I wanna die but I can't.  I don't know what to do anymore.

I'm struggling so much.

I'm totally falling apart.

I need help but I can't ask for it.

 I have nowhere to go.

Paralyzed by fear and pain.

Stuck.

Alone.

Afraid.



Why won't this just end?

It's been a long time

I haven't had anything to say in a really long time. I would guess, because I haven't actually done anything in a really long time. I exist. Sort of. I numbly pass each day without progress, accomplishment, or insight. I spend most of my time sitting or laying, watching mindless television and waiting for the next time my mind will kindly shut down and sleep. I occasionally come out of the fog, say if my daughter visits or my best friend has an art show. But it is always temporary and always fake.

My mind races at times with hundreds of things that I want to do, could do, and would help. To date I have done none of these things. I have begun several, but part way through (or often before even beginning) an inner voice stops me. "You can't do this. It won't work. You're too tired. It's too hard. It's too scary. Just quit it's easier." Sadly, my conscious mind hears this and shuts down. No matter how many self-help books, documentaries, or healers I study my fears and self doubt keep winning out.

I am bogged down by anger, fear, guilt, shame, hurt, blame, and the all encompassing exhaustion created by these feelings. In an attempt to bring in some light I watched a documentary on Deepak Chopra that included an interesting idea. "Your anger has nothing to do with today. It is a left over from all your yesterdays." For some reason this resonated with me rather strongly. No one hurt me today, I did nothing wrong or negative today, and my mood could be classified as neutral. Yet minutes after waking and for the rest of the day I felt hurt, wronged, mad, shamed, guilty, and depressed. I let leftover hurts and problems clog my mind and exhaust my body. Because of that I did exactly what I've been doing for months. Nothing.

Is it possible, once realizing this, to leave those feelings in the past? To wake up tomorrow with a clean emotional slate and only feel the feelings related to the present?

Zen Buddhism would say yes. A loosely translated teaching states that if you walk around with shit on your nose you will smell shit all day. Instead of complaining about the smell, wash your face.

So I wash my face. Angus, Mary, Vanessa, Travis, Trevor, Richard, you and what you did to me are nothing but shit that I need to wash off. My past struggles and pains are nothing but shit that I need to wash off. Not to say there won't be countless more struggles to come, the trick is to learn how to not let them stick to my face.

I have never been this alone

I don't understand people who take pleasure in others' pain.

I was a little girl with hopes.

I was a girl with dreams.

I was a human being.

No one deserves this.

lonely

having pills in the house is akin to keeping a loaded gun around.

i can only beg for help so many times.

i can only hurt this much for so long.

Where does it start and where do I begin???

Where is the line between illness and individual?

Where does Bipolar start and where do I begin?

Where is the line that determines where symptoms stop and the real me begins?

I am responsible for every single thing I do. I do not dispute this, never have. But do I deserve to be punished for behaviours and actions that are a direct result of symptoms of my disorder over which I truly, at times, have no control?

Where does the blame start? And where does it end?

Where does compassion and empathy belong, and when is harsh cold blame the only option?

I never meant to hurt anyone. Never wanted to hurt anyone. Not one single person, ever, in my entire life.

But my disease has hurt them. My crazy actions spurred on by my disease have hurt them. My desperate attempts to just make the pain stop because the Bipolar will just not let go have hurt them.

Where do I stop and it begins?

As of right now, I really don't know....

I don't ever wanna let anyone down...

Today has been a really hard day.

No particular reason. Woke up, and within seconds could just tell that it was going to be a struggle just to make it through. One of those dark cloud, black hole, cannot find the light no matter how hard you look kind of days. The kind where it feels like apathy swallowed your heart and you couldn't bring yourself to care if your life depended on it. The kind filled with the confusion of somehow being numb and in pain all at the same time.

Ya, one of those days.

It started with me in tears on the kitchen floor because the jam I tried to make for my sister didn't turn out. This tiny mistake brought on a wash of failure shame that I am still struggling to make it out of 10 hours later.

I don't want to let anyone down.

