Tuesday, June 7, 2016


I shout to an empty room. My words fall on deaf ears.
No one is listening.
Can you blame them?
When so little laughter is heard and so many tears are shed?
Who is there left to listen?
Who wants to listen?
But I write.
I share.
I cry at the emptiness.

I am uncertain what I need. But I am falling apart.
I cannot point out what is causing this, other than my mind slowly destroying me.
Many say mental illness should be talked about.
But how?
I am uncertain as to why I reach out, only to share that I have once again started journaling.
These entries are windows into my soul.
I don't expect answers.
And hardly do I expect much of anything out of them.
But the words are mine and I want you to know they are there to help you see where I am.

I sit "silently" in my home.
My mind plaguing me with hate, anxiety, uncertainty, and toying with death.
Yes. Death.
I won't hide from it anymore.
I will most likely find myself back in the hospital because of it.
It is almost inevitable, similar to any other chronic illness that flairs up and can't be controlled any other way.

You see me smile. When you see me. There is joy there.
What is missed is what takes place behind closed doors.
The waterfall of tears.
The body aches longing for relief and understanding.
Please read my entries.
Please reach out.
Please be patient with my slow responses.
It's hard to leave the house.
It's hard to let people in.
Everything is more difficult.
I don't know what you see.
I don't know what you think.


This tight anxiety in my chest to which I wake every morning to.
This pain is unyielding and never ending.
I do not know how to make this pain pass.
It is inexplicable to me.
I try to recall all of those that love me.
There are a good many, so I think.
And yet, I am convinced they all deserve better than me.
I am unworthy of their love.

I am safe in my circle.
I am safe surrounded by those who love me.
I do not feel safe.
I feel suicidal.
I should go home.
I have to keep my promises.
Maybe I will leave earlier.
I do not know how to ask for the help I need.

I am blessed. We are blessed.
My meds kicked in. I am calmer now.
I hate my meds.
I guess I need them first thing in the morning just to stave off the morning attacks.
Wake and bake on a new level.
I could fight this.
I could struggle against what I feel I hate so much.
Or I can try to embrace the help around me.
The medications.
The herbs.
The fresh air.
My cats.
My home.
My lovers.
My family.
There is good in this world.
The hard part is pushing out the negative and not letting it engulf me.
I write these words.
"Youth springs eternal."
But there is good still left in this world,
Now only if I could train my mind to focus more on that and less on the negative,
Which I hold no control over.
This worls if ull of ugly and hate.
My moods show such things.
I'm empathic that way.
Learning to separate between what I can and cannot control is the difficult task at hand.
The ups and downs come nd go.
I must remember that.
When I hit rock bottom the only place left to go is up.
Although sometimes its just easier to lay on the bottom and let all the sorrow and saddness seep in.
Is it ok to just let myself linger there for a while?
To really feel those lows.
To explore them, know them, identify them for what they are.

I cannot stop crying.
Everything makes me cry.
I want to curl up and die.
I have little to no motivation right now.
Nothing has worth.
My life has no purpose.
I stay for others, but not for myself.
There is this rude selfishness of others to insist that I stick around.
To stay for them defeats the point of life life for oneself.
I am the one that wakes every morning in emotional agony.
The minutes pass so slowly for me and my reasons to hang on hang by a thread.
I just want to fee and be in control fo that feel.
Self-harm fits this.
Pain is real.
Pain is a reminder that life is real.
I feel so numb at times that pain is the only way to break out of it.
I thought I was ok this morning.
I guess I was wrong.

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Where am I going?

I'm feeling a bit better today. Although I admit to being heavily medicated and I don't like it. Day in and day out, the same old shit.
I am uncertain who takes me seriously anymore.
I'm sharing my entries.
I blogged yesterday's entry today. Uncertain who will see it, much less read it and maybe even start a conversation about it.

I cannot help but feel that if I keep myself closed in about death and suicide, I am only writing my own future.
And if I write about where I am in my mind about death, should the time come where I do take my own life I will at least have left behind documents to help the world better understand how it came to that.
I'm on the verge of tears.

It's nice sitting outside. I guess it is something I should really start doing more of.

Lesson Learned: Nature is good for me.
Chickens. Cats. Tress. Plants. Grass. Evening fires. Gaming. Reading.

Can I be content not contributing financially to my family unit?
This is a constant struggle and concern of mine.
Am I even able to hold a job?
A job that will work with me with my mental illness?
What am I now truly qualified to do?
I color.
I self-care, a lot!
I'm finally taking better care of my cats.

My sad life: Talking Cats

I hate mornings. Moreover, I hate ho I normally feel when I wake up in the mornings.
It makes me sad.
My dreams fade.
I lose track of me and where I am.
I forget me.
And then I remember and the tears come back and my gut wrenches and my heart aches.

These trips are supposed to be fun, DAMNNIT!
Can I not have this time to just enjoy myself and family?

I went to the Salt Lake City LGBTQ+ Pride Parade with my BIL and the two Littles. We had a good time. We did a lot of walking and shouting.
I am now utterly spent.
My social quota is beyond gone.
I hate that.
I utterly and completely despise it.
The little walked that parage and are now outside playing. It amazes me the energy they have.
I once had that.
What happened?

