I’m not quite sure how I feel today. My psychiatrist asked me how things were going, how my mood was, and I said neutral. I’m not depressed, I’m not joyful, I just am. I feel like I’m in the mode of just existing again. I know it’s the medication.

I also notice a lot of loneliness creeping in. When I’m home at night by myself, at least. It’s as if I constantly need to be around people, and I’m not a people person. In fact, people wear me down too quickly. I dissociate and distance myself from them. But lately I’ve been needing to be around good company, constantly, as if I’m distracting myself from something.

That’s what it feels like. As if all the old emotions that are being brought up in therapy for the first time are riding the waves and the tide is bringing them onto shore. Only the shore is not equipped to handle these kinds of wave breaks, nor what the waves drag in.

I feel that I’m having to relearn who I am, what I believe in, and a good friend pointed out to me that after such a fall, it’s like starting a new relationship with yourself. And in starting a new relationship you need patience, kindness, compassion, and many other things I need to learn to show to myself.

This is going to be a short post today. I just don’t feel like writing about myself tonight, or anyone else for that matter. I miss bits and pieces of the life I had before the psychosis. I miss the old relationship I had with myself, even though the old relationship I had with myself wasn’t healthy. But it was comfortable. And that’s the painful part: losing that comfort.

And that’s today’s mental truth.


Self Confidence


Confidence is key.

At least, that’s what they say. And let’s be honest: how much of what “they” say should we really hold on to?

I think a lot of people struggle with confidence because of the standards set upon them. You should be good at this because you studied this. You should this, you should that. I think a lot of people struggle with confidence because there’s this misconception that being confident means you’ll succeed.

As someone who is thoroughly confident, I know this is not the truth. To be confident does not mean you will succeed, it means you have the ability to accept where you fall short. It means you don’t avoid the hole by risking your life and leaping over it, it means you fall into the hole and manage to climb your way out.

Some people call that resilience, but you can be resilient and stand strong while continuously getting beat into the ground without a chance to get back up. And without the chance to get back up, you start believing you won’t ever get back up. And that doesn’t sound like confidence to me.

To be confident means you know it’s okay to feel bad. To be confident means you know that the struggle is not the end, but a process to birth an outcome. To be confident means you know that outcome, whatever it may be, is just that: an outcome. And once that outcome passes, there will be another chance, in whatever way it presents itself, for you to create a new outcome.

To be confident means you don’t always smile. It means you accept what emotions come when they may, whether they be “appropriate” or not. To be confident means the words placed on your social media meant to provoke you into a rage doesn’t dent your pride, but elicits a laugh because words on a computer screen are like salt tablets thrown into the ocean.

To be confident doesn’t mean you’re strong, and it doesn’t mean you can turn your weaknesses into strengths. Being confident is the act of allowing weakness to simply exist.

To be confident isn’t to be smarter than the person beside you; confidence and arrogance are not synonymous, I’m sorry to say.

All of the above is the reason they say confidence is the key to success. When a wall is presented, those of us who are confident don’t slink in defeat and we don’t majestically leap over the wall with no effort. We stare at the wall and acknowledge it. We say, “okay, this wall is new; let’s see where this takes me”. Then we walk along the wall and feel the wall and see the wall and never ignore it. We let the wall think it controls our fate and we understand that by giving up the power of perfection and standards and the illusion that we can simply climb up the wall without understanding why the wall exists in the first place, we gain even greater power of our outcome.

You don’t need multiple successes for confidence: take it from someone who, in many people’s eyes, including my own, has failed over and over and over and over and over again. And those failures are what keep me going. If I didn’t have those, I wouldn’t be nearly as confident. I would be terrified that one day, at some point in time, my successes or my achievements or my standards would be ripped away in an instant. I would smile all the time so people couldn’t see my terror.

With that, I shall leave you with another excerpt entitled “Prayer For Keeping On”.

Let us find a way to keep it moving, to keep it alive and free, where it wants to be. Let us walk all the way through doubt consistently, to believe in what we have found in our beginnings. Let us know what is real, and let us pass it back and forth between our hands until we are gone from this earth, and even then, let us remain in this spirit, please.

From “Sam Woods, American Healing”.


An Undeserved Break


It’s 3 a.m and I just sent out the notice that I’m quitting.

Now, to fight the feeling of being a complete loser, I’ve decided to sleep through tomorrow and hopefully avoid whatever email I get from the director.

I don’t even want to think about the fact that I still need to pick up two checks. I haven’t picked them up because I hate going into Guest Services and saying “can I get my check” to the service people.

I’ve conquered many, many aspects of my social anxiety since I was seventeen. I should be proud. But it’s hard to  . . .

It’s hard to think straight at all with fucking Beyonce telling me to put a ring on it in my headphones, hold on, let me change this shit . . .

Okay, I’m back.

work_hard_and_be_proud_what_you_achieve_classic_white_coffee_mug-re2f58fefca344354b0badcba2049726e_x7jg5_8byvr_324It’s hard to be proud when little things like picking up a check still stop me from functioning. It’s hard to be proud when I can hardly go anywhere by myself without being immensely uncomfortable. It’s hard to be proud when I can hardly go anywhere with someone without being immensely uncomfortable.

There are several things I’ve learned about myself over the course of the last few months:

  1. I’m not incapable of conversation; in fact when I try my hardest I’m alright at it.
  2. I’m too hard on myself when I make a mistake and the mistake runs through my head until I’m stuttering and sounding like an idiot which, in turn, makes me even more nervous.
  3. I don’t care.

That third one is important. When I say I don’t care, I’m talking about conversation, or being around people or staying organized or taking care of general responsibilities like laundry, dishes, e.t.c ,things people tend to get annoyed at me for not doing. I’m not interested in gatherings. If you tell me about your weekend, I’m most likely going to be uninterested. Not because I’m rude, but because I’m probably thinking about something else and you’re interrupting that.

