Fun fact about my medications: the side effects can be a constant pain in my ass. 
So I get hot flashes. A lot. And when I was wondering if I was in menopause at age 23, I went to my doctor. He told me that happens with some medication that alters your serotonin levels. Serious empathy for women going through menopause. 
Heartburn is also super fun. Maybe I’m alone in this? But my medication for panic attacks and anxiety (benzo) gives me crazy heartburn. I know it’s so dumb to whine about these side effects that are so insignificant compared to what would happen to me without them. 
Sometimes whining a little makes me feel better so, sorry guys. Pointless post? Probably

Insomnia and oversleeping 

What a fun little side effect of my already unpleasant mental disorder. Currently it’s 6:21 am and I haven’t slept yet. I’ve taken enough sleep aid to knock out a full grown man. I can feel how physically tired I am but when you’re mentally wide awake it’s not possible to sleep. This puts me on an inconvenient sleep schedule. Then to fix that I switch back to nonstop sleeping. How does someone regularly sleep for 12 hours straight? And why can I not sleep when I actually want to sleep. It’s like my body is determined to screw me. I plan in advance for the 12 hours of sleep sometimes and go to sleep by 8pm, but then I’m up by midnight and can’t go back to sleep until the sun is up.

I do know that my medication can keep me up certain hours after I take it and make me sleepy after a certain amount of time but I still can’t find that sweet spot. I can’t figure out what time of day or night to take my meds to get my sleep back to normal.

Even when I do get on a perfect sleep schedule, the insomnia decides to hit just to screw it all up.

My brain feels like a scrambled egg and I know I’m about to miss out on another whole day because I’ll be asleep.

Time to experiment some more with my medicine.


I don’t remember the things I had typed up on here before my post disappeared before posting…

But, I will say that today I was free from depression and anxiety and I was able to choose happiness.

These are the days to hold on to and I feel really good.

How it feels

Medication does wonders for people like me. But there are still bad days where it feels like everything that was held back comes crashing down all at once. Loneliness is what does it for me. In my period of antisocial dark depression, I pushed away or lost everyone. It’s hard to make friends when you can’t go out because you’re scared to go out alone, and that’s the only option. 

A few failed attempts at getting a job recently has stopped me from trying for a while. 

There’s no way to describe what loneliness will do to your confidence and will to live. Feeling completely alone and unimportant in such a big world; it digs its ugly claws into your soul and twists and rips at you. 

Loneliness will really make you question why you’re still even here and if it’s worth it to stay. 

I’ve always believed everything happens for a reason, so I’ll let fate decide when it’s time for me to go. Until then, I’m just trying to make the days pass as quickly as possible. I sleep so much it seems like it’s not humanly possible. I think I probably dream more than anyone from so much sleep. Dreaming is the best part of my days. In my dreams, I’m really living. Then I wake up to no missed calls, no texts, no notifications. I sit in the same chair every day switching from video games to Netflix to YouTube. Eventually none of those feel like they’re worth doing and I might spend an hour in silence, staring at the walls, daydreaming or not thinking at all; just stuck in a daze with a blank mind and no emotion. 

I used to love reading more than almost anything. I would get so into my books that I didn’t sleep or put them down until I got to the end. Now I can’t read more than one chapter. I’m not sure if I’m just jealous of the lives of those characters on the pages or if I’m just losing interest in everything that I love. I don’t go out with my camera anymore and take pictures of things I think are beautiful. 

I sit in my chair until my body lets me sleep again. I can’t wait to dream and not feel alone. 

This poem got me sent to the hospital

***trigger warning: graphic photos of self harm***

I fear the fear I can’t escape

The fear that’s always lurking.

I try to keep my mind in shape

But my coping skills aren’t working.

Terror shoots across my skin

It starts to take control

Oxygen starts feeling thin

And panic swallows me whole.

More than worry, more than stress:

Pure fear turned up to max

Impossible to express

Impossible to relax

I fear the future every day

That the fear may never end

I fear that it will always stay

More than I can transcend

My days blur together now

My life is passing me by

Half empty or half full

The cup is empty when I die

Don’t bother asking for aid

They all lack the understanding

Just lie down in the bed you made

And brace for the crash landing

I find comfort in the thought of death

And seeing myself bleed

The thought of never drawing breath

And finally being freed

I have nothing to look forward to

I’ve let myself fade away

I gave in to the fear and knew

I’d dread each and every day

Will the nightmare ever end?

I still see the half empty cup

If it’s a dream and all pretend

Then please let me wake up


Behavioral health center

The behavioral health center. The mental hospital. The nuthouse. I spent one week in that prison, but I came out a new person. 

At first I was so angry being sent there… But I learned so much about myself, about coping, about how it’s okay to take something to get through the day. Having to take medication doesn’t mean you’re not normal.

This was the place where writing became my therapy. This was the place where I met so many other people who were just as troubled as me, and just as young. 

I had been cutting myself, thinking about suicide, lashing out at everybody who did something right or wrong or just happen to be talking to me. 

I learned that I had severe depression, anxiety, and slight OCD. I definitely had a tendency to fixate and obsess. 
When I got out, I started seeing the most amazing therapist who helped me deal with so much, without judging me for a single moment. Now I realize that there were much deeper issues that I should have been talking about instead of my petty teenage problems. To this day I still won’t speak of those traumatic few years that haunt me to this day. My deepest darkest secret that not one single person knows. I’ve never even written it down and I’m definitely not writing about it now. 

  I’m a damaged broken little toy with more baggage than happiness to offer anyone.


Seventeen was when everything started to slip. The depression started to creep in and I could only express it in the form of anger. I pushed away all of my friends and then blamed them for being gone.17 was when I started hanging out with people who could only drag me down further.

I had always been good. I saved myself for 17 years, when nobody else I knew was still a virgin. I always wanted to do everything right. I wanted to be successful and happy and find real love and follow my dreams. But when depression starts to creep in, your dreams dissolve into nothing; you don’t see yourself doing any of the things you’ve dreamed of, you give up on everything you’ve worked so hard for.

17 was when my family packed up and moved to a different state to change my life and get me away from all the trouble I was getting into. After that, I did stay out of trouble. But it didn’t fix me


The actual physical feeling of fear goes up my spine and I am suddenly gasping for air not knowing why. I am almost possessed by the need to run outside and back inside and maybe back outside; again, not always knowing why. I feel a coldness or numbness in my back, chest, hands, or head. At this point I know that I’m about to really die. I hyperventilate and can’t explain what’s wrong or what I’m thinking because I can’t form comprehensive sentences. All I can do is look my mother in the eyes and hope that this one look expresses that I am dying and I need help. “Momma” is the only thing I can manage to shriek out loud while I’m gasping and ripping my hair out, and I’m desperately hoping that she hears the pure panic and fear in my voice and understands what I’m really trying to say. I know that I’ve got only minutes or maybe just seconds before I’m unconscious. I know I need to call an ambulance but what if it’s too late? I scream and whimper and fall to the floor shaking. I start breathing into the paper bag my mom gives me while my family stares at me in shock. After 5 minutes of breathing into this bag I realize that I’m going to live, but the fear is still in my chest. When my breathing is back to normal, I start to think about what just happened and I feel overwhelmed, painfully embarrassed. 

Panic attacks are completely unexpected and always worse than you could ever imagine. I always feel the realization crash down on me that these are my very last moments of life. In that moment, what do you even say? Do you scream for help or do you tell your family that you love them? Do you say your goodbyes and your final words or do you call 911? The inability to decide what to do or say only increases the anxiety because you’re wasting your last precious minutes.