My precious Chloe died two weeks ago today, and was finally buried two days ago, when temperatures warmed up just enough to thaw the ground. It feels like forever that she's been gone. I'm still crying over it and feel absolutely pathetic; in fact, I'm crying now as I type this. I have a headache from it. I just wish that I could pick her up, hold and cuddle her again, feel her soft fur, listen to her gentle purrs . . . I really need that. I hate to think of her in the ground now, rotting, and how in time, the worms will eat her body away until there's nothing except bones. I don't want that for my precious kitty, but there was really nothing else we could have done with her. The process of cremation is also horrific, and would have been too much money for my parents to spare, anyway.

My depression has gotten so much worse, and in such a brief amount of time, that it honestly scares me. I've been keeping up with my hygiene less and less often. I am isolating myself, because I simply don't have it in me to interact; I have no patience anymore for small talk or fake niceties. Yet I don't want to say how I'm feeling, either. No one wants to hear about it. No one has even caught on to how badly I'm doing, though it should be pretty obvious, they're just not paying attention. They don't care. As far as they're concerned, I am a big girl now and can look after my own feelings. They have their own, much more important things to care about, like tax returns, and new appliances, and missing friends, and pregnancy, and stress at work, and, and, and . . .

A few things about this most recent episode are starting to worry me. For the past several days I've been having urges to self-harm again, and they continue to grow. Somehow I've not acted on them (yet) but it feels like I will soon. I'm running out of healthy and effective ways to cope. I'm also much angrier and less empathetic.