Reaching Contentment


Where are you in your journey?

I feel like I spent a lot of time confused. If any of you are reading from the past, you’ll remember all the posts I made while I was in classes, about annoying girls flipping their hair right in my face and Calculus tests and writing workshops. You might even remember that I started dropping classes like flies. Now I’m trying to work on getting back into my classes so I can finish this puny fucking degree.

I’ve always liked school, and I’ve always been rather smart. There were some things I had to work at harder than others, but a lot of that was chalked up to my anxiety and inability to raise my hand and ask for clarification when I needed it–everyone needs clarification sometimes, I don’t care how smart you are. And if you are unable to get that small little aide, you start falling behind. And that’s exactly what I did. That’s exactly what I’m still doing.

Where am I in my journey–I’m not quite sure. I still feel a little lost and a little confused, but I feel like the directions are becoming clearer. I feel like I’m not longer standing at a fifty pronged fork in the road, I feel like I’ve narrowed it down to about 4 prongs.

I will be attending some classes again this semester, but I feel more ready for them, more so than I have in the last couple years. It’s going to feel a little strange being back in the classroom and as I watch my cat jump atop the fridge to get atop the kitchen cabinets, I realize that I have to do the same thing she does: calculate how far I can really leap, and what my limits are. I can’t just be jumping aimlessly. I need to jump with a purpose. That’s the only way to keep what little motivation I have left steady.

Life is such a great learning experience, I’ve learned to appreciate so much over the last three years. I’ve learned to appreciate myself most of all, and the shit I’ve put up with.


I think what has made this experience one of the best experiences is that I’ve really learned how to feel my feelings. I was talking the other day with someone about how content I was, and how that feeling has been harder to learn to accept than the negative emotions. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m content. I don’t have to fight with my brain, I don’t have to practice breathing because I’m not anxious, I’m not hearing voices or seeing demons, I’m not suicidal, I’m just kind of sitting in my house content with where I am in the moment. And that’s a new feeling. As with all new feelings, they take some time getting used to.

My intention was to pinpoint ways to become content like this, but I’m not sure if I can put it into steps or even words. I’m still expanding my support force, both with peers and in the professional world, and I’ve dropped a lot of pride. I’m still morally against taking psychiatric medication, but I came to the realization that as a temporary tool they can be useful. I’ve decided to give it a year or two, see how much progress I can make, see what skills I can learn to curb my experiences, and re-evaluate at that point. It felt like a defeat. It will always feel like a defeat.

My cat is scratching to the beat of Chop Suey by System of a Down. THAT was hilarious.

I think I introduced my cat to everyone 2 years ago when I got her, and I said I’d named her Andromeda. That was a lie. I have since named her Jazz. She likes Jazz music and is wild like Jazz can be, and smooth and calm like Jazz can be. Therefore, her name is Jazz and it will forever be Jazz. Here is Jazz now:


Jazz Photo
She’s gotten much bigger
This was her 2 years ago

Now she lays on her back and watches Television. ‘MERICAN Cat.

My posts are going to be haphazard like this until I get back into my writing groove. There is a groove, believe it or not, that writers get into. Some people are content with spewing the first thought from their head, and that is their groove. I do most of my deep thinking when I’m writing, so a lot of these thoughts are carefully calculated in my head as I type. Nothing is too spontaneous. I edit and edit and edit and take what I say very seriously, even when I’m joking about Ben Carson lying about his times at Yale. Carson could never be a good manipulator of the masses, he lies too blatantly. You have to lie subtly, with the intent to make the lie sound real. Nothing he said sounded real. I think he needs to operate on his own brain.

I will forever rip him, Trump, and Alex Gorskey a new one at any chance I get. One day I hope at least one of them will read some of the things I’ve said about them. I will be content on my death bed if that is the case.

Throwing Shade.




My World

Hello wonderful people of the blogs sphere. I’d like to start off by saying welcome to the stream of new people I’ve had follow me recently. You will find out this blog is a clusterfuck of things, so I hope you enjoy clusterfucks.

It gets tedious sometimes speaking about how difficult life gets or how annoying health struggles can be, or how the world (or at least the United States) will most certainly end tomorrow, 11/8/16, and cease to exist for eternity. So today I figured I’d share some photos out of the last few months of my life.

