A Weekend of Absurdity

I did it. I flew across the country to meet a man I had connected with via text, talk, and FaceTime the past few months … and while it seemed romantic and adventurous it was no a fairytale. If anything it could probably be made into a comedic short film about how disastrous these situations can be.

Sam and I matched on tinder in June when I had just gotten back from Europe. We seemed to quickly connect and talked several times a week from that moment on. About a month in I asked if I could fly him out to spend a weekend with me, he said he needed time to think it over which was fine with me. But as more time passed my anxiety heightened. His anxiety renders him frozen, unable to make any choice whereas mine makes me incredibly impulsive… in my mind I saw this as a potential good relationship where we could learn from one another. Ultimately when I needed him to hold some space and understanding for me and my anxiety in the situation he freaked out and behaved in typical avoidant fashion so that was that. . Until he reached out a month later.

This time around I was still hurt from what he had done to me. I was also angry that I had held a lot of space for his needs and feelings during conversations, but felt as though he never once considered that I too struggle with anxiety. I often found myself thinking ‘Just because it doesn’t look the same as yours doesn’t mean it isn’t equally debilitating and deserving of care’. Despite this I genuinely did feel connected to him. I enjoyed talking with him. I was attracted with him. So I kept trying. Often times he’d vent about something and I’d listen or give feedback, but if I needed to vent his answers would be short to nonexistent because he was often distracted by something he was fumbling with. I continued taking my resentment out on him passive aggressively. Which led to a blow up.
Fast forward another month, I’m reading a book on patriarchy and masculinity I’m then reminded of how much men are wounded too, I saw a lot of Sam and why it seemed as though he was unable to think outside of his emotional needs in what I was reading.  I felt a deep need to reach out and apologize for punishing him when he had tried rectifying the situation. I needed to see him and this wouldn’t stop popping up in my mind until we met. Miraculously he agreed so I set up my flight.

I wondered what he’d be like in person, what he’d smell like, what he’d feel like. Would we kiss? What would that be like? What would he taste like? Where would we go? Would he get me flowers? Would we talk through the night? Would I finally get to play with his perfect dark hair? I was excited! When he pulled up at the airport and didn’t get out to help me put my bags in I immediately thought to myself ‘this isn’t a good sign…. but I’m not going to overthink… it’s fine, he’s probably anxious’. I had hoped we’d go to a nice spot for dinner and get some romantic ambiance going, but instead we ordered in. We were both concerned about how our dogs would get along and didn’t want to immediately leave them alone. We didn’t touch at all and I wondered what my problem was if there’s one thing I can do it’s initiate physical contact. I couldn’t tell if I was being anxious or if he just wasn’t attracted to me. He turned on the TV when we were about to eat which I found odd… shouldn’t we talk to each other and flirt? Watching TV on a ‘first date’ in my opinion is the same as going to the movies on a date – I don’t do it in the early stages. I want to know you and feel you not stare at other people on a screen. I started to wonder if I had done something wrong. He was tired and seeing as he wasn’t taking me anywhere and didn’t seem to want to talk to me I agreed to go to bed.

I couldn’t get any read on the situation and considering I have been doing several types of sex therapy for couples and individuals over the past few years I felt ridiculous being in this situation. I put my Invisalign back in and he put his mouth guard in sending me a clear ‘we won’t be making out tonight’ signal. I was disappointed but it was only the first night. I took it as a different form of intimacy and hoped tomorrow would be better. Unfortunately, the next morning was still anxiety inducing, I could feel it in the air. Anyone could probably cut through it with a knife if they entered the space. Thankfully he brought it up  – he even brought up the fact that we don’t know what the other expects in terms of physical connection. After some processing he asked if he could go visit his mom a couple hours because some people were visiting. Despite knowing we’d each do our own thing while I was visiting my ambivalent attachment did not like his request considering I felt as though he hadn’t given me any sincere attention, in that moment I wanted to leave. I hate being where I’m not wanted, but I smiled and agreed trying to protect the sting of pain I felt.

