Depressed enough to actually say so...

As a girl, you get told from the time that you grow hips that knowing you're depressed is the best cure for depression, but I think they mean in the long term. Knowing I'm irrationally unhappy to the point of a fluttering in my chest and a random urge to curl up and cry doesn't actually make it go away omgrighnaow.

Zy, Ruby and "the gang" just left to have dinner at Three Foods; a semi-fancy yuppy restaurant in Arcata and although I was invited I opted not to go at the last second. I wanted to go. The food is awesome, and tonight it's free thanks to some promotion they're holding... which is awesome because I'm broke - so broke in fact, that I spent my last $5 on food at school and cringed at the $3 ATM Fee (Umpqua Bank rapes college students) only to find out a few hours later that I really... really... should have spent that $8 I didn't have on femine hygene products, because I'm all out here at home.

I actually ended up needing to leave school early because my cramps were making me feel like my back was horribly horribly out. 

So I had just realized that my one and only .25 pad I'd gotten at school had reached it's gtfo level and that I smelled icky when I heard "Oh crap... it's [our reservation] in 4 minuets! Time to go!"

For some reason... probably the fact that I've been leaning on her so heavily lately... I couldn't work up the guts to ask Ruby if I could have some fresh girly stuff from her stash, so instead I mumbled timmidly that I didn't think I wanted to go -  because I felt gross - and putting it off to just not feeling "pretty". Everyone was supportive in saying I looked fine, but that wasn't really the problem and I just sat there staring at my shoes and wishing I had enough time to at least take a shower and scrounge for a tampon somewhere in my room. 

I ended up not going after all and when everyone left I felt suddenly horribly lonley, like I was really missing out on what would probably be an awesome evening... and I so rarely get to interact with Marsala or Sicilly. Marsala probably thinks there's something odd with me now. I still don't have what I need to even feel clean. 

I feel so disgusting and unhappy, and knowing it isn't really helping at all.