Old Normal v New Normal
This is hard to adjust to, and it's difficult to explain, not only to myself but to those around me.
I can't even fully explain it to my therapist.
Who am I?
What am I?
What is my purpose?
Why do I continue to live each day?
What is the point?
The point.
Please tell me the point.
I ask these questions to an empty room.
I ask these questions to a full capacity auditorium.
The answer is the same.
Silence is the answer, as who has the answer?
Better yet, who is brave enough to stand and answer?
Who am I?
What am I?
What is my purpose?
Why do I continue?!
To continue to live each day?
The ultimate question: What is the point?

I Want A Do Over
Fuck this.
Fuck this shit.
Fuck my heart. My feelings. My thoughts.
Fuck my tears.
Fuck my fears.
Fuck this life.
Fuck this world.
The hate can be so strong and so crippling.
It's hate within myself.
I have no desire to hurt others.
Only myself.
Does that bother you?
Where does my anger come from?
So many mistakes.
So many lost chances?
This life lived for someone else.
That someone else is gone and I still find myself wanting her to live vicariously through me.
My life's purpose...gone.
Now, six years later, what do I do?

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Lost in my mind

Time. It is such a waste. I feel so lost. The tears fall. The anxiety builds and no end is in sight for relief. I want to die.
I just want this pain to end. I don't know what to do to help ease this feeling. I just know it's there and is very real.
Will I see next year? Will next year see me? How?
Am I doomed to no longer go to social events? Is it my lot to sit and attempt to administer self-care while at home with just my cats for company?
Am I trying too hard? Not enough?
Who do I tell? What do I tell? How much do I tell?
I am lost in my own mind. Big dreams crushed by fear of reality.
I have a camera, I should learn to use it.
I should start walking.
I should...
I should...
I should...
I don't.
I most likely won't.
My intentions mean well.
I'm a major disappointment.
I don't know why I am loved. I doubt I deserve it.
Jordan deserves so much better than me. Everyone does.
I am lost in a field of my own thoughts and emotions.
Mostly emotions.
Feelings I cannot explain, but cause such great anxiety it's almost paralyzing.
I am told I am needed That I am wanted. But I am uncertain if I want or need myself.
I am once again poor.
Some say there is light at the end of the tunnel.
I rarely see it.
Sometimes a glimpse is enough to give e hope and push through just one more day.
Just one more day.
Just one more day.
But how does one continue to live this way?
Just one more day.
One more day of what?!
Crippling anxiety? Endless tears? Paralyzing fear of everything?
And this is what I live "just one more day" for?!
To what end?
I am dying here and no one can help me!!!!!

I don't know what to say to people.
I want them to know. They NEED to know.

I showered and put on clean clothes.
I bought a pack of smokes on my way out to Utah.
I don't know if it is helping or hurting.
It gives me something to do and replaces my want for herb.
(So much for my tolerance break.)
It feels good having my hear wet and down, drying in the breeze.
(I'm sitting on the front porch.)

I'm thinking of moving my desk down into the den. Maybe if I move out of the bedroom things will be "easier" on me?
Maybe, just maybe, I'll keep things clean better that way.
Although I like my privacy that my room gives me.
Change for simply changes sake may not be the best of ideas.
If the desk wasn't such a pain to move I might be more eager to try it.
I just really don't know what to do anymore.

Day in and day out nothing changes, nothing but the increasing of my anxiety and a great desire to just disappear.
To no longer exist.
To vanish.
To take a long walk in the woods and never come back.
Maybe I'll go live with the bears.

But really, let's talk about death.
What is it?
What is it, really?
Death is the end of this life.
But it is also the beginning of something new.
The catch?
We travel that journey alone.
There are choices.
At anytime I can choose to take that solo journey into the unknown.
(Jordan says I'm do some good day soon. I hope he's right.)
I can always wait.
Just one more day.
Just one more day.

I guess I want to be in control. 
I want to be in control of something in my life and right now it feels that the only thing that I have control over is to go one more day.

Angela says I can't go.
Her kids (my minions) vie me as their 2nd mom.
They need me around just as much as they need their folks.

I want to hurt myself.
At least then I'd have something worthy to cry about.
Maybe then this emotional pain can have a physical pain outlet.

I stopped blogging.
I stopped writing.
I stopped reading.
And in some ways I stopped caring, mainly about myself.
I matter not.
That's what my mind tells me.
My mind tells me things would be simpler if I were gone.
I am told I shouldn't let these thoughts linger.
It is claimed to be unhealthy.
But my thoughts are real and I don't know what else to do about them.
Too long have I let them simply dance in my head.
I do not know how to evict them.
Maybe writing this down will help.
Maybe blogging and sharing the real will help.
Everything is "maybe".
Maybe moving my desk will help.
Maybe walking will help.
Maybe I should look into pet sitting.
I could get lucky and I like pets.
Animals are better than humans.

the lights flash.
The thoughts wander.
A slow drag on one more cigarette.
One more cider before I throw in the towel.
The guy across the street hides behind his fence while trying to skateboard.
The dog wants in on the action.
Or maybe the dog just want some love and attention.

I just want love and attention.
It sounds funny, and it makes little sense.
I get plenty of love and attention.
I am loved.
I know this.
I am told this.
I am shown this.
It should be enough.
It's all I've ever wanted, and yet...
Yet I am haunted by intangible memories.
Triggers with no solid founding.
Flashbacks filled purely with emotion, no actual events to grasp on to and attempt to process.
How do I work through these "issues" without a better understanding of what they are?