Honestly, if I wasn’t so socially anxious and hyper-aware of social stereotypes, I wouldn’t care about hygiene either, unless it posed a health risk.


The other day I realized I’ve been on my own for two years. I haven’t had a friend or confidant (this doesn’t include my boyfriend) in two years. I’ve stopped speaking with them all because I got bored. In fact, that’s what usually happens. It’s too much effort to keep up friendships, so everyone ends up being an acquaintance, people who I help if they need help or people who sometimes offer to help me if they see I need it. Sometimes I’ll be around them, but those are the ones who I’ve known for over seven years and they’ve pretty much got used to how I am.


I’ve talked on this topic before, about wanting friends v/s needing friends. Are they a necessity? Some people seem to feel as if they are. I tend to disagree, I think it’s often an inconvenience in terms of, you know, personal fucking space.

Remember how they teach you as a young child not to let anyone in your personal bubble? Well mine is about four acres in diameter.

If someone is yapping at me, I don’t have time to be in my own head. That’s an inconvenience.


In terms of networking, I think they’re incredibly important. I try my best to be as fake as possible when it comes to business because they feed off that. I like to be friendly to coworkers just so there’s no confrontation. I have to put up with their yapping and their laughter and their conversation topics I don’t nor will I ever care about.

That being said, I care about people in terms of them being people. Because they are human and of my species, there is an innate affection I feel for them. When someone is in danger, I help. If someone sneezes in public, I say “bless you”. I joke with them and I have some weird ability to make people smile–don’t know where that comes from. They gravitate towards me. I like helping them, I like sharing logic with them and giving them a different point of view. I like knowing that they come to me before anyone for advice.

But I’m not my true self, I’m not satisfied, until I’m sitting alone in my room entertaining myself. That’s a real sense of happiness.

I think my boyfriend takes offense to that when I say it, as if I don’t want to be around him or something. I think a lot of people take my definition of happiness as personal, or they develop a train of dangerous deduction logic where they think “Because she likes being alone, and because she’s not alone when she’s with me, she hates being with me”.

first-for-effortFaulty logic, but I’ll give everyone an A for effort.

I don’t mind being around other people. Sometimes it becomes an inconvenience and I get bored or annoyed or anxious or angry and need to leave. That doesn’t mean I hate anyone, it just means I’m introverted and don’t give two shits about being average.

Like today, for example. We walked along the wharf, got some fish and fries or chips or whatever you want to call them in the country you live, and then stopped by an ice cream/candy shop for his little sister. And us. Because I got a bag of sour taffy. So much for eating healthy again.

This shop is tiny. The building is large but the majority of it is taken up by the counter top, the ice cream, the taffy maker, and their storage and cooking areas. So the hallways to walk are narrow and because it’s spring break, because it’s a tourist town in which I live, people were clogging the way.

Now, I can handle crowds up to a certain point. I could handle the crowds as we were walking up and down the Wharf because I was only at the mercy of my social anxiety, not to mention my boyfriend was right next to me.

But in that tiny store, it’s not my anxiety that overwhelms me. I’ve never been claustrophobic: I’m the type of person who finds small spaces comforting sometimes. It’s the sensory overload that gets me. It’s the skin to skin contact you have to put up with. It’s the fact that I can’t breathe without feeling like I’m invading someone else’s space or feeling that their breathing is invading my space. All of the voices sound like they’re shouting, all of the movement makes me extremely uncomfortable. I hate when people move.


Is that weird?

I seriously hate it. If there’s a chair somewhere, sit. If you’re standing, stop moving back and forth, it seriously puts me on edge to the point where I’ve shouted at people to sit down or stop moving.

The day was bright and sunny, another thing I struggle with because of how bright it is and how everything hurts my eyes. So by the end, after all of our purchases were rung up I just said “go, go, go” and booked it towards the nearest exit.

That was enough contact with the outside world for me for the next two days or so. I’ll still walk outside, maybe take a drive, take some pictures, but I won’t be confronting cashiers or going to work (obviously) or doing anything that overwhelms my system.

I need a break from everything.


Life Goals


We all have our signs.

We all know when we’re slipping a little bit into that dark hole, whether it be a slight change in mood or sparks of panic at the slightest noise or a whisper in our head and there or something scurry int he corner of our eyes. Although we can’t predict the intensity, we can sense the way it falls into a predator stance, stealth it’s way through the overgrowth of weeds, and keeps its eye on our fragile frame drinking innocently at the water hole.

Sometimes it feels like we’re at the mercy of fate. 

Speaking from personal experience, and now that I think about it, my depression has never been much of a touch and go kind of thing. Some people have periods where they go through year long depressive episodes and then come out of it and live their life for a while before it hits them again.

I’ve noticed I’m either horribly depressed and on the verge of suicide, or mildly depressed–not enough to fully impair my functioning but enough to make functioning difficult, enough to make me aware of it, enough to where if some trigger came pouncing along I’d fall helpless back into the pit.

Come to me

I often say positive things. It’s how I keep myself out of that hole and even though it’s something I have to work on everyday, it keeps me in school (barely) and it keeps me alive. But being positive all the time is creepy. It’s fucking weird. You know those people who walk around with The Joker smiles on their face and laugh at every joke you tell and always dress nice and drive nice cars or ride nice bikes and wear nice shoes and always know the latest style Kim K rocked . . . or, most recently, her nude line she seems to be rockin’.

Those people scare me. What are they hiding from? I’d rather be sobbing in the corner fighting against the beast in my head than acting like he isn’t there.

