I’m always interested to see what countries across the world view this blog and my amazement never ceases. I know many of the people who read me do not have a WordPress account but nonetheless thanks for reading and taking the time to stop by and see what the crazy American has to blabber on about today.

I’m still not satisfied.

I don’t know what’s going on with me anymore. There’s something that’s sucking the life out of me and it’s not school. I think my being “strong” has pushed me to a breaking point. The last time I was this bad, this unmotivated, this blank was when I was 17 and it was the last semester of high school. I got myself together that summer and blazed through the first year of college.

But I’m losing my ability to stay focused and to stay interested. You all know me, I find positivity in everything. I coach people to find positivity in everything. I’m actively enacting every single coping mechanism known to me to be able to hold myself together at the moment, and, like I said, I haven’t had to put so much effort into this in years. It genuinely scares me.

I have another interview tomorrow and somehow I have to keep this flattened demeanor from fucking it up. Somehow I have to gt out of bed and go to class tomorrow.

I like being alone but this is when I hate it. I’d like to have someone keep me company in my room or just take a walk with me or just sit somewhere with me. I’m a very simple person, I don’t need to go through a lot of things for me to feel content. Sitting on a log underneath an Oak listening to birds makes me content.

As for tonight . . .

I just can’t type anymore. It takes too much effort to think of words and that hurts too, because words are my only true friend.

Foolish Thinking


The moment I think I’ve got something figured out about myself is the moment I realize I’m a complete fool. There will always be something new to learn about myself and the more experiences I have the greater possibility there is they will be revealed to me.

That being said, I’ve realized the likelihood I will finish something I’ve started is zero-none. Either I get distracted by something more interesting, the socialization aspect of the project is too heavy for my introverted mind, or I just plain don’t give a shit.

I get sick of things so easily because I never see the practical point of them in the grand scheme of life. It sounds like teenage angst, like “ugh, what’s even like, the point of like, life, like, really, like, this is stoopid”.

But I’m not a teenager and it’s not angst: I see no point in anything.  It’s not part of my depression either. My depression stems from the fact that there’s no way I can ever be who I am. That’s where a lot of my general anxiety comes from as well.

I’m a very confused person, that’s my problem. I make rash decisions based on sudden perceptions of people and things.

passion-flower-5x_vegicaps_800Even though I’m not at work anymore, I’m pretty sure someone tried to frame me. Weird things were happening all over the place. The weirdest was when I found one of my supplement pills in the main vault in front of the thousands of rolls of quarters. The girl I was with started laughing because she thought it was weed in a capsule and I didn’t have the heart to tell her inexperienced ass that weed does not smell anything like that. She’s obviously never hit a joint or bong or even been near it.

We told the others but the question is how did it get there. When I’m particularly anxious there are times I’ve taken passionflower because it’s helped in the past. I always took them at home and either left the bottle in my room or placed it in my bag which is locked in my locker by my key outside of the cash room in the hallway of the basement. So I was thoroughly confused.

What are the chances someone else takes the same exact thing?

And why would they set it right in front of the quarters? Eye level to everyone in the vault? On the few days they were forcing me and someone else to practice?



One thing I will miss about that place? One of my managers and one of my leads. If you knew me well, you’d know that there are instances in my life where I meet people on the first day and are instantly comfortable with them. It’s very rare and the last time it happened I was 15 and in high school. I’m still friends with him to this day. The time before that was in first grade with a girl. We’re not friends anymore but she had been my first friend. So throughout my life I’ve made two friends on my own.

The lead I think I liked because he reminded me of myself. He’s very stone faced and doesn’t show much emotion, it takes a lot to get him to snicker to smile, and we were getting to a point where I could evoke a smirk from him. I’m usually a clown, people who don’t immediately laugh at my jokes become my own personal project. It’s a self-fulfilling thing, just ignore it. He wouldn’t touch the capsule unless he had two napkins in his hand because he was worried about it being some kind of drug. He laughed when I was like “I ain’t gettin’ blamed for this shit” and took it to management. I laughed because he had to use a napkin to pick up a capsule filled with dried flower leaves.

The manager for night shift was also very nice and always willing to answer questions. He wasn’t very intimidating and always smiled. I often had to help him with things and he left me in charge of the cash room with a friendly reminder of “just don’t touch anything”.

