Thanks for stating the obvious, Sherlock

So, in case you haven't noticed, I haven't posted in a very long time. The whole "write a book through the blog" idea sorta stalled, mainly because to get feedback I had to give away the ending, which led me to write non-continuous chapters. I'll post everything I wrote sometime later, because eventually I would like to actually finish one damn book. The other reason I haven't really been on here lately (aside from being busy) is that I just haven't cared recently. I haven't needed to outlet anything, so I haven't written anything.

I don't give two shits anymore. I hate feeling that way. I don't know how I feel. I know I care deeply. I am disappointed, I am unsure, I don't know what I want. Today I really just needed someone to talk to, but everyone I went to decided I was not important. I gave people a chance, I listened, but when I need someone to talk to, no one wants to. So I'm back to writing here. Not that I care if anyone reads this, but because you, my stranger, took the time to read it. And the fact that you're still reading means you care, even if it's just a little bit. I thank you for that, I need it.

Back to my original thought idea, today I felt extremely weird. I thought about things, and I didn't understand what I was thinking. I don't know what's going on, and I don't like the feeling. The only conclusion I came to was that maybe I was just fucking sick of it and didn't care anymore, but I know that's not true. In Biology I couldn't handle it anymore, so I told Heather about a small fraction of the shit that is my fucked-up existence. She said something very interesting. When I told her (vaguely) that 'people' were bothering me, and I wasn't sure how I felt, she told me that I shouldn't let people bother me. I had never thought of it that way. It made me think that it might be part of the odd feeling; the fact that I'm so used to being bothered by people, that when I stop caring for just a little it feels very alien.

I don't know what my problem is, but there's no escape. I go to a psychiatrist tomorrow for depression. I still don't think I'm depressed, but it's hard to argue with how I come off. There are so many things I could fix, but nothing I could make more perfect. I am deeply, deeply upset. "I just wanted to hold you in my arms" - Muse. I have decided (after much reading) that I have a new label for myself:

Cameron - A probable victim of either the Nirvana Fallacy, depression, or both; although I'd hate to admit to any of them.
Nec Spe, Nec Metu