Everyone is tormented by something. Perhaps not to the same extent, but something is always going to go wrong. If they didn’t, we wouldn’t realize when things are going right.

quote-you-may-proclaim-good-sirs-your-fine-philosophy-but-till-you-feed-us-right-and-wrong-can-wait-bertolt-brecht-213084Then, you know, there’s the whole philosophical argument asking what right and wrong even mean, but we won’t go there. And whatever you do, please do not comment below that right and wrong are entirely subjective and only an individual can decide what is right and wrong for them. Because then you make it alright for someone who thinks it’s right to torture babies to torture babies and I don’t think you want that guilt on your shoulders.

We all have out way of handling things too. Some people read, some people exercise, some people do homework (which I should have done), and some people immerse themselves in things that usually make them happy but really only lift their mood for a brief period. I have a tendency to do that. So today, since my morning class was cancelled, I spent a totally of eleven hours on the computer dicking around on the internet. As you can see, it’s eleven hours and counting.

Because that’s my new drug.


I remember one Heroin addict explaining that all the problems that were the cause of his issues never went away when he used, they were still in the back of his head, he just didn’t care. It was easier to ignore them, easier to not give two shits that his life was falling apart. I use the internet to the same extent: everything that I should be doing is in the back of my head but I just can’t bring myself to tackle them. So instead I watch countless hours of comedy videos hoping the laughter will stimulate a natural dose of dopamine.

Sometimes I have the arrogance level of an early Kanye West. Sometimes that’s what keeps me afloat: the more I act like I’m the shit, the less likely I am to call myself a piece of shit. I try not to let that arrogance influence how I speak to people but I’m pretty sure it has before.

I’m a work in progress.

anchorman-ron-burgundySometimes you need that faux confidence to take you where you need to be. Kanye West is as famous as he is today because of it. You can be the judge of whether that’s good or bad, but the point is he made it because he refused not to make it. And whether or not he actually believed in himself as much as he made it seem like he did is up for questioning. When Dave Chappelle first met him in the studio of The Chappelle Show and Kanye received a phone call, Chappelle recalls him saying something along the lines of “No, I can’t go, I’m at the Chappelle show watching clips no one has seen before.” There was a pause and Kanye said blatantly “cause my life is dope and I do dope shit”. And then hung up.

It’s one thing to let that mindset carry you to “success”, it’s another to let it go unmanageable to the point where you start tweeting things like “Ima fix wolves”.


“You build up one school in Africa and think you fixin’ the country; if you’re going to help anyone . . . help me . . . “


“Mark Zuckerberg, invest in Kanye West Ideas”. 

tumblr_n0y460ugyg1rwcfrqo3_500First, what the fuck is wrong with wolves? Are they broken? How does he intend to fix them? Do they want to be fixed? What kind of dope is Kanye on these days?

I used to envy his ego because it pulled him to the top so quickly. I’m not looking to be a power-hungry, attention-whore superstar, I just want to be successful at I want to do with my life and I can see there are several ways to go about this. I also see that I think more than I do and I believe this contributes a lot to my depression.

But if I didn’t have as much anxiety as I do, I’d be doing a lot more than I’d be thinking.

There’s got to be some way to balance this all out. I have my eyes set on my goals and while Kanye is busy fixing all the broken wolves of the world, I’m going to build up a true confidence and a healthy level of arrogance (I believe there is such a thing). I know I’m determined to share my story with the world and create a legacy for myself that, if I’m lucky, can influence at least one person on this earth.

If I could stop one person from pulling the trigger or help one person reestablish the life they want, than I’ll have done my job.

If you were a close friend of mine, you would know one of my most infamous come-backs to people who get taken back by the words I say is “I wasn’t put on this earth to be nice”.


Sometimes they misconstrue the meaning of that. I certainly wasn’t put on this earth to be nice, I believe that whole-heartedly. Because being a “yes man”, being someone who just says “well that’s how it is I guess” isn’t my personality. It’s part of my anxiety, but never my personality.

To me being supportive to someone isn’t being nice, it’s being humane. It’s being normal, if I were ever to define normal.

I’d much rather be the reason they say “I love life” than be stuck asking myself “what if” as I watch them get lowered into the ground.

Because it’s never really been done for me, I want to do it for others. That’s my reward for having made it through as much as I have. 

WARNING: Nasty Ass Rant

Warning: If you don’t like bad language I’d suggest you don’t look at this.

This is not going to be one of my normal posts

I’ve been posting often and they’ve been long because I can’t shut my mouth up–err, the mouth in my head–and here comes another one so bare with me through this week people.

This one won’t be as long as the one earlier today or the one before that or the one before that, because I’ve only got a few things to say.

I don’t know what I’ve been rambling about the last few days–I mean I know the content but did I really have a revelation about myself, I don’t think so.

I can’t distinguish the emotion I’m feeling at the moment–I haven’t been able to for the last four days. But tonight is especially bad. I’m pissed off, I’m sad, I’m frustrated, I’m happy, I’m anxious, and I want to be social but I want to be in my little corner and I don’t know how to juggle it all.

People. Don’t. Get. It.

It’s not a joke. I’m not sitting here trying to sound dramatic and loopy and stupid. It’s fucking hard.

I want to cry and laugh at the same time and how the fuck does that make sense?

If I could leave the stupid fucking house without someone screaming about it (it’s 11:22pm) I would, but I can’t. I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. A drive maybe, but then I’d need to put gas in the car. I can’t walk down the street at this time of night, I’d be paranoid of shadows and the last fucking emotion I need right now is paranoia. 

I’m listening to music now. I was watching some funny YouTube videos because sometimes the laughter helps, but it hasn’t this time.

So now I’m ranting because maybe this will help. Feel free to completely ignore this post.

But all my other ones you better fucking read.

Just kidding.

Then I get into arguments with people about society and the value (or non-value) of money and the concept of human nature and how I need to get out of the house and explore the world or whatever the fuck. Wrong time to pick a goddamn argument with me. It’s only frustrating me more.

