Today . . .

I have a minute amount of glass in my pinky finger. Too small for me to get out, so hopefully it will go away on its own.

I spent most of today walking. I consumed a lot of water, a cup of tea, and a banana. I cleared up the carnage. I walked more. Trish yelled at me and made me feel even worse. Trish isn't even one of my workers, she's one of Sam's, and I don't think she had the right to swear at me, no matter what happened.

The landlord isn't happy. Trish said "we're getting rid of you", and later Sam said everybody wants me out. So I've e-mailed Mum to ask her and Dad to co-ordinate to get my shit back into storage and my cat to Dad's place. Where am I going? To be completely honest, I have no idea, although I've narrowed it down: residential (shared) care, hospital, the mason clinic, or the streets. Yup, looking good. But basically I think pretty much everybody wants me out of here.

It might be useful to add that I feel disgusting. Absolutely horrible. Leisa told me off yesterday for putting a sign on my door (it said "I'm already disturbed") and for shutting myself in my room all weekend because Sam got really upset about it. I mean, nevermind that I needed space and had no energy, just, Sam got upset so get rid of the sign.

And today the only interaction I've had with mental health is Trish yelling at me. Probably because I've been out all day. I feel pretty paranoid. I keep thinking people are going to come to take me away. I went to the police station and asked if they had a warrant for me (under mental health) and they said no, nothing was showing, but I still feel paranoid as fuck.

The people who've been nicest to me are, by rights, the people who should have been the most pissed off - the fire service and the police. There was a lady from the fire service who was really nice to me, and a police-lady was also really nice to me. Everybody else . . . well, we won't go there until I've actually seen everybody else.

And it seems that people are interpreting it as me just wanting to do something dangerous and risky. Nevermind that I took precautions (and didn't genuinely expect the fire to get hot enough to melt the bin, that was honestly a bit of a surprise), or that I've been feeling awful since Friday. That's not part of it. I don't know. I feel horrible. It would have been easier if they'd just arrested me yesterday.

I feel very alone. I mean . . . you spend a weekend in your bedroom, a whole day walking around, light a fire, spend another day walking around - clearly I'm in some sort of crisis, but all that's happened is Trish yelled at me. No assessment, nothing, just . . . angry people.

I feel like I'm staring into oblivion and I wish it would just swallow me up so that I don't have to think any more, or feel any more, or worry about what I don't feel any more. I feel like there's no light at the end of the tunnel, like there's no end to the tunnel at all. Like I'm going to spend the rest of my life doing things because I think doing them will make me feel better, and then living with the fact that it didn't.

I feel actively suicidal but I don't want to put the effort in, I'm exhausted. I feel like I've used myself up, I don't have the will to live, I don't have the will to kill myself either, despite being well aware that a lot would be simpler for a large number of people if I were to die.

In fact, over the last 24 hours it's become clear to me that some people who work in mental health actually want me dead so they don't have to deal with me.

At least I know if I walk on the motorway again I'll get preventive detention, hopefully jail time. So maybe once all my stuff's been moved out of here . . . I'll do that.

There's nothing left.