I can't let anyone know how poorly I'm doing, I don't want to let them down.

A very wise online sister, and an incredibly smart close friend have repeatedly told me that I am too hard on myself. I guess I am. I don't know how to be anything else.

I feel like I am letting down my daughters by not being the healthy vibrant mother they deserve. I feel like I am letting down my parents for not succeeding and thriving as an adult after all the promise I showed as a child. I feel like I'm letting my sister down because I have not been able to reach out in kindness to her since a ridiculous meaningless fight almost 3 years ago. I feel like I am letting society down by being a drain instead of an asset. I feel like I have let down countless friends, family members, and partners in the last 20 years just by being unable to be consistent, reliable, and supportive. And I feel like I am letting myself down. By still being sick. Still being weak and unable to fight. Still being stuck, and lost, and hopeless. By not doing more, not being more.

The truth is I let myself down every day. It's rather easy, because if I am honest I don't feel that I deserve any better. It's hard to fight for someone that you don't feel is worthy of fighting for. It's hard to get better when deep down you're pretty sure pain is all you deserve.

I don't like myself. I don't. I haven't in a really, really long time.

So I overcompensate. I try to be pretty so that people won't catch on that I'm sick. I try to be thin, because how can you be sad when you're skinny? I spoil my daughters to alleviate some of the guilt of being a sick, semi-absent mother. I buy really nice gifts for my family, because in my deluded mind this will make them believe that I am doing well so that they never catch on to how badly I am struggling.

I don't want to let them down.

I don't want to spend 2 weeks in Saskatchewan at my parents' house over Christmas. It is hard on me mentally, emotionally, and physically. My daughters want that, my parents want that, so I do it anyway.

I don't want to let them down.

Mine has become a life of smoke and mirrors. If I distract everyone with a pretty shiny outside, and throw on a fake smile no one will ever realize how broken and pathetic I am.

It hurts. It hurts all the time.

But I don't want to let them down.

I really have nothing to say

Sitting.

Staring.

Eyes glazed over.

Mind blank.

The desire is there, but the words just won't come.


The anger comes easily.

Pain floods uncontrollably.

Explosions of violence, self-hatred, self-harm.

Anything just to get it out.

Anything just to make it stop.


Pain and hurt are easy, truth is hard.

So the words stay stuck.

Trapped inside.

Boiling.

Tormenting.

Too fast, too erratic to catch.


The desire is there, but the words just won't come.

Sitting.

Staring.

Eyes glazed over.

Mind blank.


Soul in agony.

To Whom it May Concern:

I'm not worth saving.

Apparently I'm not worth anything.

And I deserve nothing. Except pain.

Message received.

Loud and clear.

As if the Bipolar wasn't enough, I have to deal with Ignorance too??

I tried...

Just because someone's pain isn't visible doesn't mean it's not real.

Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it's not valid.

Just because you can't empathize doesn't make killing them ok.


If I had cancer people would care. Automatic empathy and compassion, no questions asked.

Why, just because it involves my brain am I constantly blamed, shamed, mocked, judged, and attacked. I didn't think I deserved it. I really tried not to believe that I did. But i must, because it never stops. It never ever stops.


I gave it all I had, I really did. I tried. I tried and tried and tried. But I am too tired. I am too damn tired and it hurts too much.

I have nothing left. I really truly have nothing left. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was supposed to be so much more than this.

I was supposed to be so much more than this......

The Apathy of Depression

I spend a lot of my in a low or depressed mood state.

People with Bipolar 2 experience significantly longer periods of depression than those suffering with Bipolar 1, as well as more severe all-encompassing depression. Bipolar 2 sufferers spend more than 50% of their life in a depressed or "low" mood state so not only are they low more than they are hypomanic, they are depressed more than they are neutral or "normal".

In some people this can be greatly improved by treatment and medication. In others, like myself, the depression is "treatment resistant" and the medications that help so many other Bipolar 1 and 2 sufferers do nothing to ease the pain. Add in some rapid cycling (moving very quickly between states of hypomania and depression) and the horror of mixed states (an indescribable state of depression and hypomania existing concurrently, often accompanied by extreme anxiety, anger, and instability) and you have a recipe for disaster.