I want to talk to someone about it but what’s the point when no one understands it anyway? We’ve all been emotional right? That’s what they suppose it feels like.

This doesn’t feel like I’m emotional. This is like a trap. It’s a fucking trap. The slightest noise makes my heart race and my skin flinch and my mother smiling at me and telling me there’s food on the stove pisses me off because I want to be alone and no one fucking gets it but at the same time I don’t want to be left alone but I do because . . .

I don’t fucking get it. I don’t! I don’t get it.

In the middle of my text argument my phone keeps freezing and I can’t fucking take it and I want to throw the piece of shit out the window but I’m the one with the expert mask who probably shouldn’t loose her shit and wake the whole house up because I’m normal, I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong with me.

So I suppress it.

If it was day light I would have launched it into the closet door and punched something already.

The videos are so funny and I was enjoying them but not really. They kept me distracted.

I want to cry. About what? I have no idea. Everything is painful. I think about everything I’ve wasted this semester and all the time that’s passed and how fucking stupid I am and the depression hits–but only for a few seconds, then I’m back to seething anger and arguments and frustration because I can’t control it. I can suppress it, but it’s not controlled. It builds and builds and I know I won’t get to sleep early tonight.

Then I feel a little better. And I think maybe it’s passed. And then it starts all over again and I say FUCK!


I just don’t give a shit right now. I’m done answering messages on my phone. I don’t give a shit about money being necessary for the economy, I don’t give a shit about the economy, I could give a flying fuck about society right now and I don’t even remember what my argument was and I honestly don’t care what it was. I’m thirsty as fuck and there’s nothing to drink and no I don’t give a shit if any of this makes sense to you right now.

Yes I have a history of self-harm and yes, these are the moments I revert into that mindset. I don’t want to “punish myself” or “Get attention” or “feel something because I’m numb”. I’m the exact opposite of numb.

No, I need it to focus on just to bring me back down to earth.

I don’t do that anymore because it’s too noticeable and I’m the perfect one, right? I’ve got my shit together, right? I’ve got to make it look like I just have a little bit of social anxiety and maybe a little bit of occasional depression just so my parents don’t freak out. My father doesn’t even know I go to therapy–he wouldn’t remember anyway.

So instead I sit here bathing in whatever the fuck I’m bathing in wishing I could bang my head against the wall or slice open some skin or burn my skin or at least burn something–or fight. Fighting would be nice. I’d stab a motherfucker right now, I’m not in the mood for bullshit.

How do I hide this? I’ve become an expert at it because I tuck myself away in my room and no one questions it. My parents can go days without seeing me out of my room other than for food and the bathroom and they won’t question it–they’ll just wait until I emerge on my own. No one questions it. That’s how I get away with it. It’s not as if I have friends who would notice something different about me. Like I’ve said over the last few days, I don’t even want friends! 

Someone to vent to? Maybe. Friends? No. You can keep them. They fucking annoying me and that’s the truth. No one is true to their word and I don’t need to deal with that drama. They don’t give two shits if I leap off a cliff and blame them in this suicide note–they probably wouldn’t even believe it.

I don’t trust people. I don’t care if that’s not good, I don’t trust them. I think they’re motives are wrong, I don’t think they believe a word I say and in turn I don’t believe a word they say.

Everyone can stay the hell away from me for all I care.

I have a fucking headache.

I said this wouldn’t be long and it is.

I’m trying to breathe but my mind is spinning in circles thinking about how petty I must look in that argument on my phone, about how angry I am at my anger, about how I need to finish (start) my essay, how I need to stop being fucking stupid, how I need to cry, how I don’t want to cry, how I’m not depressed, how it doesn’t make sense that I feel depressed but I’m not depressed, how I’m going to go eat even though I’m not hungry, how I just wish I could punch someone, anyone, right in the face and just take them to the ground and keep hitting and hitting and hitting until maybe I loose feeling in my hands and then I’ll have something to focus on other than this shit in my head.

Music keeps me in reality right now.

I’ll always love music.

How do I hide this from people? I must be a fucking mastermind.

Jotting that down helped a little. I don’t think I’m going to murder anyone anymore. But damn am I fed up with this shit.

I said I was going to be more truthful to myself and this is about as truthful as it gets. I can’t take this shit. There’s the fucking truth.

That helped a little tiny bit. It did. For the time being.

Nope. Fucking WordPress froze as I was adding tags. Pissed off again. Thanks stupid motherfucker.

I swear to God. I swear. If this computer wasn’t 600 dollars I’d fucking smash it to the ground and jump on it and punch it and then throw it out the window and into someone’s car just so I could have justification to fuck up their car too. If WordPress was a person, they’d be fucked right now.

The Unacceptable Apology


It’s been very apparent to me, since the age my awareness of myself developed enough that I could form a better understanding of the world, that I don’t belong here.

I’m positive there’s another universe or galaxy or planet out there waiting for me to return.

I’m sure many introverts feel this.

The thing about having Social Anxiety disorder, in which I often want to engage with people but 1) don’t know how, 2) am usually thwarted by anxiety flooding my brain and hindering my usual witty comebacks and original ideas, and being an introvert in which I appreciate time by myself or with one or two other people and prefer to be away from most people, even the ones who I adore, is that neither of them are accepted or understood by other people.

I’m not the girl with social anxiety or the introvert, I’m the weirdo.

I’m the quiet weirdo.

I’m the quiet weirdo you should most likely ignore because, hey, you don’t talk anyway.

I’m the quiet weirdo you should most likely ignore and you should talk about after I leave whatever establishment I’ve accompanied you in.

I get it; I do. I’ve been in situations around people who have “stranger” behavior than myself and your first instinct is judge. We’re only human, after all.

