yesterday in therapy i told Amy that i can't do it anymore. that it may be my decision to get better but i'm to lazy and depressed and tired to do anything. she said that i'm wrong, i can do it, it's a process. a long, painful process. she must have some kind of faith in me and i don't know where it comes from. and i don't know what she's basing it on. i haven't accomplished anything, anything at all in years. i know i can't do it.

she says that i'm battling with myself. but i don't think i have an evil part of myself. i just hate the whole thing. i'm set up for failure. i had a butchered childhood, i'm severely depressed, i've become a monster. i can't rise above this. i know i can't. death just seems like more and more the answer every day.

i could tell my therapist was close. close to sending me back to the hospital. the way she was talking; gauging my reactions, measuring my words. when i spoke about hopelessness and the end, i could tell she was tempted to send me back to Pinefield Institution. or maybe a different place this time. i'm not sure if i can handle this school thing. and i don't know what that means... yet. i'm not threatening. i'm just thinking.

it all seems so tiring... stupid, worthless... i don't know what to do.

but my therapist told me what to do. do one thing, per day, that will give you a sense of accomplishment and make you feel better about yourself.

i don't know. this is all too much.