Another Day

I feel so much better today than I have the last few days, so I’d like to write something good, but I’m not exactly sure what to talk about. I guess one good thing is that despite all the crap that I’ve been feeling, I have not done even the slightest bit of self-harm. I just slept a lot. I spent a lot of time in bed and took it easy on myself. I tried not to think too deeply about what I was feeling. I wrote a bit but mostly because I was feeling like I had been neglecting the blog. I didn’t really have anything to say. Yesterday I was kind of working through stuff, but I didn’t really say anything of import; I just expressed stuff and posted it.

I’d like to say something better today, but I don’t really know what it should be. As a response to my growing unhappiness with things out of my control and my discomfort with things in my control, I did some reprioritizing. No major changes other than cutting my Facebook friends list in half, but I just tried to think about things that mattered to me versus ones that make me unhappy. I’m trying to think about some things less and others more. I’m allowing myself time and fluff; meaning, I have spent much of the day watching mindless music stuff on youtube just letting myself enjoy things without analysis or evaluation. 

I’ve been feeling like I need a break, a vacation, a rest cure (my favorite), but I don’t really have space in my life for that. I can’t just walk away from my day to day right now for more than maybe a weekend. So I’m kind of trying to just take a mental vacation. Just relax a bit. I feel okay today, so I’m not trying to do too much that might change that. I’m pretty content just chilling, so today I can just do that. Maintaining balance is more important today than anything else. My problems can wait a day. And if I need tomorrow too, then I’ll just deal with that tomorrow. 

The only take away I can come up with from all this is that it is truly ok to be gentle with yourself. Part of me feels foolish for some of the mopier things I post. I feel pathetic often when I let my depression spill out. I say and do things that I regret. I push things too far and say things I don’t mean outside of the very emotional moments I say them. But sometimes my lowest, most pathetic posts are the ones that touch people the most–not the majority of my audience, but my readers who need to feel like they are not alone in the fight. I guess that’s why I do it. If I’m willing to put myself out there at my most unpleasant, awkward moments, then maybe one or two of you won’t feel so terrible about yourselves. I’m not perfect, I’m not great, I don’t know everything. I’m flawed and dramatic. I’m mopey and tortured. I’m annoying and clingy. But I’m honest. I’m forthright. I’m genuine. And I like those things, even when they make me look pathetic. I’d rather be myself than be popular and I have always been that way. It’s nothing new. I just forget sometimes that that is what makes me feel good. I forget that that is what makes me special. I forget that that is what makes me different. 

I hope each of you are having a beautiful day, and if not, I honestly hope that tomorrow is better for you. Do the work you know you need to do to feel better and prioritize your happiness. Make time for a mental vacation when you need one, and don’t be ashamed of who you are, even when you are ill. Love yourself, forgive yourself, and be gentle with yourself. 

I keep thinking about the end of Gone with the Wind. I haven’t seen it in years, but it is certainly one of the most memorable scenes in the history of film. Rhett says his famous line about not giving a damn and Scarlett ends the film talking about how tomorrow is another day. I say it all the time, but as long as you don’t die today then tomorrow is coming. Even if no one else gives a damn. Just hang on. 

February 14


The last 3 weeks have been messed up. Just one thing after another falling away. The timing is weird. In 2001, the last few weeks before Valentine’s Day were weird, too. The fastest part of the decline started in the latter part of January, and by February 14 I was in the hospital. Every year this day comes and goes, and literally no one in my life–no matter how close–ever remembers that this is the anniversary of my suicide attempt. That this holiday hasn’t meant shit to me since 2001. For the world, it’s a day of love. For me, it’s a day of death. A day no one remembers but me. A day everyone forgets, but I can’t. My heart breaks every year. Alone. 

This year is weird because it kind of mirrors 2001 more than many years have. I’m clearly unhappy, and all kinds of bad shit has been happening since the latter part of January. For a moment, it actually seemed like this year might be better than the last. It’s only February, I know, but it’s off to a shit start. I feel driven inward. Rejected, dismissed, unwanted. 

I can’t give up like in 2001. I’m not paranoid or psychotic. Just depressed and anxious. Lost and tired. I feel it more keenly this year. It’s too close. I wrote this “poem” about it. It’s really just fragmented thoughts, so pardon my pretending to write something out of my genre. Sometimes it just spills onto the page that way. 

It was 16 years ago.

It doesn’t feel that long ago.

So many things closer seem farther away

Than that day.

I want to stop thinking about it.

I want to forget how it felt.

I want to forget the reasons why.

I want to just move on.

Maybe if I could get well then it would be gone.

Maybe it wouldn’t haunt me.

It follows me around.

I see it all the time in my mind.

I see it. It’s too real.

I feel it too deeply.

I can still smell it.

I remember.

I see her fixing her hair.

I see myself staring into the mirror.

I see the pills in piles of ten.

And I remember sitting bent over saying, “I’m wrong.”

I felt hated.

I felt rejected.

I felt trapped.

I felt afraid.

If only I could forget that day.

If only everything had been different.

If only I had been braver sooner.

But it didn’t turn out that way.

It happened. I can’t forget.

And I haven’t escaped it.

I changed, but it came with me.

(And it ruins everything still.)

It’s painful to remember so deeply.

I still remember.

It hurts. My heart breaks over and over.

But I don’t wish I could do it differently.

It became the escape I wasn’t expecting.

I thought I would die.

Instead I got out.

I got to start over.

There are things I lost.

There are things I mourn.

There are mistakes I made.

But I got out.

So why does it feel like a ghost?

I got out,

So why can’t I forget?

Why do I see it so clearly?

Why does it feel so fresh?

I remember.

I know why I did it.

It wasn’t a mistake.

It was my way of saying no.

I was saying that I can’t.

I still can’t.

And I have to keep saying it.

Just not that way.

Never that way.

It wasn’t a mistake.

I got out.

But now it has to be different.

Even if I can’t forget.

I still remember.

But it has to be different.