I’ve known him for five months. We met in a psych ward. We try to hang out every week, usually three days a week that I spend at his place. I’ve met his family. Cooked and baked with him. We have fun together, we laugh together, and we have sex. I remember when we started this thing, he mentioned no strings attached. Is friendship a string? Scared of breaking this illusion.
It’s been a while so here’s the run down of the shit storm.
Last year, I started focusing on my mental health a lot more. I went to the doctor and tried several medications, signed up for therapy, finished high school and tried to fucking relax. However, the medications made my depression worse, nearly making me go insane, I swear I was on the brink of killing myself. Had had just one therapy session before my ex broke up with me. It was too much stress for him I guess. He avoided me when I tried to get an explanation and I had to get it from his dad (fucking sad), and that was that. Tried to continue college only to find that I felt empty and alone, still. Even more so. So I shut myself in one of the piano rooms at the college with an art knife. I didn’t know where to go or if I could mentally take anything else. I called the crisis clinic. My music professor stayed with me until they picked me up. There I decided that I wanted to be voluntarily be an inpatient at a psych ward.
I stayed there for a week. Is it weird that I miss that place? Most of the people were inviting. They gave us menus with lots of things to choose from. The rooms felt warmer and safer than anything I had had before then. I found the medication that worked for me. I FINALLY found it. And I also met twenty year old Jacob.
Jacob always seemed nonchalant about the whole thing, like he didn’t care. He would stroll down the hallways with his hand in his pockets, not knowing what to do. We began chatting at one point, after a movie had ended in the group room. I wish I could remember what I thought of him at that point.
We didn’t interact much until the next night when he, another patient, and I were at a table goofing around after check out group. It was the hardest I had laughed in a long time. When the other patient went to the restroom, we exchanged a hug. He said he needed one. I needed one too. After that we became very close. He snuck into my room once because I felt like shit, just to hug me and get me out of bed. Soon he started flirting with me. Don’t ask me why, I only see a potato in the mirror. It finally came down to a couple of days before our discharge (we were admitted the same day), when he came into my room and we had our first kiss and, well, other stuff. I asked him if he still missed her (he had had a bad breakup as well), and he said yes.
We were discharged on October 3 of 2016. I wasn’t able to give him a proper farewell. I gave him my number though. And he actually contacted me. Since then we have been, well, fuck buddies, and I have been going to his house on the weekends, where he lives with his parents. Everything has been wonderful, but I recently ran out of my antidepressants. I feel like shit again. And I have to remind him to take his too.
I really do care for him and I wish he would know that. He believes nobody has ever loved him, but I am more than willing to do that. I already do, in a way. Romantically? Friendly? Maybe just general affection? I don’t know. I just know that love is present when I am with him.
It doesn’t mean that I haven’t missed my ex from time to time. He was a nice partner. Gentle. And he loved me. Maybe that is what I am missing.
I wish there were some way to tell Jacob that he is loved. But now is not the time. Especially when I am going down the rabbit hole of depression once again.
I am in so much fucking pain right now. And I have to work today. I don’t know if I’ll be able to fucking walk. My back pain is excruciating and I feel short of breath. My ribs keep popping and sliding. I can hardly move at times. I should have gone to the doctor years ago. It’s never gotten this bad, though. Pretty sure it’s scoliosis. Fuck me. Wai.
Took some hydroxozine so hopefully I’ll be able to sleep. It’s just so difficult without Anthony around. He’s asleep right now and he didn’t answer my calls. I needed someone to take my mind of of things. Tried calling other friends and they did not answer.
Oh. I passed my high school classes, by the way. I was planning on finishing my AA at the community college. It seems that my health might get in the way, yet again. *sigh*
Funny story! I had to stay awake for 3 days straight so I could finish my classes. By the end of it, I went on autopilot while taking my English final. Could not understand a word. And I started to hallucinate. And almost passed out.
I just want to relax. I even prayed to God. To take away my pain. To not let it be something serious. To let it be something that I can handle. I fucking prayed to be spared from a spinal disk injury.
I should be going out and getting my tattoo instead of this. I should be eating more. I should be sleeping soundly. I know it sounds petty, but I wanna have a NORMAL LIFE AS AN EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD. THIS SHOULDNT BE HAPPENING fUCK IT HURTS
I guess it’s not as bad as emotional pain. I don’t think it will ever be that bad.
I miss him so much. The apartment is so cold without him. He’ll visit me on Monday and Tuesday. Living without him with me is so weird.
Mom friend, only a year older than me surprisingly, has helped me more than anyone has in certain ways. Taking me shopping, giving me rides, paying my high school summer classes so I can graduate. I am ungrateful. I really almost fucked up.