So the people were very nice. I memorized the procedures and was even getting comfortable answering the phones.

Why did I leave? The truth is, besides it being a little too fast paced for me, that there was too much socialization. I was constantly stuck around people. Not guests, but just people. And I need my mental space. I need it. It’s a requirement. It’s like water to me.


People. Wouldn’t. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Someone was always talking or moving. My anxiety was there sometimes, but the majority of the time I was overwhelmed with annoyances. The kind of annoyances that overload your senses and halt your rationality.

I have a very specific personality. I don’t care to make friendships. I don’t care to have conversation with people unless it’s necessary. I act like I find people interesting, I smile, I wave, I say hello, I make jokes with them because it’s the easiest way to get on someone’s good side. But honestly I could give two shits. I don’t care about working, I don’t care about school or friends or any of that superficial shit.

There are times I feel like I’m a little more comfortable. For example, my boyfriend and I are planning a summer trip to Los Angeles (granted I have money to pay for my half) and although that’s a lot of people and even though we’ve been inviting people to come with us, I know I will get enjoyment out of that. My boyfriend is one of those rare people I don’t feel completely dead around, kind of like the people I feel instantly comfortable around.

But even then I have to constantly keep up a smile because I don’t want him to be offended if I suddenly stop talking, or suddenly don’t answer his questions or respond to him. It’s hard for me to explain that if I stop talking or go around with a blank expression it’s not that I’m not enjoying myself, it’s not that I’m mad or depressed, it’s just that I don’t have emotions right now so you’re going to have to fucking wait.


It’s hard for people to understand that none of it has anything to do with them. So I try to always keep a smile on my face.


What people don’t know is that the majority of the time (95% of my waking life)  I’m blank and emotionless. Not depressed, just blank. When I go outside I have to pretend like I give a shit about conversation, or people, or that I’m even apart of this world when I know damn well I’m not.

I’ve thought about all of this extensively. I’m very disconnected from what you all consider ‘reality’. I’ve always been and I’ve never had a problem with it. It only becomes a problem when I’m trying to keep a job or stay in school.

My anxiety is entirely separate from this, I’ve also realized that.


I’m a clusterfuck.



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.


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.

Little Dogs Are Trouble

There is only one real disadvantage I see being alone and up all night.

I just lied straight through my teeth. Let me start again.

There are only two real disadvantages I see being alone and up all night.

  1. I feel like things are watching me
  2. I’m alone

That about sums up my night tonight–or early morning, whatever you want to call it. If I were still focusing on my classes I’d probably be up scrambling for my test that would have been today. Instead, I’m sitting here unable to sleep thinking about the fact that I’m unable to sleep. How droll.

Driving down the road at two in the morning is nice because there’s no traffic. It sucks because I’m paranoid about every set of headlights behind me, every set of headlights coming at me, and I’m paranoid that someone, or some thing (I don’t even like typing that because I know it’s watching me type it) is sitting in the back seat. Today it felt like the front seat.

My boyfriend’s room has motion sensor lights so whenever it goes out I freak and do some frantic jumping jacks so we’re not left alone in the dark. I always feel like things are in his room too. I’m starting to think either I’m being followed by it or I’m just tripping balls. Those are really the only two options.

Then here comes my dad’s friend leaving his damn dog with us for four days. It’s a tiny thing and cute:

However, she is incredibly old and apparently has to deal with a lot of crap at my dad’s friend’s house. I don’t know the whole reason why she’s been with us for four days, but it’s taking a toll on her. She’s scared. She shakes. She shakes then she vomits. When she pees all over the place. Then she vomits some more. Then she sleeps all day. Then she vomits again. Then she eats. Then she scratches. Then she does some weird ass thing with her mouth by opening it and kind of trying to crack an imaginary walnut lodged in the left side of her mouth. We don’t know why she does this. But there must be something wrong with that side of her, because she’ll drag the left side of her face across the carpet and whine. I don’t know man, she’s not our dog, we can’t do anything for her.

He needs to take her back. We’re not even supposed to have animals in this fucking apartment.

Apartment number 6, the new managers since the old one got fired, “has their eyes and ears open”.

I’m not kidding. The landlord sent a message out telling people not to store their stuff on the balconies of their apartments (where the fuck are they going to put their stuff?) and then added that “apartment number 6 has their eyes and ears open”.

