say good-bye again and return here to this lonely place.
I feel ugly and unlikable. I told my mother that I'm not a likable person and she totally denied it. She basically named every good quality she could think of and pinned it to me. The thing is that she's my mother. She sees me through different eyes than everyone else does. Dammit, now I'm crying again.
I'm in the computer cluster of my residence hall. It's dead quiet and no one bothers you. I have more privacy to cry or to just be quasi alone without worrying about Linda walking in on me. She walked in on me while I was crying on the phone to my mother. I think she's irritated with me. I usually don't cry in front of her. I don't complain in front of her. I'm very happy, and bubbly and optimistic. Not that that's what I'm usually feeling, but it's a front that I need to put on for everyone else. So from September 27th to the 30th I get to have a reprieve.
I told my mother a little of what I'm feeling. I didn't tell her, or anyone about the suicide attempt. Except that is, for the Internet world...but almost no-one knows who Artist is, so it really doesn't matter. I e-mailed her a letter. It's easier for me to talk to her through e-mail than in person. I'm more understandable when I write...When I talk and cry at the same time, which is often the case when I'm on the phone with my mother, things get a little confusing.
I think I may post the letter on one of my entries. Then maybe some of you will understand that I'm not just some rich crybaby who wants to kill herself just because she hasn't made friends in the first two weeks of school. It's more than that. I just feel that writing sometimes minimizes the size of a situation.
Becca is coming tomorrow. She wants to get drunk and go party...Her remedy for all of my problems...she told me to invite some friends to come out with us. Another thing Becca doesn't understand...I don't have any. She's always been the type of person to be surrounded by people. She doesn't know what it feels like to be totally and completely alone. I'm glad I'll get to see Rebecca, but on the other hand, she's a constant reminder of the type of person I am. She's popular and lovable, and I'm just...not. However, she is bringing relatively large amounts of alcohol with her which may prove to be useful...
For those of you new to my diary, I often put random phobias in my diary, just to make it interesting. I haven't done them in awhile though.
Phobia of the Day: Mnemophobia- Fear of memories
Until my next ramble
Artist
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