Eleven

Dad and I had a talk yesterday. He thinks I might be depressed. Not suicidal depressed, but just apathetic, don't like anything, and don't care at all depressed. Which I can't exactly argue with. Ever since that accident, I've felt so lethargic and just wanted to avoid everyone and everything. Just kinda going through the motions ya know? Dad set up an appointment for me with some doctor named Bill Muze. I think that's his name anyway. But apparently there are some real crazies there. There's a rumor around the building that the woman that died in apartment 783 was killed by someone else in this building over an appointment with this guy. I don't know if I belong to that group of crazy, but therapy doesn't sound like a terrible idea. I mean, it'd be nice to have someone to talk to about stuff going on in life but I don't know how important it actually is. Especially for the $$$ it'd cost. Maybe I'll just try it out and see how it goes.

Except, maybe, if that story is true, about somebody killing for an appointment with Dr. Muze, then it's not worth it. I mean, I can deal with it. Nothing is really happening to me anyway. Other people need therapy more than I do. I just have little things that are annoying and build up sometimes, but everyone deals with that right.

I think I need a hobby. Something I can spend time doing. Like a collection. Or music. Or art. Or something. Anything. Maybe that's what was wrong with that guy too. He needed something to do, so he killed someone. It at least shows some passion about something. Especially with a knife, that's close contact. I'm worried I won't be able to find anything I love doing. Mom and Dad are unhelpful. I guess I could ask Edith, but I don't know how much she could actually help me.

I guess I just have to trust myself. I've been so self-doubtful that I really just need to keep my head up, stay optimistic, and push through it. Whatever "it" is. Haven't quite figured that one out either. But at least the advice is applicable in any situation. I'll figure it out. Maybe. Even if I don't, that's probably okay too.

Ten

Back from the “resort”. It turned out better than I thought. Spartacus turned out to be not so bad. He, for the most part, just kept dad busy and out of my hair. Can’t complain. Edith and I slept the whole car ride home. When we finally got home, it was dark out. And surprisingly cold. 43 degrees in May. Crazy. Dad left the car silently and left me to wake Edith and get her upstairs. God what time is it? It feels really late. I do not remember the trip there being that long…whatever.

            I just gotta get to bed. Once I'm there though, I can't seem to fall asleep. Tried counting sheep. Got boring. Why can't I sleep? I feel so tired physically, just not mentally. Usually it's cause I'm anxious or stressed, but I can't put my finger on what. Maybe it's just the school year ending or me worried about this summer or something. I have no direction, no clue what to do, and I feel like I need to figure it out soon. But maybe not. I still have time. Right? 

I get out of bed and head to our small kitchen. I'm not hungry. Just distracted. And bored? Either way I want some food. Wait...is this emotional eating? Should I not be doing this? Maybe but nah...there's chocolate ice cream in the freezer. I scoop some into a mug when I hear dad. He's just grumbling in his sleep. I wonder if mom is home or if she's working the night shift tonight. I guess I'll find out in the morning. For now I'll go back to bed and try to get some shut eye.