Day 34: Part 2.

they gave me


it’s cheap

he said

you may get better

you may not

but the hope of getting better

is enough to make me pay the small fee 

the same price as a netflix account

$8 a month. 

and happiness. (not guaranteed) 

but he said it would get easier

and i would get sleepier


the meds to make my head better

will make my body sick.

so which am i?

body or mind?

when divided down the line

which side

am i on?

am i my body

or am i my mind

we’re both sick now

might as well make one better

take one capsule by mouth daily

it’s not a promise

but it is hope.

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Day 34: Take one capsule by mouth daily.



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Day 33: I don’t know what I’m doing

more than a month since making a call

3 therapy sessions in

tomorrow i’ll be seeing a psychiatrist

i’ll be medicated.

i just need something sweet to take me away from this poisonous feeling.

i’ll eat the pills like candy

for every good day, i have even more bad.

the good days are getting farther and farther apart.

i’m trying hard to hide it for other people.

i’m trying hard to make other people happy.

and i’m making myself miserable.

my friends say, “c’mon, do this for me. we don’t have much time left here.”

then they leave me out.

i ask general questions and no one responds.

why do people avoid me?

i make my face up

i brush my hair

i brush my teeth

do people know i’m sick?

i wanted to skip therapy this week to go home

i don’t know if i can now

today is a bad day.

and i need to go

but maybe when i get my medicine tomorrow

i’ll feel better.

that is unlikely

the pills aren’t the cure

but i wish they were


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Day 26: Put in Words

It’s really hard for me to keep up with this blog because I have started to see it as a responsibility. 

Once something is something I have to do, it instantly becomes something I cannot bring myself to do. No matter how simple the task. 

Reading through the past posts, it seems like I am having a lot of trouble actually forming any sense of coherency at all what so ever. So in an attempt to keep this blog going by making it easier for me, I am just going to do some… free form poetry?

I used to just type or write by hand without actually thinking. I wouldn’t call it poetry but a lot of good poetic work came out of it when I was younger.

So I have decided to start doing that again with a few thoughts now and then. 

I don’t know if I will do that in this post or make a new one.

I don’t plan anything.

Listen to Nothing Gets Crossed out by Bright Eyes and you will know precisely how I am feeling.

 It is the perfect representation. Along with Paper Bag by Dear and the Headlights. 

Anyway, I still don’t like therapy. 

It has only been two sessions, but I don’t know. 

My therapist always looks bored out of his mind and it just makes it worse. 

We have been talking about how I am never the center of attention. All my friends talk at me, not with me. All of my boyfriends have been obsessed with me with no concern for my feelings. When I am in big groups, I observe rather than participate in conversation. 

And there he is not even wanting to give me all of his attention either. 

I am just not sure how I feel about it. 

Today has been bad. 

Not terrible but bad. 

The past few days have been okay. 

Not good, but okay. 

Anyway… I think I am done with this post. 


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Day 18: Triggers

I have been with my family the past few days and it has been nice.

I haven’t had an anxiety attack since coming home. Before I left for the 3 hour drive I was so angry and frustrated and hating the people I live with. They keep ignoring me. It’s like they think they can’t talk to me or I’ll say something they don’t like or don’t care about. Well, ignoring me is just making me angrier and more likely to be irritable when you talk to me. If you ever talk to me.

Okay, thinking about them is making me upset so I’ll stop.

Okay, the fact that I say “okay” before everything also makes me upset.

I take it back. I did have one anxiety attack because of my biggest trigger: hearing the name of the guy who raped me.

I say “okay” before everything because my first boyfriend was extremely controlling and “trained” me to say it. I was very young  when we started dating. He was the first boy who ever liked me so of course I thought I was in love with him. I listened to everything he said because I thought I was supposed to. He would smack me (lightly) on the face if I did something he didn’t want. For instance, if I didn’t say “okay” before each time I spoke. He was mentally, emotionally, physically and sexually abusive. He eventually raped me, but I was young and didn’t understand you could be raped by your boyfriend.