What inspired this? Well, after going through all of my photos on both of my phones I realize I take pictures of random things sometimes. I also realize I take pictures I never look at ever again or even think of again. So, without further ado, here are some:

This is where I am located at the moment. The parking lot of my college campus:

Dark Mountains

The wonderful thing about this campus, beside the utter darkness in the picture above, is being located at the top of a mountain. I drove past a group of six deer on the way from one parking lot to the other tonight. They were huddled underneath a bush, not bothered a bit by the passing cars.

This is my boyfriend’s dog. I take way too many pictures of her. She’s a PitBull mixed with something–six months old. They named her Salsa. She’s one of the sweetest puppies I’ve met. She loves treats, licking my entire forearm, jumping, playing tug of war with the rope I bought her (far right picture), and she loves getting her belly and head scratched. They first got her some small stuffed fox, but she tore that apart. I told my boyfriend since she was a PitBull of sorts, she was going to need something a little stronger than a stuffed fox. I once stayed with a family who owned a six month old full bred male PitBull and he loved tug of war ropes. So I bought her one of those and some bones she could chew on instead of their furniture.


This is a picture of the sky I took about an hour before the sheriff took me to the psychiatrist hospital.


This is a picture of my math homework from the beginning of this semester. Why did I take a picture of this? No clue. But if you were ever wondering how to do Integration By Parts, there you go.


The hair products I use for my color treated hair. Why did I take a picture of them? Because I’m an asshole. I have no idea why.

The customization I will, one day, do to some car I own. They have lambo doors for Dodge Stratus’–they have the kit for it, at least–for a very reasonable price. Sometime in the near future, I will be riding around in even more style than I already do. Those headlights though: to die for. Once again . . . I took a photo to be an idiot. I don’t have friends to send these things too, so I have no clue why I take them.

Pictures from the Tech N9ne Calm Before The Storm tour I went to a month ago. The crowd downstairs was okay. Because he had the concert on a weekday (very rare), there weren’t many teenagers under 18 attending (thank GOD).


This is my father making some kind of face after I marked make up concealer on him. Yes, that is a feather in his hair and a kitchen towel on his shoulder, and yes, the shirt he is wearing is cut off like a crop top, and yes he’s wearing a green shirt underneath it. Dude, don’t fucking ask.

People ask why I’m so weird. This is why. This. Is. Why.


This is my boyfriend. It looks like he’s holding the salt delicately because he is. And he’s taking it very seriously, as you can see on his face.This is why I love him. Now, if both of us put that amount of concentration and devotion into our school work, we’d be 4.0 students by now.  If he sees this, the first thing he’s going to say is “you talkin’ shit about me on your blog again?”. Watch and see.

This is me taking stupid selfies. Yes, my eyebrows are red and blue. The blue I don’t always put on. The red/magenta is dyed onto my eyebrows so . . . it stays. At one point my hair was violet and magenta, another point just magenta, and right now it’s fading into Magenta-Gold. . . which isn’t as pretty as it sounds.

I am pointing a finger-gun at my temple because someone sent me something stupid, so I sent them that photo back as a response. Get off my back.

And yes, I’m cursed with resting bitch face. I do not smile in photos, unless I’m with people and even then if I hate those people I’ll probably be in the background pretending to hump them with a devilish look on my face or something.

I also don’t like selfies. I dug through way too many photos to find just those three.

I guess I’ve just broken my vow of anonymity and that’s fine. Besides, you still don’t know my name.

Muahahaha I’m evil.

Look at my evilness. Adore it. Envy it. Now get out. 

Apathetic Annie Ate Four Awesome Apples.

Ignore that title.

Sometimes people get this mixed up, so I decided to give a little explanation.

Apathy does not always accompany depression.

Contrary to what people have been believing these last five days, I am not depressed. I do not feel sad. I don’t feel like my life is horrible. That is not why I was pushed towards suicide.

There is a difference between being fed up and being depressed. I was fed up and hollow. Not depressed.

Contrary to what the LCSW said, I do not have low self-esteem. I’m actually a pretty arrogant prick, and in some respects to certain talents, I have a reason for it.


And no I’m not arrogant to make up for my low self esteem. Because I don’t have low self esteem. I’m confident in what I can accomplish. I’m aware of the things I suck at. And I’m okay with both.