I am taking summer classes in order to graduate high school and I almost fucked up. Today was the due date, but technically, I have until Sunday. Damage is done, though. I told her I wouldn’t make it, told her I’d pay her back, then she dropped me. Told me to buy her $200 jeans to make up for it. Then Anthony called her, defending me. I feel like scum.
She demanded I called her, scared I was going to kill myself. I was honestly thinking about it. People can’t stand me. Everyone abandons me. Yadda yadda. Same old. Ha.
I just can’t bear to leave my Anthony. Not yet, I think. Although sometimes I feel like I can’t stop what is coming.
I guess I didn’t kill myself because I was slightly angry at her. I was defending myself without knowing, now that I think about it.
Anyway, she called to take back her words, more or less. Told me I was like her sister. Family. I bawled at that word.
…I don’t know, guys. I don’t think I can have her in my heart anymore. It’s too late. Family.
Anthony is all the family I have. He’s family now. He has been for a very long time. I wish he wouldn’t have chosen me. I don’t want to keep hurting him. I am deathly afraid of him hurting me. I do love him though.
Anthony. I’ve been trying to be intimate with him. The problem is that he is so stressed out that he can’t even think about it. I just get frustrated sometimes. I’m sorry, I can’t help it! I need him close. I need that type of contact with him. He’s leaving on Monday, too.
I’m stupid. Sorry for the rant.
Here’s a lovely song I’ll be working on when fall quarter starts at the college. My vocal teacher is amazing and gives me free lessons.
Picture of my niece. Happy-ish days.
Rage is what I’ve been feeling since my dad visited two weeks ago. One month without talking to me or trying to reach out. The hardest month yet. The month I started my antidepressants. The month I constantly called him, remembering that he had promised me to be there for me, even if it was 2:00 am. One night, it was 2:00 am and I was holding all of my medication in my hands. It was painful. There was a war inside my head. Trying to die is mentally painful. I called him 10 times. Voicemail every time.
I was crying, of course. I don’t hold back my sobs when I’m alone, and I had locked myself in the bedroom, pushing away Anthony, and he eventually let out his frustrations by playing online. I heard him chortling at something his friends were saying. I didn’t know why I pushed him away when I was feeling alone. At the time, I was the loneliest I had ever been. I wanted to end me. I hated myself. Pure hatred. I still have pure hatred towards myself.
I ended up leaving the bedroom. I was convinced that I would die, so I decided to leave him. Break up with him so he wouldn’t hurt too much. So he wouldn’t have to find me in the bedroom, on the bed, where we had once had our most loving moments, dead. That night, I ended up in his arms, crying for hours, nauseous with cold chills. He said he would not leave me because of those reasons. He said he’d hold on to me. I had the worst headache afterwards.
Lonely is what I’ve been feeling since then. Sadness plagued my mind. Then he visited me, and sadness turned to rage. Rage stuck in my throat. I hated everything, everything disgusted me. I treated Anthony like shit. He’d say ‘I love you’, and I didn’t believe it. Not for a second. I can’t be loved.
I cried for a week. I’ve managed to not snap at him anymore. I still push him away. I pushed him away just now. He doesn’t need me anyway. With just a few days left with each other, him having to move in with his parents again to take care of his sick brother, and he still doesn’t need me in any way. Not sexually. Not for company. Not in any way.
I feel angry tears coming on. I might die soon. I’ve been close to death several times this month. Only one person has touched my soul, known the real me. He just doesn’t need me. Is there a stronger word for ‘rage’?
How can human beings live without having their souls touch?
I’m a needy, lonely piece of crap.
I live by minutes now. Not hours, nor days, but minutes. And those minutes are like seconds, and the days feel like hours. I blink, takes too much time. I read, five hours go by. Where did my time go? I’m not here right now. I’m still back there in the past. I am still a child. I cannot be eighteen, it doesn’t feel right. Innocence, did I ever know you? Did you ever leave? I’m standing still. Stay with me.
I’ve been trying to surround myself with things that I used to love, such as drawing and singing. My name is officially on the program for the Honors recital at the community college, which is two weeks from now. I’ll be singing Vedrai Carino, a Mozart piece. Yesterday I sketched for the first time in two years. I kept myself from quitting choir, something I loved just a week ago, something that feels unfamiliar now. I attended auditions on Friday for the musical at the community college. I used to get a rush out of auditions and it just left me feeling empty and violated for some reason. I didn’t really do my best. Worst audition yet. Saw someone post about them getting a role in Facebook. Didn’t make me jealous. It made me feel like I wasn’t really advancing. This little music bubble isn’t getting me anywhere, is what I thought. But It’s the only thing I know. It was a part of me, something I defined myself with. I feel like it’s missing now and I feel so lost. Sketching was lost a long time ago. Painting was as well. Sewing, knitting, learning piano, gone. Reading, writing, dancing. Poetry. Learning. I feel old, but so young at the same time. Too young. The next two days are going to be a nightmare. I’m going downhill again.