I’m not going to give more details.

This is one reason I don’t really want to do therapy. I don’t want all of this stuff to come up and to have to tell all my secrets to a stranger. But it might be better than keeping all of my secrets in.

I don’t really know.

I just don’t know how I feel about all of this. I just don’t want to be sick like this anymore. 

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Day 16: It’s Really Funny

I think it is really strange.

Therapy. I think therapy is so strange.

I made it to my first therapy session. It was so hard to make it that past three weeks, but I did it.

I feel like accomplishing that goal might make me a little less suicidal.

Last week I thought seriously about ending it. My roommate was giving me an extremely rough time. Telling me I can’t act however I want and then blame it on depression. Saying I need to not be so angry all the time.

Thanks. If that was possible. I would definitely change just like that.

But it’s really fucking hard.

That is like telling the kid with a broken leg she has to keep playing basketball and can’t use her injury as an excuse to sit on her ass.

I had to leave the house because I was losing it so hard I wanted to kill myself. I was so angry and I couldn’t stop shaking or sobbing. My breathing was irregular. My heart was pounding faster than I have ever felt it before. I have never wanted to kill myself as aggressively as I did that day. The thought usually floats in and out of my mind, but that day I thought it was over.

I made it though. I’m still alive.

The past month has been the hardest. It’s been a downward spiral my whole life and I have finally made it to the tight twists and spins. I feel out of control.

I’m getting really fat. Well, heavier than I have ever been, so I guess it’s not like I’m extremely obese. I used to have anorexia so I was very thin. I got better from that but felt fat, of course. Like we all do who go through that. Now I don’t care. I’ve been eating so much so often. Like I said in past entries, I just want to consume. I’m out of control.

I’m out of control with most things in my life. You can tell by the scattered, non structured blog posts, that I am just not very put together at all.

But let’s talk about therapy now.

I just think it is really funny that people need someone they can talk to with the promise we won’t have to listen to their problems either.

I always try to ask people questions in return, so when the therapist asked, “How was your childhood?” I answered and almost said, “How was yours?”

I mean, usually that’s how you have a conversation with someone. But I am just supposed to talk to this guy. Tell him all my secrets. And I know absolutely nothing about him. I don’t like it. It’s weird.

And he makes me feel stupid. Like I let out all these words at him and he just nods his head ans scribbles on his legal pad. It’s like he isn’t even listening because he doesn’t respond with words when I talk. Or it’s like, “Yeah, uh huh. I’ve heard it before. You’re not the only person in the world who has depression. I don’t really care.”

I don’t like it at all.

But it was just the first session.

He asked if I wanted to see a psychiatrist about getting medication and I told him yes.

I want to be medicated. I think I need to be.

That appointment isn’t until the end of November, then who knows how long it will take before the medicine starts working.

I just want to be normal.

I just want to feel again.

The other night I was leaving work and it was a literal mist.

Rain wasn’t falling. Mist was just floating in the air and it was beautiful and is smelled like fall and the mist touched my face and I actually genuinely smiled. I took a deep breath and there was that fleeting, match like moment where I felt alive. Of course it faded almost instantly, but it was something.

I just want to feel that again.

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Day 10: Everyone is making it worse.

I don’t even want to write about how bad everyone else is making this for me. 


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Day 7: Brain dead.

I’m brain dead. 

I can’t even read. 

No, I can read. But I avoid reading. My mind wanders too much if I ever don’t have a screen in front of my face. 

I don’t want to think, so I distract myself with TV, internet, smartphone games. 

It’s pathetic. 

But seriously. I can’t deal with this. My mind will wander to thoughts of suicide – or worse – a horrible future where I don’t build my career and I’m stuck at my dead end job. 

Even thinking about it now is making me get a little anxious. I don’t even study for school because I can’t concentrate on the content. I can’t concentrate on anything. 

