3-2-2001 |

I told him it was anxiety, but it's really rage. And he prescribed Xanax. And my heart started to beat faster as I held the triplicate script in my hand. 30 Xanax. Am I wrong for not telling my new MD about my past 'trouble' with Xanax, Valium and the like? I almost didn't go to the pharmacy. But I did. And I only took 2 pills yesterday and 1 a few minutes ago. You need to take more than 1 at a time for a euphoric high. I'm not doing that. I just don't want to be pissed off. And I don't want to yell and scream at anyone. And yet I'm sick of being "sweet" and taking all this bullshit. Sick of sitting by and letting people walk all over me. Because when the rage takes over you wouldn't recognize me. I can be cruel. I can make you hate me. Maybe I want you to hate me.

And another thing - I am so fucking sick of the 'hate mail' I receive regarding Diary Survivor. Whine. Be critical. Complain. I really don't care. I'm not apologizing anymore. I enjoy the contest, but I'm realizing that it's too much for me to handle alone. I don't think there will be another one. Then you can send hate-mail to someone else.

I'm tired. And I'm sick of being diagnosed and pitied. I'm sick of pretending there's nothing wrong. And I'm sick of not only being a mom to my siblings but also to my mother. "We'd be lost without you." "We need you." "...But you must do as we say or you're on your ass in the street." Just leave me alone.