However, I’ve noticed most of my mental pain caused by large social situations is never directed at myself intentionally. I call myself an idiot for not being able to be like them, I cuss myself out in my head, I cry for about two or three hours after I get home, but the reality of the situation is that I’m angry who I am isn’t someone people can easily accept.

My idea of fun is writing a short story or taking my camera out for the some one on one time with nature. My idea of fun is sitting right here at this computer in this room, contemplating whatever thought drills itself into my skull. That’s my idea of fun and it doesn’t seem to be anyone else’s.


It’s not that I crave acceptance from everyone, because that’s a fairy tale lie. Id’ just like to, for once, sit in a room of people and feel welcomed. I’ve been the outcast my whole life and I can’t figure out if it’s my fault or everyone else’s.

It’s probably a little of both: their lack of understanding, my lack of social skills. That’s just a north pole and a north pole running towards each other.

I try my hardest in every situation I’m thrown into. I always go in with anxiety and I always try and make the best of it, no matter what my brain tells me–and people can’t see that. They take my silence as rudeness or idiocy and return the favor accordingly. But every moment I’m around someone, I’m trying hard. I have my few successes and I have my many failures.

Everything is a learning experience, I know this. I know that I get ridiculously emotional after any day where I’ve spent the majority of it in social situations and I ride that emotion because I know it’s healthy. I used to fight it because, shit, who likes feeling like a failure? But that only led to self-harm.

Now I cry and I let the wave of depression pass, the wave of feeling hopeless, and I let the little assholes in my head replay all the stupid things I did that night and I sit back and wait for it to stop because eventually it does stop. And when it does, I get a chance to see things clearly. I get a chance to breathe and tell myself I’m probably overreacting to a lot of things.

'Okay, I take it back, you don't over-react!'That’s the majority of my problem–overreacting. If you sit me in a room of people I’m never worried about them staring at me (unless I’m in a classroom), I’m only ever obsessed with whether or not they’re talking about me in their heads or talking about me in their whispers.

I take that back–it’s not a “Whether or not” type of situation, I’m 100% positive people talk about me when I leave or talk about me while I’m in their company, or think about me when I’m in their company, and I’m 100% positive it’s about how odd I am. I’ve heard my name whispered in countless situations and I hear people whispering and I know I’m being talked about. It’s not like I base these assumptions purely on my brain.

I see the expressions on their face plan as day. I see the awkwardness in their eyes and I see them look me up and down and I see them stare blankly when they say something and I don’t know what to say back because my conversation skills are often at the level of a one year old. It’s not that I don’t have things to say, it’s that I have no idea what’s appropriate to say where. I don’t know how to continue conversations and I don’t know how to start conversations. If you meet me in person you’ll notice that I jump around from subject to subject because those are the way thoughts run in my brain.

I put myself in situations that push me to my limit so I can hopefully, one day, get comfortable enough that I’m not up at one in the morning writing like this.

But I’m never going to change who I am. I love who I am. I love my hobbies, I love my likes and my goals and my personality.

I’m never going to be the person to get close to people. I’m not going to be the one to have six or seven close friends. I’m not going to be the one able to entertain a whole room. That’s just not me.


For most things, it’s not a matter of “getting used to it”. That kind of thing applies to speaking in class. It applies to giving presentations and running experiments. It applies to asking questions when I need answers or forming friendly relationships with people in the workplace or school.

I’m not going to be the one who enjoys parties or mobs of people or socialization. I literally don’t enjoy it. 98% of the time.

Every once in a while I need some company, but that usually includes one or two people at the most. Any more than that and the anxiety and paranoia kicks in and I’m convinced everyone hates me, is ready to get rid of me, are talking shit about me and laughing about me in their head. I’m studying their expressions and their eyes and their tone of voice and I believe it accurate in the moment and I shrink into my shell because of all the hatred and disgust. The worst part is I can’t trust my eyes or my ears.

Even the people closest to me, who hear my mouth every day and laugh at my jokes and enjoy my company have no idea that I couldn’t tell them my true feelings if I tried. I can’t have conversation freely with even them. And I don’t have an explanation for why.

So I like being with myself. I know myself. I can talk to myself and listen to myself and know that I’m being truthful. I can retreat in the world in my head without worrying about someone snapping their fingers in my face asking if I spaced out.

It Made Me Giggle So I had To Share It

My biggest fear? That all of this will ruin my relationship. I’m never going to be like everyone else and talkative and “fun” and bouncy and bubbly, and I’m never going to like to have a “girl’s night out” or whatever the fuck people say women do (trip to the salon, mani, pedi, whatever; all that shit, I hate it), I’m never going to look at my eventual coworkers as more than coworkers, and I’m never going to have a problem with any of that. I like myself.

But the real world isn’t built for introverts, it hardly even appreciates us.

It’s their loss.

It’s going to be my loss if all of this fucks up the first real connection I’ve ever had with someone of the opposite sex.

Am I even meant to be in a relationship?

Regardless, I’m an introvert and I have social anxiety and I’m not going to fucking apologize for it. I’d rather be an outcast crying in bed each night than ever pretend to be someone I’m not.



Let Me Drop A Bomb Of My Own

Alright you know I have to say my piece on Paris.

I’ve been coming across random posts about it and I’ve just been sitting here waiting, lurking, eager for more information to come out. These things are always touchy subjects, especially in western civilization. It’s sparking a lot of fear (if you didn’t already know, America is known for it’s Culture Of Fear) and a lot of heartache.

Of course my heart goes out to the people of Paris who lost their lives, the people of Paris who lost their family and their friends, and the people of Paris who are now living in a state of emergency. It’s a moment in time that will affect the rest of many people’s lives in the worst way possible. For that reason it’s disheartening.

I hear a lot of people saying “we’re all in this together, stop the senseless killing.”