My friend drove over so we could brunch (aka champagne to the rescue).  As soon as I walked up to her she tilted her head with a concerned look on her face and asked ‘are you ok?’ I hadn’t realized how much all the anxiety I was absorbing had affected me, but clearly it showed.  I had brunch and talked with my her for a few hours which helped reset my mood. I went back determined to not let his anxiety dictate our weekend.
When I got back I got on top of him and sent him very obvious ‘kiss me already’ signals. When we kissed I felt relief not only that but I felt hunger and wanted more of him. More of his hands on me, around my throat, grabbing all of my body. More of his body on mine. More connection. More intimacy. More of this feeling. More. We drove to his parent’s beach house about an hour away and I thought we’d go to the beach or walk around the neighborhood and explore, we ended up staying in. I didn’t mind because I felt connected to him during this time. We talked more and cuddled on the couch it felt much nicer than the night before and finally we slept together.

Had I known that the sex would have been a one time occurrence I  would have stopped before getting carried away. Later that night I tried to initiate in the middle of the night and he stopped me, which usually wouldn’t mean much to me…But I felt something change and I became anxious in bed, I lay awake for two hours wondering why he lay on the opposite end of this giant bed with zero desire to be close to me after he had just been inside of me. As someone with overall ambivalent attachment connection is like a drug to me, getting it is the best thing in the world -feeling it slip away drives me insane and deeply wounds me.  I lay in bed remembering all the men in the past who had slept so far from me in bed – they all had in common the fact that they never seemed to emotionally support me. I felt rejected, alone, and uncared for. I wondered if I just called an Uber if I would spare myself any more heaviness that may come from this situation. I could feel my ability and desire to hold space dissipating ‘he doesn’t care about me at all and doesn’t even want to be near me…why do I keep putting his comfort above my own? Why am I in another situation giving more than the other person?’ I fell asleep trying not to cry.

In the morning things were worse and I started to heavily dissociate after having a bad dream triggered by my anxiety. I went to shower in hopes that it would clear my head. I hoped that after a shower I could crawl back to bed and get some morning cuddles in and that things would be good again. That he’d want to be near me and show me I was wanted. I went back to the room and he had removed everything  from the bed to wash the sheets. There it was again staring me in the face – distance and rejection in visual form. It hurt. 

I was in a completely new state with new sights, sounds, smells, and I too, have anxiety. Why didn’t he care about my feelings too? I can’t think of one instance where he asked me how I felt. Maybe he meant to ask, but it came out centered around him as ‘am I being weird?’ to which I’d usually say no/we both are. I pick up on other people’s anxiety intensely and the fact that he never took me anywhere outside to do anything to distract from said anxieties probably didn’t help. He often spoke about himself and his feelings which didn’t surprise me based on past conversations, but the level at which it happened and his lack of ability to empathize with how I was feeling deeply hurt me. Here I flew across the country and he couldn’t stop complaining about how I was disrupting his routine and telling me he wanted me gone with his body language. I was exhausted from pretending that I wasn’t having a difficult time too. Eventually I started crying. 
The mixture of dissociation I was experiencing along with intense feelings of rejection, lack of support, and care were too reminiscent of situations I’d been in with many men before, particularly abusive men. Not only in romantic relationships – but in my paternal figures. This is how I felt most of my life and the very feeling I ran from at eighteen when I left home because I knew it would kill me. Sam was not abusive at all, but unfortunately the memories I have which were triggered by his behaviors and how I felt in the situation reminded me of my abusers. I wanted to throw up and run away. I desperately needed to feel cared for.

Eventually he realized I was upset I’m assuming it was obvious as my face was red and eyes were puffy. He got closer to me and asked if I was ok and if there was anything he could do. At this point I knew there wasn’t so I shook my head and just told him I felt crazy he kissed me and went into the kitchen. I stood nearby with the dogs as he talked about coffee, I wasn’t listening. I kept thinking ‘I’d rather be alone than be next to someone and feel completely alone…. I hate this feeling. I hate this feeling. How do I stop dissociating.’