Rapid cycling is exhausting. Mixed states are confusing, terrifying, and destructive, as well as exhausting. And depression that hangs on and just won't let go will make you wish you were never born, no matter how hard you try to fight.


That is where I sit right now. In a depressed state that just won't let go. I have been fighting it for months and I just don't seem to be able to crawl out of the hole. I have peeked my head out for a few days at a time here and there only to get dragged back down and beaten senseless by the sadness and hopelessness. I am exhausted beyond any typical definition of the word. I have been fighting negative, destructive, critical emotions for months now and have come to a place where I just have nothing left.

I am not a danger to myself, I haven't given up in that way. I have reached a far more painful state where I'm alive, but I have given up on myself and the hope of ever being any different, or any better. Long-term depression eventually settles in and creates a feeling of complete apathy that is so consuming  it is nearly impossible to even move. I've had days in the past week where, while confined to my bed, it took everything I had just to be able to lift my head. Even when I am able to get up and move around it doesn't do much good as I have lost interest in everything. I have lost interest, lost focus, and nearly lost all hope.

The only bright spot in my life is my daughters. I talk to them daily and I am almost certain that is the only reason I am not yet catatonic and hospitalized.


All the things I normally enjoy have become dull. All the tools I used to use to boost my mood hold zero joy so I am physically and mentally unable to even think of forcing my sad ass to get up and do them.

I feel defeated. I feel deflated. I feel empty and hollow.

I feel sadness. I feel despair. I feel pain and exhaustion that is absolutely indescribable.

And yet at the same time I am numb. I feel hurt, but somehow I don't feel anything at all. It's like I'm not even really here. Like I'm floating around in a nightmare, experiencing hell but not really registering or appreciating fully what is going on.


Forget goals at this point. Forget dreams and success and decisions and direction. I don't even know who or what I am anymore. It is as if the disease has taken over and I am merely a shell for it to walk around, and cause damage in.

I am a walking conundrum of numb pain.


I have given up, lost hope, and to be honest I really don't care. Not about myself at least. I have become a prisoner to this depression. A prisoner serving a life sentence, with no possibility of parole, who has run out of appeals. At this point in time death row would be a less painful place to be. Except for the guilt. The guilt of knowing that I cannot do that to my daughters. I cannot hurt them like that, and risk them suffering because of my illness.

So here I sit. Unable to move, barely able to breathe. Trying just to hold on until the next time I can see them, the next time I can text them or talk to them. Spoiling them with gifts and promises due to the guilt I feel for not being the mother they deserve.

But there is nothing left of me. Any thing I was or ever wanted to be is lost or hiding, and I don't know where to even begin to look. And even if I did know, I'm too damn tired to look. And it is getting to the point where I really just don't care. I honestly just don't care anymore.

Can I even believe anything I tell myself anymore?

Have you ever broken a promise to someone you care about?

It feels terrible. We feel guilt, disappointment, and if you're like me vow to make it up to them however we can.

Why is it not the same when we break a promise to ourselves?

I remember a time, a younger happier time, when anything I decided to do or told myself I was going to do got done. It wasn't an issue. There was no question. If I wanted it I went out and got it. If I told myself I was going to do something it darn well got done. I made decisions, albeit it easier ones than those I face now, with confidence and ease. And once a decision was made, that was it. There was no second guessing, no doubt, no decision paralysis, no problem. Decision made, action taken. Every time.

I don't remember the first time I broke a promise to myself. I wish I did. I wish I could remember if it was hard. If I felt the same guilt, disappointment, and need for redemption that I have felt the times I broke promises to other people. I wish I could remember the second, third, and fourth time as well. I wish I could remember so that I could see just how quickly any negative feelings disappeared. So that I could see just how quickly I went from dependable and constantly following through, to not believing a damn word I say to myself and breaking every promise I ever make to myself.