It’s been a very, very long time. Last time I posted something, I was a freshman in high school and my mom had just left.
I am now a senior in high school, hoping to graduate, and struggling. I somehow turned into one of those kids that don’t try in school. The ones that go to school with bruised knuckles after having punched a wall out of anger. I thought that was incredibly stupid of them. Now I’m typing with bruised knuckles, a result of anger. Not anger at the life that was given me, but at myself.
So much crap has happened over the years, so I’ll try to keep it simple. For any of you who care.
Mom left to Mexico, I moved in with my dad. After a while I started to couch surf at my sisters’ places. I stayed at one of their places too long, we ended up hating each other for a while, moved back with my dad. Started staying at ANOTHER sister’s place, never went back home again. Dad rented his house to someone else, moved in with uncle in the next town. I secretly moved in with my boyfriend, turned eighteen, told my dad after a while. I dropped college, decided to concentrate on high school, didn’t concentrate on high school, had many breakdowns until, a couple of days ago, I had a mental meltdown. I go batshit insane trying to kill myself, stopping myself, regretting stopping myself, trying to convince myself, stopping again.
I stopped talking for a short bit. I stopped singing at the college Jazz choir. I completely stopped functioning. My chest would hurt once in a while, sharp shooting pains, when I tried to think and sort things out. I couldn’t feel music anymore, I still can’t. I can’t taste food. I can’t laugh very much. I can’t. Can’t.
Tony helped me go to the doctor. After all of these years, I’ve forgotten I was sick. He didn’t know I was sick. At least, he didn’t think I was serious. Now he’s scared as hell but he manages to still laugh a little and joke a little. I forget that I’m sick. When he makes me giggle I still hurt, and the giggle feels like a sob stuck in my throat. Am I really sick? He’s been by my side most of the time since it happened. He’s cradled me and held my hand and made me food and brushed my hair. Tomorrow I work and I’m a little scared of leaving his side. I was terrified today when I was going to the college for choir. I feel like a baby, weening.
I’ve finally been sleeping. And I’ve been letting him sleep too. Before this, I was terrified of sleep. I felt like I was losing time. But I’ve finally been sleeping. I am so exhausted. I am tired every second of the day. But I can finally close my eyes, with less regret.
Every day, I see beautiful people around me. People with straight, pearly white teeth. People with skin as soft as satin and blemish free. They have everything in their hands, and they know it. Even I have to admit that beautiful people have the upper hand in life, because, hell, who doesn’t like looking at a pretty face?
My skin is disgusting compared to theirs. It’s spotted with scars. Trust me, scabies and a skin picking problem do not go well together. Now the scabies are gone, but the scars and scabs have been there for two years.
It’s almost as if God has decided that I will remain untouchable. Untouchable as in revolting. But I know that God wouldn’t do that. Everything he makes is perfect. We are the ones that destroy ourselves; and the way we see ourselves is also destroyed. I guess I destroyed myself. I destroyed my skin, my teeth, my waist, my body weight. I even destroyed my soul.
But today I decided to look at myself in the mirror and pick one thing that I liked about myself, something that my therapist used to tell me to do. I didn’t see anything. To be honest, in my eyes, my image is rotten, and bitter, and sluggish. And then I thought, “Hey, you know what’s beautiful? Your voice.” I didn’t care if I sounded conceited, I was just relieved when I found at least a trace of beauty in me. On my good days, I think positively about my singing voice, and sometimes I even find it beautiful.
And for now, I will hang on to that beautiful thing that is mine, the only thing that helps me escape from my self-pity. I’ll hang on to that thing as if it were a life jacket, keeping me afloat, and barely saving me from drowning in the sea of my flaws and mistakes. I will hold on to it, until it punctures because of the thorns that envelop my heart, and drags me back into reality, because I will realize that that beautiful thing was a lie, an illusion.
I am not beautiful at all.
Do you guys think panic attacks are…wimpy? My mom does. Actually, I just had one a moment ago. She says she doesn’t want tantrums at her house. I can’t help it though. I’ll start hyperventilating, and suddenly I start screaming my head off. I’m so stressed I can’t take it anymore! These attacks just come and go. Anything can trigger them. Every time I have one, I just feel so weak and worthless. But this time I almost got my razor out. I don’t even have anything to be depressed about. I have no right to be depressed!