Luckily at this point I was flooded with emotional support from friends who know me and my mental health well. Sam showed me that there was no space for my feelings here and the best I could do now was try to take care of myself the way he had been doing for himself this entire time. My friend who was visiting South Africa called me no questions asked to help ground me through all my emotions. Once I felt ‘okay’ I went inside, he was doing homework so I sat in another room and entertained myself which seemed to be the reoccurring theme of the weekend. Him paying attention to anything but me and me reading/playing on my phone/cuddling my dog waiting for him to give me a signal that it was ‘ok’ to engage with him. 

Eventually I told him I wanted to talk I told him I felt disconnected which hurt me especially since I felt connected and intimate the previous night night. He agreed and said it was just because he was overwhelmed and in a constant state of anxiety – that there was nothing I could’ve done differently. I half listened to him because I knew he’d only talk about himself. I asked if he wanted me to leave instead of stay with him the last night. I didn’t think he’d provide me with a direct answer, but I knew I’d be able to decipher how he felt based on how he answered. Essentially it sounded something like ‘it’s not that I don’t want to be with you and I’d feel bad saying that but…’ then spent a couple minutes talking about how overwhelmed he was. Though I knew it had little to do with me I still couldn’t help but think …. how is my presence this horrible to you? I’ve asked nothing of you since I got here. I haven’t asked you to take me anywhere fun. I haven’t asked you to emotionally support me. I haven’t asked you to leave the comfort of your home(s). I’ve sat quietly and isolated myself half the time. And I left the house to do something else for several hours on our first and only full day together because you needed space…. and you’re still bothered by my presence?
It hurt me.
Everything hurt I wondered if I had held too much space for him in past conversations that somehow he forgot that I had feelings and needs too.  I told him I’d leave, part of me wished he’d ask me to stay. Oh, ambivalent attachment you masochistic bitch.

As we continued to talk he told me none of his relationships had been stable and that it took him a ‘long time’ to get comfortable having a single sleep over with anyone he dated so an entire weekend was overwhelming. I wondered why he left that out during all our intimate talks. I’m not sure it would have stopped me from coming, but it would have told me a bit more about how severe his need to control and have a structured environment was. I had hypothesized that he was attached to structured schedule because it helped keep him sober, but had no idea just how much he was attached to his way of life. I asked if he felt fulfilled living this way and he said he wasn’t. I couldn’t help but feel sad for him. We all seem struggle with fulfillment but to feel like the only way to survive and stay on a good path is to stay on an extremely rigid and often isolated schedule sounds incredibly difficult. In that moment I thought ‘wow, it sounds like it’s hard to be Sam’  I wanted to hug him and dissect it more, but I had to stop myself from falling into the caregiver role I all too often fall into with people who don’t reciprocate.

Later as he was driving me to my friend’s apartment I mentioned the severity of his attachment to his schedule and he said ‘I don’t think it’s severe’ in my mind I thought you can’t even enjoy a weekend with a beautiful woman or have her sleep by your side or try to give you a blow job without it causing you angst….if that isn’t severe I’m afraid to know what you consider severe. I guessed he meant ‘things could be worse’ perhaps in comparison to who he was when he still drank. He really didn’t seem to have much hope that he would lead a fulfilled life so he’d rather live in the confines of a box he’s created for himself. He didn’t seem to have much self compassion or love. I wondered how he got this way I wished I knew him better, but I knew I never would.

I could feel his anxiety subside as we got closer to my friend’s apartment. I couldn’t bite my tongue anymore I was fed up and hurt ‘don’t fucking do that, don’t show me how relieved you are to see me go when I’m clearly upset. You don’t get to do that to me.’  I didn’t believe that he felt bad at all and think he just wanted me gone. I stared out the window dissociating and wishing I could tear off my own skin and disappear. I hate this longing so much so that I used to turn to physical pain and self harm to distract from it. And here I was longing for care and comfort from someone who was incapable of providing it. 