The loss of trust in myself is bad enough. If it ended there that would, on it's own, be sad, damaging, and darn near incapacitating. Unfortunately, as with most things, it doesn't just end there. When it becomes easy to tell yourself you're going to do something and then just not do it, it also becomes much easier to give in to the evil voice in your head that is Bipolar. It becomes easier to binge eat to stuff down your real feelings, to stop seeing friends so they don't see your decline, to stop cleaning your house because what does it matter, to stop getting out of bed, to stop self-care, to stop exercising, to stop going to work, to just give up. After spending any significant amount of time telling yourself you're going to try and then just not doing it, any conscientious effort to begin trying again is infinitely more difficult.


"I'm going to stop bingeing on junk food, eat healthy regular meals, and start being active again" gets met with "shut up fatty you're too lazy and sugar is delicious, you'll eventually cave and eat a cookie so just eat an entire box right now instead of going for a run".

"I'm going to clean my apartment this week, organize things, and keep it that way" gets laughed at while your front room begins to look like an episode of Hoarders.

"This time I'm not going to get scared and drop out of class, this time I will graduate" may last for a month or two, but is soon replaced by "you're dumb, everyone is laughing at you, even if you do graduate you'll still be sick stupid and useless so just quit now".

"I am going back to work. I am going to be strong, beat this, and take care of myself again" very quickly becomes "don't even try. People will just laugh at you, you're qualified for nothing, you're just gonna screw it up again so why go through the anguish?"


Once you make it nearly impossible to trust anything created in your inner monologue the acts of dreaming and goal setting become non-existent. Early on in the promise breaking you still attempt to have dreams and still attempt to set goals, but once you abandon enough of them you begin to abandon the concepts all together. You don't bother dreaming, what's the point? You stop setting goals, or even being able to think of goals you might want to set.

You then stop making decisions. Without dreams and goals there is no direction, and without direction how do you know what path to take? Without confidence in yourself and your abilities the ability to make even the most simple decisions disappears. Decision paralysis sets in so deeply that your life quite literally stops. You are alive, but there is no action, there is no growth, there is no healing, there is no anything. Years, in fact a decade, can go by and you have no idea where it went or what you actually did for ten years. Suddenly you are ten years older, your kids have grown into teenagers, and it feels like you missed it. There are snapshot memories here and there, but there is no real involvement or appreciation. All of the sudden you are a 25 year old in a 35 year old's body. Everyone around you has grown, changed, accomplished things, but you are no better off and no different than you were in 2002.

That is a very frightening and regretful place to be.

Fear and regrets accomplish absolutely nothing, but when a decade of your life has disappeared before your eyes while stuck in a state of complete inaction it is damn hard not to let them creep in.

The only answer is to jump back into life with two feet. Start with small goals, accomplish them, rebuild your faith in yourself, learn to trust yourself, and learn to feel worthy again. Simple right? Ya, sure. Ask me in another ten years.

It's not actually that I lie....

I have been accused recently (and throughout the last 20 years actually) of lying. I have even termed my actions in my own head from time to time as lying. But that's not exactly accurate. I guess in the strictest sense my actions could be termed lies of omission, but as there is absolutely zero malice aforethought, or malicious intent I am uncomfortable with classifying them as such.

See what I really do is hide. Not lie, but hide.

Driven perhaps by fear, shame, disappointment, or a need for protection. I started out life incredibly gifted. Both intellectually and athletically. I was even rather cute so I guess you could say I had it all. I was gifted, lucky, and incredibly happy. Unfortunately such gifts and good fortune tend to bring about jealousy in others. My first experience with this came at the age of 8 or 9. I was in grade four and was verbally attacked at recess for not dressing like everyone else in my one-horse prairie hick town. I was mocked and told I was a snob because I had left the tiny local gymnastics club in order to train and compete with a club "in the city". At 9 years of age I was told that what I liked was stupid, and going after my goals was ridiculous. I didn't realize at the time how much this affected me. I wish that I could say I got past it and thrived despite it, but I didn't.

