I nearly took those cyanide pills. Nearly. I don't even know if they would work, they're a few years old.

Why did I almost take the pills, you ask? Well, it's simple.

I'm sick of being pushed around. I'm tired of all the name-calling. I don't want to be hit by my boyfriend anymore. I can't stand living. I don't like all the thoughts constantly swimming through my head. Thought after thought, worry after worry, diagnosis after diagnosis.

I've always had mild insomnia, but it's gotten so much worse. I don't sleep, and when I do, its only for a few hours each night. I'm so tired. I blacked out in the printer room today, but it was only for a few seconds. 

When I was a teen, I went through a short phase where I tried to starve myself. I'm trying not to do that again, although it'd be for a different reason this time around. I don't know why I'm like this.

I don't know.

Chris keeps slapping me. I bruise like a peach, so I'm glad that any other places he hits are covered by clothes.

I think I'm in an abusive relationship. It didn't occur to me before, because one slap hardly counts as abuse. But its escalated. Sometimes he tries to get me in bed when I don't want to. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to, but just sometimes I'm not feeling it.

He's even "raped" me a couple of times. I don't know if it counts as rape if we're dating, but...

I'm a disaster, that's for sure. 

A weak, pathetic, disaster.