What the fuck? You want us to be afraid or some shit? The apartment number six with the weird bearded quiet dude who skateboards with his son while his daughter rides her bike in the middle of the parking lot? The apartment number six with the woman who walked into the bread store where my mom works and when my mom greeted her as our neighbor she went “hmph”? The apartment number six that barely moved in here a year ago? The apartment number six that fucking can’t take time out of their fucking non-existent schedule to take their kids to the park one block away so they’re not skate boarding up and down the hallways with risk of getting hit and annoying people who had to work all night and sleep all day? That apartment number six?

We have a history with this management. Years ago they evicted us because some on-site manager was a bitch and complained about us. She was a drunk and a drug addict and although my dad helped her out with a lot of things, she stabbed us in the back because they got in an argument one time. Anyway, we took to sleeping in tents, rooms of other people’s houses, and hotels for three years until we moved into this place. Back then it was owned by a different management. They were cool, the rent wasn’t too bad, they didn’t do a credit check (which was the whole reason my family couldn’t find a place to live) and they didn’t come around much.

Then they got bought out by the same management company that kicked us out all those years ago. So they know us very, very well. And we walk on thin ice with these people. So if #6 decides to flap their fucking lips about apartment #2 having a dog, well we’ll be royally fucked, won’t we?

Not really. I doubt they’d make a big deal about it. But they could, that’s the problem.

Anyway, I don’t particularly like authority, remember? So the fact that #6 were stuck up assholes before they became stuck up managers makes me despise them even more. I don’t want those people to have control over me. I’d sock that bitch right in her face if she came up and tried to tell me something.

I’m sorry; it’s late, I’m sick of not being able to sleep, I’m tired, and honestly I could go for a good fight. It’s a great way to release pent up energy. I need a punching bag.

Ugh. I’m just so unsatisfied with everything. I’m unsatisfied with how I’m performing in school, I’m unsatisfied with sleep, I’m unsatisfied being alone, and I’m unsatisfied about being unsatisfied. I feel like there’s something I need to do, something I need to accomplish, but can’t figure out what it is.

I’m just unsatisfied. Hmm.

If I could fucking sleep, I’d be sleeping all day. I’m not unsatisfied with sleep.

I’m tired, It’s late, and She’s Loud

Addiction runs pretty deep in my family. I’m surprised I wasn’t born with a bottle in my left hand, a meth pipe in my right, and a cigarette behind my ear.

So it’s not a shocker I’m either on or thinking about technology twenty four hours a day. I suppose it’s better than inventing a creative way to kill myself or worrying that the slight ache in my calf is a blood clot or the thumping behind my eyes is a brain tumor. I don’t even like typing this shit.

Technology is a good escape. I find connections with technology more satisfying than connections with people. If I’m on my desktop, I need to have my phone playing a video on YouTube as background noise to drown out my wandering thoughts. It’s like I never stop thinking. As good as it is for school, it sucks ass when I’m trying to relax. I don’t even know the definition of relax. My shoulders are always tense, my teeth are always clenched, my muscles are always twitching.

I wish I could be comfortable in my mind, but I can’t. And now that my moods fallen south all I can  look forward to is the berating little voices in my head. Maybe it’s wrong to want to hear degrading comments about yourself, but it’s what i’m familiar with, it’s what lulls me to sleep at night, it’s one of life’s bittersweet pleasures.

I don’t hear voices externally, I just recognize them as the little people in my head. Well . . .little person. I always see a woman with straight hair and an angry face and she’s the one shouting insults at me all the time. She doesn’t sound like me, or look like me but she comes around when I’m depressed to make sure I stay depressed. My own thoughts are drowned by the volume of hers and it only gets worse at night when I’m tired. To her, I’m a fake, a piece of shit, a fucking this, a fucking that, a failure, a bunch of things I already knew about. She’s only echoing my thoughts, I know, but these are the moments I feel myself cowering in the back corners of my mind waiting for someone to save me. I’m sick of saving myself because I always end up in the same situation.

To think, all this triggered by a few simple words in a phone conversation, words that weren’t even offensive.

I try to be positive for other people’s sake but it’s not always feasible.

Healing is a road, not a destination. And I think I’ve sunk into another pot hole from hell.