I hear a lot of people saying “we have to love each other, you guys.”

I hear a lot of people saying “fucking terrorists”

I hear even more people saying “fucking terrorists are going to come over here!” 

And now that it’s been revealed ISIS was behind the attacks, I’m sure I’m going to hear a lot more of “Fucking Islamic terrorists!”

Hmmm. Let me take a moment before I open my big ass mouth.

Stop. Stop with the “we’re all in this together” stop with the “fucking Islamic terrorists” stop with the fear. Stop and silence yourself. Now think.

ISIS is obviously a radical group. They obviously have an affinity for decapitation and mutilation and violence. There is no question about that.

And so do we. There is no question about that.

France vowed to get their revenge according to an article that was released two hours ago. They declared it an “act of war”.

Lets get one thing fucking straight here. This isn’t anything new. It shouldn’t be shocking. When you’re over in the middle east shooting down families, burning huts, blatantly disrespecting their religious choices, you think that’s not an act of war? You think it’s alright for all these armies to storm in there claiming they fight for “Freedom” (whatever the fuck that means) when really they only provide weapons and aide to the allied countries that supply them with oil? You think those haven’t been acts of war?

These attacks are not random. This is a cauldron of bullshit that has been bubbling for years and ISIS just happens to be one of the radical groups with enough power and craziness to act. So yes, you should be scared; there’s now a group with enough power to play your little game back at you.

This is not to say killing innocent people is alright. I feel deeply for the people of Paris; the citizens have done nothing to deserve this, just as the citizens in all those middle eastern countries did nothing to deserve the attacks on them.

You ever notice in all the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and such, we never got the true numbers of how many of their people died. We got the number of our soldiers. We were taught to grieve for our soldiers (and rightfully) but we don’t hear about the families torn to shreds, the children living in fear, the parents struggling to walk outside of their house to get food in fear of getting caught in the crossfire between radical groups and western troops.

And let’s also consider why the fuck groups like this even form. Yes, many have a religious agenda. Many hate their government (and have reason to). Others are like the Guerrilla’s in “When The Mountains Tremble”; they’re fighting because people are fighting them.

Let’s flip this around. Say America has some nice resources the rest of the world depended on. Let’s say we had civil unrest and our government was struggling and Europe wasn’t willing to save our ass and let’s say there were several groups formed throughout the country fighting for power. Would you agree to have ISIS over here and force their will and their agenda upon us with their guns and their tanks and their soldiers so they can secure their cash crop on our land?

My point? Mind your own fucking business.

Stay the fuck out of countries and countries will stay the fuck out of you.

I don’t care how much oil you loose. I’ll drive a Fred Flintstones car, I don’t give a fuck.

ISIS is a result of all this past bullshit. Yes, they’re militant and yes they’re religion based and they’re obviously ruthless, but they came from countries torn apart by unrest and foreign armies and induced poverty and government corruption. They started with radical demands for their own country, not anyone else’s. This attack wasn’t random, and the following attacks won’t be random. This is unrest that’s been bubbling for years and years and now it’s spilling over the rim.

That much hate doesn’t develop out of thin air. If the entirety of ISIS are enraged sociopaths than I’ll bite my tongue, but I don’t think that’s the case.

War is never about peace or freedom; war is about money, it’s about divided beliefs, and it’s about allied countries.

An article already speculates ISIS struck Paris because America finances Saudi Arabia.

What the fuck does that have to do with peace, religion, freedom, or any of that bullshit?

Okay, Okay, if I haven’t convinced you, consider this: How could something as gruesome as war blossom into something as pure as peace? It doesn’t. No one’s been fighting for freedom or justice. ISIS hasn’t, America hasn’t; the last justifiable war was World War 2 and I will forever stand my ground on that.

Anyone feel a World War 3 approaching? The best thing we can hope for is that everyone will be so busy taking selfies with their guns to show how badass they are hardly anyone will get killed.

So to those who say “why can’t we live in peace and love each other?”, there’s your answer. Because it’s never been about peace or love. It’s never been about helping people, it’s never been about embracing freedom and human rights because all three principals are violated in the midst of war. ON BOTH SIDES.

Why don’t we grieve both for Paris and for the countries ISIS has bombarded? For all the families that have been torn apart by governmental and military industrial complexes? And grieve for ISIS; they’re lost people. They grew up in war and the only thing to cling to in the midst of horror is faith, religion, God–everything else gets blown to hell. They’re fighting for what they believe in because they’ve had nothing else to believe in. That’s not giving them an excuse to murder. It’s proving to you there is humanity amidst tragedy and pain and delusion.

If you truly believe in “World Peace”, if you truly wish we could “all love each other”, if you truly believe we’re all apart of each other, than you’ll be able to have compassion for even the most diabolical, the most freakish, the most fiendish, loathsome monster.

If you truly believe in worldly unity, in Truth, in love, than you’ll be like the mother who hugs her child’s killer in an act of acknowledgement, in an act of selflessness and realization that hurt occurred in their life as well.

You’ll be the one who understands the difference between compassion for these people and justification of their actions.

We’ve been structured to have emotions only for ourselves, only for our great country and our great values. We aren’t taught to explore the possibilities of other’s hurt. We’re taught to see that what ISIS did was wrong but not to understand that it wasn’t unprovoked.

It’s good to live in the present; it’s atrocious to live without acknowledgement for the past and that’s what we’ve been doing. I’ll say it once more; groups like this don’t pop out of the ground.

I’ll also say this once more: ISIS has no justifiable reason for their murders. Rarely is there any justifiable reason for murder. What they did was disgusting, it’s horrendous, it’s soul crushing. As is every other bombing, shooting, and act of war across the span of the globe. This is nothing new and it’s nothing shocking. Stop acting like it.