This indifference has been following me around for a couple weeks now and it’s what has been putting a damper on all of my school work, I know this now. I was not crying in front of the damn social worker and sheriff because I was sad, but because I was incredibly, incredibly angry. I was angry I don’t have an explanation or answer for all of this. I’m usually pretty good at having answers. I stopped crying pretty quickly, within about two minutes of starting. I arrived in the intake place monotone. I think that’s why the LCSW started throwing out all her feelers trying to break me for 45 minutes. Didn’t work.

This really puts a damper on shit. I’m used to this shit lasting a few days because I decide to say “fuck it all, I’m too stressed!”. I’m not used to it not being spearheaded by me consciously.

I just don’t care. I can’t be bothered to take a shower or eat or get out of bed and make it to class. If I do make it to class, I couldn’t be bothered to give two shits. My anxiety can’t even break through these walls: I’ve been wandering outside and into stores in leggings, socks, and a sweater with the uncombed rats nest that is my hair, and I just don’t care that my neighbors cut quick glances in my direction.

I don’t care that Walgreens calls a code into the speaker after I make eye contact with the clerk and then suddenly I’m looking for soap and another employee peers around the corner at me and smiles and leaves. Yeah Walgreens, I’m really going to steal soap.


I don’t care if people think I’m rude for not making eye contact with them. I don’t care if I don’t laugh at your shit joke. Maybe if it weren’t so shitty, I would laugh. Ever think of that?

I’m usually a hypersensitive person, and that’s no different when I’m depressed. When I’m depressed, I’m crying a lot but I’m feigning a smile. When I’m depressed, I’m listening to sad music and thinking about how shit everything is. When I’m depressed, I feel like a failure. When I’m depressed, I tell myself I’m worthless. When I’m depressed, I want someone to hug me and tell me everything is alright. When I’m depressed, sometimes keeping busy actually helps keep myself out of my head and makes me feel better.I have a lot of experience with depression.

Granted, I still can’t get out of bed, I still sleep a lot, and get to class or keep up on work, but it’s because of the overwhelming feeling. That’s the key point in all of this.

I’m not crying; I’m not sad. I’m not happy, but I’m not sad. I’m nothing. I’m not feigning a smile, I could care less to appease anyone at this point. I’m listening to Michael Jackson and dancing a bit in my seat. I don’t feel like a failure. I don’t want anyone to hug me for fucks sake; in fact, I’d prefer it if people stayed away from me. Keeping busy hasn’t changed anything. I actually went to work. I went to work hoping a couple of specific people were there but turns out I decided to go insane the week none of them were.

It was worse the days leading up to the hospital, and the days after. It wasn’t until today that I feel a little break in the fog: I laughed at Kim Jong Un banning sarcasm is North Korea. That’s huge. A laugh is huge.


I guess I laughed at the hospital once, at the guy who crawled like a spider across the floor. But that was more sad and disturbing than funny. And I laughed a little uncontrollably for about five minutes. The girl next to me kept staring at me. I should have said bitch turn around, you in the same place I am, don’t act like you ain’t never seen someone laugh for no reason for five minutes straight. 



As I walked through the mist tonight in my same sweater, same leggings, same socks, I have been for the last five days, I was taking a look around. I think briefly I’ve talked about my disassociative experiences. They’ve been flaring up again. And as I walked I was trying to figure out why the world looked so different to me now. I was looking for some fascinating, descriptive words to make me sound like an exquisite asshole–I mean exquisite writer–but all I could come up with is “video games”.

Life feels like a video game now. Everything around me doesn’t seem like real life, it seems controlled. Things look different, people seem different. Like they’re all players, or puppets maybe.

You know the way GTA 5 has real looking facial features and nature features, but you can obviously tell it’s not reality? That’s what the world looks like to me: really good graphics that aren’t good enough to fool me.


Trevor was by far one of my favorite video game characters by the way. The black people in these games are always way too stereotypical though.

For those followers who have been with me for a couple months, do you remember when I said as a joke that this blog has steadily become a diary of my descent into madness? I think the madness is here.

Atychiphobia: Got A Pill For That, Jackass?

This weekend’s depression was not random, it was brought on by stress of this semester that I’ve been fighting ever since it’s begun. I took on a load that I knew I couldn’t handle and it’s biting me in the ass. Therefore, I’ve made the rather tough decision to drop two out of my three classes and retake them next semester.