The bullying continued. For some reason I seemed to attract friends who found it easier to be jealous than supportive. It all came to a head in high school when my already shaky self-esteem took a hit from a friend from it it would never recover. This blow triggered repressed memories, leading to to PTSD, and eventually a diagnosis of Bipolar 2 disorder in my early 20's.

I am sad to say that at 35 years of age, my self-esteem has never recovered. I am still that 9 year old. Sitting on the swings crying. Wondering what on earth is so wrong with my outfit. And why anyone would ever think going to gymnastics and wanting to do well is a bad thing.

So I hide. I choose what and how much of myself, my life, and my reality at any given point I reveal to every individual in my life.

No one knows 100 percent. No one. The last person who knew about 90 percent broke my heart and left me. So right now no one even knows much more than half.

And which half they know depends on who they are. There are people I've never met and probably never will meet that know more about my current mindset and mental health than my family will ever know. I can't do that to them. I'll feel like I'm letting them down. Like I'm hurting them. Again.

I moved to Vancouver just over two years ago for a fresh start. For a change that was supposed to turn things around and get me out of the rut that rural Saskatchewan and bipolar had sucked me into. New province, new rut. My family doesn't know this. I can't disappoint them. And I cannot let my parents know that there are still days, more days than I wish to admit, that I feel like nose-diving straight off the Cambie Bridge. I can't do that to them. I can't cause them anymore pain. My mother sat at my bedside day and night for nearly 4 days while machines breathed for me after I became too weak to go on. I cannot cause them pain or concern. I've put them through too much. Whether my fault or not, their false belief that I am well and life is good makes them happy and gives them hope. I feel like I owe them that much.

I edit myself with my friends, what few I have, as well. I have enough trouble believing that anyone would ever willingly spend time with me or like me, so I reveal the pieces of me that I think will be appealing to whomever I'm with. I never make things up, or pretend to be something I'm not. I just only let out the pieces of my true self I feel will be the most appealing, or least offensive to my present company.

As you can guess, this is not a very good way to meet new people or maintain meaningful relationships so I spend a inordinate, and most likely damaging amount of time alone. And I hide there too.

I hide in my house because it is easier than going out into the world to risk judgment and failure. I hide in my bed because it is a cocoon of protection and denial that keeps me from realizing how much time I'm wasting being afraid. And I hide from my thoughts which are often frightening or judgmental, but even when they are inspired and positive manage to make me feel guilty for never acting on them or following through.

I hide because it is safe.

I hide because there is less risk.

I hide because even I don't know what or who I really am. Or what it is I really want.

I hide because I am ashamed and afraid.

And I hide because it is easier.


I am sick of taking the easy way out.

I AM SICK OF TAKING THE EASY ROAD.


So often brilliance and madness intersect. I was shamed for my brilliance so I hide in my madness. I use it as a shield, an escape. I must find my brilliance once again. It does not lie in science and math the way it used to. Over the years my experiences have morphed it into something else, changed its focus. The trick is finding it again.

Where did the brilliance go? And how can I use it well? I am convinced that the path to recovery and survival lies here.

tested....

Last night's resolve is already waning. After my positive epiphany and mild progress, a very not mild anxiety, fear, and anger attack. Followed by a major mood drop, minor self-harm, and a bottle of wine. Luckily I passed out before doing anything too stupid or damaging.

Ugh. I have no other words than ugh.

No, that's not true. I have these words: really??? Really???!!!! Are you kidding me? Seriously? Unbelievable.

I woke up feeling like an empty hollow punching clown again. Not a good start.

I want to stick to my one fun thing, one cleaning thing, little less TV plan. I really do. But I am currently trying to figure out the most miniscule cleaning thing possible, and I am not even sure I can do that. Deflated heap here I come.

Ugh.

One step forward, seventeen steps back. Every time. Every fricking time.

Ugh.

Just a boring Monday night????

I was sitting around a a few hours ago and I thought to myself, "ugh it's Monday night and I have absolutely nothing to do."

I sat there bummed out for a few minutes until a now rather obvious thought hit me like a truck; I have a ton of shit I could do, why am I not doing any of it?