Acknowledge what you’ve done, learn from where you’ve been, and apply it to the present. Once government/military agents, radicals, and religious sects come to this sort of consensus, once we all realize our world is only as humane as our strongest opposition to humanity, maybe then we can claim ourselves progressive and civilized.

Until then, I’d get used to considering yourself primitive.

P.S: I think everyone would do well to educate themselves about actual Islamic practices. ISIS should do this more than anyone. 

P.S.S: America will have it’s time. We’re not invincible and neither is Europe. I’d suggest they all examine this truth a little more closely.

Just Thoughts

I slept a good twelve hours today and I’m still tired, but I’m feeling a little better despite the overwhelming feeling that something bad is going to happen. That’s a norm, too. I’m not unfamiliar with the realm of feeling suicidal or harming myself or anything like that but I am unfamiliar with pulling myself out of it. I’ve been trying this time. Instead of forcing myself to “think positive” (whatever the hell that means; seems as vague as having pride for being a “good worker”), I thought about the things I wouldn’t be able to do if I killed myself. I wouldn’t be able to write–wholly shit, that was a whammy. I’m like damn son, if I can’t write then what the fuck? What if I float in purgatory with a ghost pen that doesn’t write on any type of ghost paper and I’m forever doomed to a wispy existence without the ability to record my thoughts. That realization keeps me here another day.

I would say something about missing my family, my boyfriend, e.t.c., because I would, but when you’re depressed (at least when i’m depressed) you already think everyone around you is better off without you. So it didn’t make much sense to use them as a reason to stay because I would have to try and convince myself that I needed them. The last thing I want to do when depressed is try and convince myself not to be depressed. I’d rather try and find a reason to enjoy things again. That’s the scariest part for me, is that fact that I can’t enjoy things like I used to. So I try and force myself into them to make me enjoy them again and that didn’t work. instead, I played Minecraft because that takes a very, very minimal amount of brain power and it has a creative element to it; get those juices flowing again that I know I have. So that’s what I’ve been doing for these last few days.

Don’t really have a lot to say today, makes sense I guess.

Until next time.

Conversing With My Brain Is Rarely Pleasent

I didn’t use to believe it, but depression is eerily comforting.

I can feel it poking its head over the horizon like a groundhog popping its head out of a hole on the prairie.

I wish I had a furry animal to cuddle and love and who would want to cuddle and love me back, mostly because I’m it’s source of food and shelter but what the hell, I can handle being used. That’s what sucks about living in a small apartment; they don’t let you do shit.

No one wants to be depressed, I know I don’t, but really I’ve spent more of my life depressed and anxious than I have “happy” (whatever that means) and content. It’s more comfortable floating in that state of uneasiness, confused on whether I want to live but sure on the fact that I don’t want to die, and certain only on the fact that this pain exists, than it has ever been for me to be productive or a student or a part of the community.

School is becoming a chore rather than something I enjoy and I know that’s dangerous. This morning I woke up thinking it was Saturday (I’m dead serious over here), so I went back to sleep and woke up like shit today isn’t Saturday. So I missed my morning class yet again. I don’t have the energy to deal with it, I don’t have the motivation to study for my Wednesday test, and I feel like I should care about it all but I don’t. I think that’s what’s bugging me the most. I just don’t give a fuck.

Of course I’ll scramble at the last minute today, I’ll study as much as I can, I’ll get my homework done, but it’ll be like someone’s chained me to the wall, whipped me with one of those freaky kinky leather strap whip things, then attached electrodes all over my skin to shock some energy into me so I can scribble a few bullshit lines on a piece of paper and call it a day. I love learning. I hate college. These are two facts I wish meshed together better than they do.

I only hate college when I’m depressed–which isn’t all that weird considering what depression is. I felt good last week, I got some shit done, I was studying, I was understanding, and now it’s all gone. The energy is gone, the determination is gone, the hope that I can actually finish out this semester is gone. It’s all been hallowed out with an ice cream scoop. So now I’m just an empty sack of nothing spending her days watching cats on YouTube and wondering what tasty food stuff I can shove down my face hole.

I told my brain:

“Brain, whatever you do, don’t be a bitch for once. We almost have everything caught up. Don’t dick me over. I don’t need depression right now.” 

My brain replied:

“I’d never be a dick to you, don’t worry, I got you.” 

So we went on our merry ways getting through the anxiety attack from Thursday and sleeping away Friday to catch up on all the hours I missed that week. Then I woke up and I felt it. I told my brain:

“Brain . . . you’re starting to feel a little squishy. What’s . . . what’s going on up there? I thought we had this?”

My brain replied:

“I got this. Don’t even trip. Don’t even trip.” 

I started tripping. The next morning I said,

“Brain something’s going on. Don’t lie to me. Your thoughts aren’t right, they’re all pitiful and sad. What’s the matter with you?”

My brain replied:

“We’re worthless. Just quicken my end already.” 

I facepalmed, and grumbled,

“Damnit brain, I don’t have time for this!” 

My Brain wailed,

“Exactly! So do it! Shoot me! Put me out of my misery!” (Cue brain sobs) “We’ll never get through this, it’s all pointless, you’re pointless, I’m pointless, life is pointless, if . . . if you won’t shoot me, at least punch something. Bang your head on the wall. Burn yourself. Something!” 

I said very blatantly,

“Fuck off, brain.” 

Brain proceeded to whine and complain and cry and feel sorry for itself. So I’ve been dragging this body around from day to day this weekend without any help from my brain. It’s completely checked out. And we were so close. You don’t even want to hear the conversation I’ve had with my body: oh it’s pissed. It’s sick of sitting around all day, it’s sick of feeling tired all day, and it knows I can do something about it and it knows how hard I’ve been fighting and it’s starting to lose hope too. It’s done trying to keep up with life and so am I.

Funny cat videos solve everything, right?