… ugh … 

My cat is the best thing in my life. He comforts me always. His purr makes me content. I don’t know what it is. He’s just so sweet, and he loves me unconditionally. It always calms me down. And he looks like he has a smile on his face when I get home. 

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Day 6: I am horrible at keeping up with things.

I have been working non-stop for the past 4 days, so I missed the past four days of blog posting.


I just wish I could feel emotions.

I keep eating a lot of candy and junk food because of the way a sugar rush makes me almost feel something.It’s like a little buzz. That sounds really stupid, but at least I’m not abusing drugs or alcohol. Not that all this junk food is good for me. And sugar & caffeine are obviously addictive. But still.

Anyway. The stupid junk food is making me gain the weight back that I lost.

I need to stop eating and start exercising again. You get a similar feeling from running. Endorphins or something. A rush that makes you feel something. But then again, eating also makes me feel… in control or powerful or something. Like, I’m not even hungry. I just want to consume. It’s weird.

And I barely feel anything anymore. As I’ve said in previous posts.

It’s so crazy how I can feel so empty but so heavy at the same time.

Not sad.

Just nothing.

Smiling is so weird. It’s associated with happiness, but I’m not happy.

This sounds like such cliche 13 year old emo shit.

But it’s damn true.


I just want to be not depressed.

I don’t even really feel passion or love or anything like that either.

I don’t feel anything.

Except anxiety.

I can’t stand this.

If a day starts out okay, I’m fine. But as soon as something even remotely stress inducing happens, I’m a goner. I have anxiety all day. It got so bad at work the other day that I had to go to the cooler for several minutes and try to hold myself together.

Like literally hold myself together.

I have to crouch down, but my hands over my head and hold my breath in the cold. Clench my gut and shut my eyes. Just trying to keep everything in. I’m afraid I’ll lose it. I’m afraid I’ll lose myself.

I’m so close to losing myself. Every single day is harder than the last.

I don’t get to go to counseling for 10 more days. I just hope I can make it.

I think about dying more and more every day.

Not exactly killing myself, but just not caring if I’m gone. It seems better than this emptiness and confusion.

I’m also getting careless and sloppy and clumsy. I bump my head or trip or shut my hand in doors or run into things. I don’t know why that is happening other than I don’t care about me. I’m becoming a reckless driver.

I’m also having horrible nightmare. I can’t even fall asleep most nights, but when I do, I just have nightmares. Horrible nightmares. And I can’t stay asleep. Sleeping is supposed to help you overcome the bad things that happened the day before. It’s supposed to allow you to recover. I can’t sleep. I can’t recover. I can’t rest. I can’t do anything.

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Day 2: Going down if anywhere.

I got really anxious and low and bad last night and I cut my hair.

I took a pair of scissors and a handful of hair and – snip.

It was almost invigorating.

For a split second when I cut that handful of hair, I felt something.

It wasn’t the same anxiety adrenalin I am used to feeling.

It was a rush. I actually laughed. The breath I had been holding in when I cut that hunk of hair came out in a, “Hah! ha!”

My face in the mirror was smiling.

But the feeling didn’t last long. I even kept cutting but nothing happened.

I don’t know how to describe it. It was a pure feeling of excitement for the first time in over a year. But it was so short.

It was like striking a match. Or flicking a lighter. But the light went out right away. Image

But, I felt something.

When I relapsed and cut two days ago, it didn’t even do anything for me.

I didn’t feel that elation. That second of feeling I had when I snipped my hair is the first spike in feeling I’ve had in a long time.

Cutting used to do that for me. It had been 5 years and I relapsed. For what? Nothing. It didn’t even help me.

I don’t know how to explain my depression so let me tell you with a graph.


Normally my feelings are well… depressed. Kept down. I can’t get above that depression line with the feelings. I just can’t feel the pure emotion.

felt that moment of excitement break through the depression line.

I haven’t felt pure emotion like that in so long. I already said that. But I can’t believe it.

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