I have clean laundry that needs to be folded, dirty laundry that needs to be washed, the bathroom could use a good scrub, the kitchen could use a good scrub, the floors need to be vacuumed, a good dusting wouldn't hurt, my kitchen cabinets are screaming for a reorganization, my front storage room/office is a disaster, my bedroom closet needs a good purging and reorganization.

Ok, so I don't have anything fun to do on a Monday night.

Wrong again. I could knit, read one of the 12 books that I have started in the last year and not finished, paint, listen to music and dance around my apartment, do some pilates, head out for a walk since it stopped raining, text my daughter, call my mother, write my grandmas each a letter, learn some speed reading exercises, organize my photos, search online for fantastically awesome and thoughtful Christmas presents to buy my family, or research volunteer opportunities and toy drives in my city.

At any given point there are probably well over 100 things I could be doing. I am not well enough at this exact moment to be working so I have a ridiculous amount of time to choose to anything at all that I want. Despite this fact, at any given moment I am usually sleeping, watching tv, eating, sitting around, or perusing Twitter and Facebook mindlessly clicking on links and whatnot.

My brain just smacked me upside the head with what a waste that really is. Sleep is good, but not 12 hours a day. TV and movies are great, just not 8 or 9 hours a day. Twitter and Facebook are fun, but not 104 times a day.

So then I says to my brain I says, "brain, why on earth is I bein so stupid?"

No, but honestly, why?

It took a couple of hours and some pondering, eating, and distraction, but I think I have it figured out. It is not that I never have anything to do, it is that I never have any want to do anything. And not just the tedious obligatory cleaning related stuff, but a want for the fun and productive stuff is missing too. I pretend I do. I tell myself the little white lie that I really wish I had more to do, but I often don't. This is what an incredibly long and painful illness has done to me. I don't want to do anything and I don't care that I don't want to do anything. Or at least I haven't cared up until this point, as I have done nothing to change it. This is the apathy and surrender that the horrible depression associated with my Bipolar 2 has caused.

This realization got me quite motivated. For about 6 1/2 minutes. Then I just got sad. Then numb. Then sad again. Then discouraged. More sadness. And now I am writing about it all.

So how do I get my want back? I assume, as with most things, baby steps. Start small. Day 1 do one cleaning thing, one fun thing, and watch just a little less tv. Day 2 increase that, and so on. My problem is not only resolve, but follow through and commitment. Sometimes I will get all motivated and attempt activity and productivity for a few days, and then I will get either bored, distracted, depressed, or scared and I will stop. I have a SEVERE inability to set goals and actually see them through. This pisses me off. Before my Bipolar 2 symptoms began I was one of the hardest working, most dedicated and driven kids you would ever meet. I have not been that person in a very long time. That makes me angry, and sad. Feels like something else stolen from me by this illness. Another area where control has been lost, and it is such an exhausting fight to get it back.

My only hope right now is the old saying, "the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem". It is true that there are certain periods of time in my life where it is not that I don't want to do things, it is that because of my symptoms I literally can't. But this is a smaller percentage of days than 95% so I need to get off my ass and do something.

Hi. My name is Cristina and I am a TV and Internet addict. I hide in these activities because the real world scares me. I am afraid of failure, and even more afraid of success. I don't think I'm likeable or interesting so I shut myself off in order to avoid humiliation and hurt. I hide away inside my illness and myself because so many years of fighting have beaten me down and worn me out. It is easier to hide and to not try, than to go through anymore rejection, failure, blame, and judgment.

Hi. My name is Cristina and I am sick of hiding and taking the easy road. Whether motivated by lack of focus, motivation, energy, and direction, or by fear; I am tired of it. I have resolve at this moment. I will take baby steps. I will try to keep fighting. And although I have said this before and not followed through that does not mean that I cannot follow through this time. I CAN succeed, and if I slip up I will forgive myself and start over. Because the only failure is in not trying. The only way I truly fail is if I give up. It will take however long it takes, but if I am still trying and fighting then that is success.

