these are common subjects for me these days

Confusion on confusion. He wants me but will not have me. I ask for directness and he says, "I like you and I'm trying to be careful, alright?" Why didn't he just say that in the first place?
Last night I found my meditation in the bottom of my claw-foot bathtub. During the day, when I am sad, I think about the coming shower and the peace I find with the rising water. I finally understand trance music. I almost understand addiction.
How can I give this up? Can I make it healthy, instead of the tiny thing I keep around to justify how dead I feel? When I walk alone at night, I keep my fear at bay by thinking, "I'm suicidal. What do I have to lose?" Nothing. Kill me. You're just speeding the inevitable. You're just doing me a favor. You will make my death tragic in an entirely different way. You make my death personally acceptable.

Last night I entered the school of Social Work building. I had on paint and plaster-dust covered jeans, my ratty patched hoodie, my bike helmet with the decrepit hood underneath, and my oh-so-adorable shoes. As I walked the halls with my bicycle, trying to find the office I needed to drop off my field study application, I passed a woman sitting in the comfy cul-de-sac. The office I needed had no external mail box, so I started walking back towards the staff boxes, passing the woman again. This time she said, rather harshly, "Are you looking for someone?"
I don't need to tell any more of this story. Social work is supposed to be, yes, about assisting people. Part of assisting people is reserving your own judgment. At least pretend that you don't find them repulsive. At least pretend that you care what they are saying.
There I was, fellow social work student, being accosted because I looked different. SURPRISE. I wonder how she'll do with other minorities. I bet she works with geriatrics. I hope she doesn't want to work with teens.
So here I am, judging this person that judged me. Because it hurts. It hurts that people are always so surprised when they hear what my major is. I used to delight in shocking people but that hasn't been my goal in years. These are the times when I hate myself. These are the times that I hate everyone else.
Of course she was nicer, though not much, when she heard I was a student. Common ground, I suppose.

But all I wanted to do was get home and lay down in the shower.
I didn't necessarily want to die last night. I just didn't want to feel.
Isn't that the goal of meditation?