I asked him to take me to a grocery store or liquor store and he said ‘there’s probably one within walking distance from her place’ it was pouring outside and I could not believe that he had said that to me. I scoffed,  ‘I’m not walking in the rain you’re taking me’ at this point i was so upset I didn’t even care about food anymore I just wanted to drown in a bottle of wine, cry, and be vulnerable with someone who I knew cared for me.  When we finally arrived to my friend’s apartment he didn’t help me carry any of my stuff though it shouldn’t have surprised me considering he didn’t help me with my bags when he picked me up at the airport – I was still surprised. When I got my last bag out I said “well bye see you never” which is a bit of a meaningless catchphrase I have, but probably meant it in this case. He said something back but I couldn’t hear and didn’t care to hear I closed the car door.  

As soon as I got away from his car and into her building’s elevator I screamed. I felt free and supported to do so and knew my friend wouldn’t judge me or make me feel like my having emotions was an inconvenience. She had a glass of my favorite red poured and ready to go and gave me a long comforting hug. This was exactly what I needed – all I needed- support and love. Her and her partner then cooked me a wonderful meal and I felt like myself again allowed to talk and be the full version of myself without worry that I had to be walking on eggshells.

The next day I realized I had forgotten something at his place so I told him in case he wanted to toss them.
While I was texting him I was texting a client who I had recently met and had great chemistry with, he lived in NYC and wanted to see me. I was thrilled I’d get taken out on an incredible date, get treated like a goddess, get laid and get paid to do it. Yes please! I absolutely needed to be treated well and cared for.  Mindlessly I went to text my friend and in a frenzy of excitement I stopped and realized I had sent them to Sam and not my friend.  I felt horrible. One, Sam had no clue I was a high end escort – maybe he suspected because of my open support of sex work and talk about sugar arrangements, but I hadn’t told him and didn’t think I ever would. Usually I can read which type of person will be able to accept/process that part of my life and who will judge me/side with stigma. Based on his questions about cultural and feminist topics in the past and a few distasteful jokes he’d made I didn’t think he’d accept me as a whole person if he knew about my third job. I would no longer be any of the things he knew me as and I’d just be a sex worker. An absurd ending to an absurd situation, at least it was fitting.
I didn’t expect to hear back from him I don’t even know what one would say in response to texts like that even if they weren’t avoidant. I hope he didn’t think I did it with malicious intent. Maybe he hates me now, maybe he feels grossed out, maybe he feels betrayed, maybe it turned him on, maybe he didn’t care at all. Maybe maybe maybe. At the end of the day how he feels about it is none of my business anymore. I had held enough space for him.  Now he can add ‘yeah this girl flew out to meet me and it sucked 90% of the time. Oh and she was a high end escort. Wild’ to his list of dating stories.
Admittedly, I get off on that a little bit – at least no one will ever be able to say I’m boring or predictable. I’ve never wanted to lead an ordinary or mediocre life, if you’re not new here you’ve probably picked up on that. I’m most alive on the edge and my comfort zone is in the unpredictable and spontaneous.

I think if Sam was healthier (or I was so at least I wasn’t triggered) we could’ve had a great time. I believe he’s a good person with a lot of healing and growing to do. My heart feels heavy for him more than it feels angry I can’t imagine him healing as much as he needs to if his fear keeps ruling his life. I know my heart and I know the type of souls I am drawn to, unfortunately his was one was too covered in walls, fire, and defense mechanisms for me to even remotely touch the center of him. I hope one day he stops letting fear dictate his life and that he’s able to take full control of his life – maybe then he’ll find fulfillment, hell maybe even love with a healthy partner.

