It's rather depressing . . .

Apparently (I haven't been outside since 8:30 this morning) there are t-shirts hung up outside that were made to tell the stories of those who have been raped. Apparently there are a lot of them. While trying (and failing) to get to sleep tonight, I realized something horrible.

I know, other than myself, seven women who have been sexually assaulted and/or abused.

That's only the ones that I know have been, the ones that that have told me. And then there's me; that's eight. There is something wrong in a country where that happens. There's something wrong in a world where that happens.

Other than that, I'm getting depressed again and I think I'm ill. Hopefully the depression will go away, hopefully it's only because I'm ill. I really don't want to try and kill myself again. I might do something more likely to succeed than attempting to smother myself. I might actually succeed. I mean, hitting a fatal doseage or combination of medications can't be that hard. I really should tell Mab and the SAs that I'm sometimes suicidal, maybe my roommates, too. Put myself on a sort of suicide watch, just in case.

I'm going to the health center on Friday morning to see about getting myself patched up. I need to set an appointment with UCS, too. There are some other things I need to do--get down to the registar's office, reschedule my appointment with my academic councelor, talk to Professor Prussener--but those two are the most important. If I can get myself well and happy again, than the others will be easier.

I'm going to try to get to sleep again. I need it. I'm exhausted. But I can't quite catch it.