2001-10-12 I went to see Bridget Jones. And I came home thinking that the raindrops felt like tears on my face, and that it would be better if I was dead, and that I'll tell the pdoc I'll see next Thursday that I want to kill myself. It wasn't a good movie. Not for me anyhow. It was funny sometimes. And it was naivistic and stupid and probably only people who are over their thirties and have a husband and kids enjoy watching it. Why did I hate it? Because nothing like that ever happens in real life, and if it does, it just doesn't make you laugh. It isn't funny. It isn't real, either. Nothing in movies is. And perhaps that's what I hated about it. I hate movies, nowadays. I want them to be absurd and truly unreal to be able to enjoy them. Anything close to reality isn't what I want to see. Stories about 'real' life. Oh, I hate it. I thought that I'd cut myself, but there aren't any places left for cutting in my left arm. And somehow, I just don't want to touch any other place. I have minor scars in my right arm, but I never liked cutting it. It isn't the same. Therefore, I do not cut. And I feel like a normal person, despite the panic attack I got in the movies. Tomorrow I'm going to K. where I'll help my parenst get the boat up from the water. The sea will be covered by ice in a few months. I love the way the sea freezes up. And the river, here, too. I'm waiting for the winter. Last winter I spent locked up, and I don't know what I'll do this winter. I suppose I'll be allright. Somehow. Some day. I'm freezing, now. It'll never be colder than this. |
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