I need to remember that most success is not big, huge and quick. It is a series of small successes. A learning curve. A string of slip ups that you pick yourself up and then learn from. I need to practice patience. And I need to be kind to and forgiving of myself.

It's really all I can do.

I don't even know where to start.....

I need to write. But I don't know what to say.

It feels like I am riding a gigantic high-speed coaster all alone. Screaming and begging to get off but they won't stop the ride. Over and over again. Up, down, backwards, sideways, upside down. At top speed. At ridiculous slopes. I can't do it. I can't do it anymore. I need to get off this ride. I am nauseated and exhausted. Please, please, I beg of you. Stop the ride.

Meds messes me up. Lack of meds messes me up. I just don't know anymore.

The uncertainty is bad, but I think it is the lack of control that is the worst. At 15 years of age I lost control and bipolar took the wheel. I lost control of my moods, my energy, my sanity, my diligence, my energy, my motivation, my mind, and my future. Loss of control is a disabling thing. An incapacitating thing. I have been trying to take the wheel back, but regardless of how many positive healthy things I do my mood can go at any time. Regardless of how well I'm doing, 10 minutes or 10 days later my mood could swing and ruin everything.

I have tried so hard, so many times to take back control. I'm just so tired. I'm too damn tired. The loneliness, emptiness, seclusion, and doubt are debilitating. I feel so empty I'm convinced I'm hollow. Like the next depression, mania, or anxiety attack could deflate me like one of those blow up punching clown toys that develops a leak. I feel like a punching clown. As if life, this illness, and the people who refuse to understand have beaten me senseless and left me in a heap in the corner. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, afraid that the next insult, judgment, or setback will be the water that melts me into a useless pool of nothing.

I'm tired of waiting for the bomb to drop. Tired of depending on external events and other people for my sanity, stability and happiness. Tired of this dependence allowing others the control. Control in the form of insults, judgments, rejection, and negativity that can send me into full-blown anxiety or catatonic depression.

I don't know what to do. I feel truly lost. Completely stuck.

I just know that I need to get off this ride.

Please, please I beg of you, stop the damn ride.........

If I'm being honest......

I pretend that I'm ok.

I pretend all the time.

For my family, my couple of friends, people on the street, even on Twitter.

I'm totally pretending.

Because honestly, I'm not ok. I'm not fine. I'm not even close.

I'm falling apart.

It hurts so much and I don't have the energy or strength to make it stop.



Today I laid down on the floor and wondered how long it would take to die if I just stayed there and didn't move.

I need medication. However, I make too much money for them to be covered yet not enough to buy them for myself.

I need a psychiatrist. Unfortunately there is a 12 month waiting list.

I need a therapist, but yet again I make too much to have it covered yet not enough to afford to pay for it myself.



I feel so let down. So abandoned. Forgotten. Ashamed. Worthless.

I try to be strong. I really do. I try to fight. I try to fight so hard. I just have absolutely nothing left.



Today I have no profound thoughts, nothing interesting to say, not much of anything at all.

I'm just empty.

Hollow.

Alone.

And just way too damn tired.

I'm sure I used to like myself, I know I did

But I don't anymore.

I try.

I really try to.

But I don't.

I hate me.

I really truly honestly hate me.

So I don't I don't fight for me. I don't believe in me. I don't work for me.

I self-sabotage. I doubt. I give up. I give in.

It hurts.

It hurts all the time.

I'm alone.

I'm alone all the time.

I'm so lonely I can't take it.

I did it to myself, but I can't take it.



I know when I was 7 I thought I was fantastic.

I worked hard. I worked all the time.

I had dreams.

I had goals.

I was happy.



Then the bullies came.

And the doubt came.

Then more bullies.

Then the pain came.

Then the memories came.

And everything I was or ever had been was shattered.



I cannot do this.

I hate this.

I hate this so much.

I can positive self-talk until I'm blue in the face. I don't believe it.

I can tell myself it's not my fault. I don't believe it.

I don't believe it, and I don't believe in me.



So lost. So alone. So scared. So done.