Just woke up from a late morning nap to remember jars of pickles I made laying around, mouldy, and people I care about (like Rae) being quite thoughtless of my friendship. One boy tried to kiss me, drunk, ignoring the other people around. Near the end I was at Marilyn Manson's place and it had that huge as heck and tiny as heck thing going on. He and I were friends - he was a fellow sufferer of fibromyalgia and part of my support system. A hanger on tried to manipulate me and I was walking home with the dogs when I had to lay under leaves to hide myself because I was afraid of them raping (and maybe killing) me on this dark stretch of hilly, heavily forested, road. I pushed a person who stopped and was threatening, but not the same person, off with a heavy stick I found near where I was lying. I woke up feeling still depressed and at a loss. My next three weeks were fully planned - and now not only are they empty, they look like a visible negation of my right to live in a healthy manner with my pain because of my truthfulness about my depression. This just...I can't even...I'm just so sorry. I feel as though I can't trust any more.