One of my big reserves for doing this is that I hate feeling like a failure. I’m smart and I know it. It’s what makes me a little too arrogant sometimes. Calc isn’t hard, Chem isn’t hard, but they are both a lot of work and juggling the stress and the depression and lack of energy and lack of motivation and the anxiety makes it nearly impossible to keep up. So I find myself questioning whether this is the right path for me. I know I want to go into psychiatry with a focus in children/adolescents; that will always be my passion. But the path to that man, is fucking rough.

My second big reserve for doing this is money. I get my classes, books, and living expenses (even though I live with my parents) paid, and they’re not going to be happy knowing I’m quitting 3/4ths of my schedule. I’ve been fighting with myself for a few weeks over them. I’ve come to the conclusion that they can have their fucking money back. I always tell people your health is the most important thing and that if your job puts that at risk or your classes or your whatever, then get away from it, and yet here I am dragging myself through mud and glass just so I can try and make everything perfect, just so I can done with school quickly and not seem like a failure. Well, I keep catching mini colds, my anxiety keeps me up at night, my depression keeps me up at night, and I still don’t have enough time to put all the energy needed into these classes. I have to face the blaring fact: these classes are hurting my mental health. It’s time to pull out.

If I wasn’t so serious right now, I’d make a sexual joke about that.

Anyway, I know I exaggerate things. I know for some reason I feel my entire career and my entire life rides on my chem class and my calc class, like I’ll never reach my goal if I don’t pass them right this fucking instant and I’m learning to accept that is not a fact. I’m learning to accept that it’s alright to slow down, take some deep breaths, and know your limits. I’m learning to accept that I need to do some more work on myself before I can expect to exceed as much as I want to.

I’m very afraid of failure. Isn’t there a phobia for that?

Of course there is, there’s a phobia for everything these days. And who isn’t afraid of failure today? If you don’t live up to what everyone else wants you to live up to, you’re suddenly a failure. That makes mommy sad, daddy angry, and suddenly you’re the worst role model for your little brother who mommy says started smoking Crystal Meth because you dropped one of your classes in college. Damnit, You, look what you’ve done to Jimmy! He’s sticking himself with needles because you “couldn’t handle” Literature. It’s all your fault!

Everyone is obsessed with this thing we call “success”. But success is determined by you, I know this now. In order for me to be successful I need to be content, I need to have my mental health in order, and I need to be on my way to completing the schooling I want to do. That’s successful to me. If someone sees me as a “quitter” because I’m having to drop these classes, if they’re “disappointed”, than that sounds like a personal problem they need to deal with within themselves.

Obviously because I’m prone to anxiety, I get worried that I’m doing this avoid things. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve pushed myself to the breaking point this semester, because I don’t want school to be at the mercy of my maladaptive behaviors. I’ve decided this isn’t to avoid anything, this is one step backwards so I can take fifteen steps forward. It’s progress. It might seem backwards, but it’s progress.

I love math and science and I always will. But would I make a great nuclear chemist or theoretical physicist or any of that? Probably not, because I’ve realized that I don’t love math and science like I love psychology and writing. When I’m stressed I don’t go to math, I don’t go to chemistry, I go to my writing. I go to books. It’s what I find the most happiness in. It’s what I’ll always find the most happiness in. Writing can do a lot for others, and so can psychology; nuclear chemistry . . . eh, I don’t see what good coming up with a new element is doing the entirety of the world. That seems like more of a personal endeavor and I’m not that into myself. I guess you can put your name on element “HeadUpMyAssium” (Abbreviated, “Ha”) and go down in history but like I said, what good does that do anyone?

You can do a lot of things with science, I’m just poking fun at the ridiculousness. All these people trying to deconstruct life down to its very core, as if they’re ever going to come to a definitive answer. Life ain’t got time for that shit, humans. It’ll send you through so many twists and turns, so many mind-fucks, you’re going to wonder why you spent ten years in college and thirty years at NASA instead of laying on your back and appreciating the fact that you exist.

At any rate, that was what I spent my day thinking about. I’m sorry to my Chem Lab partner who is going to be left alone now. She’s awesome and I hope whoever I’m with next semester is just as awesome. I’m sorry to my math professor who had to grade through my depression (LOL SORRY BRO). Most of all I’m sorry to myself for not listening to my gut this summer saying “chill out; take your time” because it ended up being right. I need to slow down and take my time and realize that my passion for psychology isn’t going anywhere. As long as I have that, I’ll make it to my goal. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I’ll make it.

I guess I made this post for me. I don’t do that very often, but it needed to be done. It’s helped me see a lot clearer.