The problem is

Largely, that I woke up this morning. That I got out of bed this morning. That I got dressed this morning. That I made breakfast and had roaccutane this morning. That I went to school this morning and left at some point today. That I came home and studied [but never for long enough] today. That I'm now sitting here writing this blog because I'm that unhappy.

And I still don't know what to say. Because the words to discuss my life have continued to elude me in the most frustrating of manners. I want to talk, I do. But I cannot. It's almost like this deep hurt has paralysed me, in many respects. And I'm out of ideas, I'm out of solutions. I've actually come up with nothing. I feel like I'm done. I've been well and truly floored and that's all there is to it.

And I swear to God if one person even tries to pull any kind of roaccutane blaming line on me, I will personally see to it that their head is removed. You think that I don't realise. That I don't know what's happening. That I can't see it happening. That it doesn't upset me. That it doesn't make me mad while I sit here in pain, aching muscles, damaged limbs, completely exhausted. You think that I'm not aware of any of this, that I'm lost in the depression haze!? Well you are wrong. Because I do see it. I see it every waking second of every waking day. I know what its doing, what its done. I know what it will keep doing. I know that it may leave me with problems that I will never be able to fix. But it has thus far, more than two months in, given me absolutely no indication that it will do anything more than what its done up until this point. And you know what, I didn't get this far, to see some progress - despite everything this crazy drug has thrown at me - to pull the plug. Self esteem is a big problem for me and for many other people, whether anyone is prepared to acknowledge that or not. And I tried to beat the acne with every other imaginable treatment and it simply did not abate. Not even one little bit. And it brought me down. People bullied me endlessly. For seven fucking years. I tried to avoid roaccutane. I really did, but it became inevitable. And the sooner everyone gets that, the better.

Yes, I want to cry a lot. Yes, I want to rip the heads off a lot of people. Yes, I'm drowning in my school work. Yes, I hate my job. Yes, I'm ridiculously tired given the amount of sleep I get. But I'm going to say this definitively, and you are all going to hear me. I AM NOT GOING TO STOP. Pending some unforeseen circumstance, I will be seeing this course out. Nothing has ever come easy to me, that's the reality of the situation. We were all deluded if we thought my roaccutane course would be any different. Deluded indeed. This is the last time I will be justifying my decision to take on roaccutane to any one of the multitude of people who continue to express their distaste at my decision. My life, my body, my call.

Get over it. Or lose your head. The choice is yours. The above indicates that I have heard your calls - again and again and again - and have taken on board everything that anyone has said and I'm doing the best I can. So BITE ME for wanting nice skin like most of the fucking population. That is all.

I didn't mean for that to turn into a three paragraph speech denouncing everyone who has expressed concern but shit, I get it! Anyway.

I'm really just angry with life. And I'm somehow managing to take it out on people who are really not to blame. People I like too. This is probably because life, as a concept, is intangible. I'm also wound up really tight, due to the stresses caused by all aspects of my life - job included. So I'm prone to snapping, and for little or no reason at that. When you're hurt, you're hurt I guess. I mean, think about it this way: when your shoulders, knees and ankles ache for most, if not all of, the day you're going to be grumpy. And then you've got this annoying rash. And then you just can't manage to sleep enough -- and not for a lack of trying. And then your boss still hasn't mentioned that he's moving out of the city in June, you had to hear it from other people. And your friends annoy you for no reason at all because you're mad about all these other things. And then you decide to sit on your own to avoid any permanent severing of friendships. But this makes you feel worse because you've isolated yourself. And then you come home and you're like OMFG FAMILY GRR. So you sit in your room all night, or in a room separate to everyone else. So you're still feeling isolated. And you're even more grumpy. And as if you aren't struggling enough troll school turns up all like HERE'S A MILLION THINGS YOU SHOULD BE TONIGHT AND FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR, and you pretty much just want to bang your head against a wall continuously until you knock yourself out.

You know stuff has gotten bad when you hate your job, by the way. I know a lot of people aren't huge fans of their jobs, but I adored mine. I even pretty much ran the place over summer. But lately, I'm having a hard time convincing myself to go -- even though I've got limited time left. It's all a bit much really. I can barely find the time to deal with all my school work without paralysing myself, let alone process all this emotion and problems and circumstances, and well, reality.

It's cruel, and unfortunately for me, is fast becoming uncontrollable. It either comes out as anger/rage or tears. So, isolation is my extreme emotion control, except that I know continued isolation will prove detrimental in the long run. And then of course, by not allowing all this emotion to leave its packed away, where it will inevitably burst free. Today I had the overwhelming urge to cut, and I risked being caught to do so. I had to do it. And I'm not even ashamed of myself. Not at all. Pretty disturbing, isn't it. And I want to do it again.

I said I didn't have the words, but I got angry again and I found them. At least there's some order and sense in this post. At least I can say I'm avoiding the roaccutane/depression cloud for the time being.

- Sky