Late Night Part Two: The Latest Night

I don’t know why I put myself around people. I honestly don’t.

I get lonely often, but I never crave for others to be around me to erase the loneliness, I just want someone to listen to how lonely I am.

I find that odd.

I’m not a people person. I’m content weekend after weekend hiding in my room with my music, my computer, and my writings; it’s what I enjoy. That’s my Saturday night and I love it. But whenever someone contacts me and I’m suddenly pulled into their social world and the outcome ends with me not feeling satisfied, I get even more lonely and spend the rest of the night wallowing in bed which is exactly what I don’t like to do.

I feel like I’m a needy person. At night I need someone around me to talk to me, or hug me, or assure me that I shouldn’t be scared of the dark (which I am deathly wary of) because at night is when I get anxious about the days to come, or enter a state of depression about what state I’m in, or get scared by the lonely silence in my room. I hate night time. Night time is the only time I crave the attention of people. Well . . . maybe one or two people, but no more than that. I need to be social at these times, it comforts me.

But in the day time they can just all go to hell. Let me hide in my room and be the happy hermit I am and just keep me out of the sunlight.

I might just be a vampire. Hmm.

I feel completely unwanted . . . which is odd because I only have one or two people I know. I feel like my social anxiety gets in the way of those people enjoying their time with me, and I feel like my depressions keep me from enjoying my time with them . . . or any time at all. I feel as though if someone feels they’re hurting my feelings, of which I can barely sort out myself half the time, I either get defensive and scare them off or I assure them they’re not so they don’t feel bad. I can never think of myself in these situations. If some manager disrespects me at a job I don’t hesitate to walk away and I’ll shove a couple middle fingers in their face while I’m at it, but if one of my peers or “friends” hurts me on a personal level I don’t think twice about it. I let them do it and I don’t tell them it hurts because. . . I don’t know why. I can’t express myself in spoken word and writing it all down to them just seems fucking weird. Just weird.

I have a feeling my obsession with power has something to do with it. If the person is above me I don’t really believe they deserve to be above me, so when they disrespect me I’ll get in their face. But if the person is on the same level as me, maybe I believe I deserve to be below them and therefore don’t care how much they degrade me.

Low self-esteem maybe? I can’t tell. I’m stuck between the issue of thinking I’m the shit and simultaneously a waste of space. I don’t know how that works, but it’s really causing a tug of war in my brain.

I guess this is why I get told I contradict myself a lot. I’m a living contradiction.

The low self-esteem stems from the social anxiety, that’s a no brainer. When I’m around people who have jobs and still go to school and have friends and all that, I feel less than them and I feel like they know I’m less than them. When people ask me if I work and I have to shake my head, I feel like they’re already calling me a loser without even knowing my name.

The other side of me doesn’t really give a flying fuck. It says: who cares if society thinks you should have a job or friends or any of that bullshit? Do what you want. Do what makes you comfortable.

Of course I have to work for money, it’s not an argument of necessity here, it’s an argument of whether or not I should view myself as a complete failure because I can’t easily do the things everyone else can, because I don’t want to make money in conventional ways, because if a manager asks me to do something I’m liable to tell them to fuck off if it I feel like they’re abusing their power.

I’m confused. I go through periods where I think I know who I am and then it gets completely shattered. There’s so many fragments of my self scattered along my brain and I don’t have the patience for a 500 piece puzzle. I jump back and forth between worthless, confident, arrogant, and just plain asshole and I don’t know which one is really me. I know I enjoy psychology, I know I enjoy writing, I know I enjoy music, I know I enjoy thinking, but I still don’t know who I am.

Right now it’s night time, it’s late, and I’m very lonely. I hate night time. I hate that sleeping isn’t comfortable, I hate feeling like I’m empty all the time, I hate never being satisfied with anyone, I hate having to remind myself all the time that I probably expect too much from people and then argue with myself that no, you’re being treated wrong, say something, and then argue again that no, you’re overreacting like always, let it be . . . I don’t know what thought to believe. I can’t ever tell if what I’m feeling or thinking is appropriate or not.

When it comes to social situations I’m at a complete loss. I can’t believe anything anyone says, I’m always asking for reassurance of them, I can’t ever tell someone that I feel hurt by them, I can’t ever understand why I prefer to be alone during the day but comforted at night, I don’t understand how people have conversations for hours about literally nothing, I don’t want to understand how they have conversations for hours about literally nothing, and I’m sick of feel so disconnected from anyone. I’ve never related to anyone I’ve ever met and I feel like I’m incapable of meeting anyone I can relate to on that deep of a level. Every person I’ve ever met I either feel is better than me (in which I cower), or worse than me (in which I exploit) and I’m not sure if I want to put in the effort of trying to understand people anymore.

Every person I meet I’m constantly searching for qualities that would make them better or worse than me. I’ve only recently realized this, so that’s all the insight I’ve got on it.

Even when I meet people in classes, I end up hoping I can develop a class buddy who won’t leave me for someone else, but they always do. I’m always a loner in classes. Everyone meets each other, becomes friends with each other, laughs with each other, relates with each other, and I’m stuck looking for the answer to the algorithm they seem to follow. It’s always the same. Always.

I don’t want to make friends, not entirely. I’d just like to appear normal.

I write a whole bunch on how “normal” doesn’t exist, and it doesn’t. But regardless, there are some days I wish I was just normal. That’s it. Just normal. Like everyone else.

The only thing that comforts me is the fact that I do like who I am, I like what I like, I like that I can watch everyone interact and take pretty accurate guesses at their personality, at their lives, at everything about them without ever having to speak with them. I like things about myself. I don’t like how I have to feel because of the fact that I like myself.

Maybe I haven’t accepted myself like I thought I had.

Or maybe everyone else is an asshole.

There’s only two options here, people.