What I learned: I have the most incredible friends, I’m healthier than I realized; my reactivity and emotional regulation is eons better, don’t text without being sure of who you’re texting, don’t fly across the country for any man on your own dime. Most importantly I reinforced the fact that I can fall in love again, it was very different than what I have had with the musician the past year (see this draft). This time I realized I can connect with someone and still hold space in my heart for A and the days where I still grieve his death. I am a resilient human and through the hell I’ve been through with love (or lack thereof) I still believe in the depths of my soul I will find love again. A may have been the love of my life up until my mid 20’s, but like everything else I’ve believed this strongly at the core of my being I’ve eventually gotten it.
I will love again. I will risk everything time and time again for the possibility of love and I will never regret it.
When it comes to dating I’m no longer anything like the woman I was just a couple years ago. I’m able to put myself first and respect myself while still giving it my all until I have to say ‘enough is enough’ and walk away. I can walk away now without blaming myself. To accomplish that after the amount of abuse I’ve endured in the past is truly incredible. I’m excited to get to know the woman I’m becoming.
I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet her. She’s here.

I couldn’t run fast enough

I felt it creeping up on my back the past month. Its cold breath. Its presence lunging toward me in my sleep. I ran away. I gave in. I remembered how hard survival has been and crawled away. It gripped my ankle and pulled me back; I grew tired so I lay in it.
Hey depression. Did you miss tightening your fingers around my wrists? Whispering horrible things into my soul? Breathing on the nape of my neck?
I’m back. Your favorite lover to wrestle with. That lifetime push and pull. You’ll never let me go for long will you?

I’m sitting on my bed drinking my second glass of bourbon. Eyes red and swollen from crying so much the past three days. For a second I wonder how long it would take someone to find my body.
I look in the mirror and I don’t see anything in my eyes. I quickly lower them. I remember this emptiness. I haven’t felt this level of depression since 2015.

I know I shouldn’t drink when I feel like this. I know it. I understand that it’ll just heighten my substance abuse, but its hard to care when I’m here. And I don’t want to take more Xanax this week, at least with booze I know I don’t have physically addictive tendencies. I just binge. At least I still care enough to care about that.

I wonder how long this round will last. Will this be it? I’m tired. This exhaustion isn’t new to me. When I was 11 I’d cut myself and wonder what it was that made me this way. When I was 15 I’d drink until I couldn’t stand, curl into a ball, cry, and gasp “I’m tired. I’m just so tired” over and over as my friends tried to help me.  At 17 I drank and fucked everything in sight, My boyfriend at the time was an addict I was helping him get sober and he’d hit me. It doesn’t excuse my cheating, but its how I coped with the domestic violence and past sexual abuse. When I was 19 I’d run in the streets of hollywood hoping someone’s car would hit me as the man who loved me chased me and tried to catch me. I’d push and claw at him when he caught me “I’m tired let me die let me die” I’d scream. Then he’d carry me into his car then take me to his home, tuck me in bed, he’d hide his gun and watch me until I fell asleep. At 23 I cried and slit my wrists again after A died. I tried saving myself I tried the meds, they didn’t help. I’ve always been tired. Born into abuse and poverty. The gift of resiliency has helped me pull forward and kick down doors most people who come from a past like mine could only dream of knocking on. But the gift of resiliency also exhausts me. Surviving is exhausting.

The sexual assaults, the emotional abuse, the alcoholism and drug addiction, the verbal abuse, the fighting, the hunger, the poverty. All by the time I was 12. It all sits in my gut. This beautiful woman with a big smile and the ability to make anyone laugh, most would never guess the secrets my gut holds. People usually just think I’m a wild card when I’m being self-destructive, women this beautiful and intelligent aren’t suicidal right?
When will society learn?
The abuse my lungs have inhaled. The trauma my womb held. The pain my hands have fought to stop. The violence my eyes have witnessed…none of it cares how beautiful or intelligent I am. Luckily I never blamed myself for any of it – perhaps thats the root of my resiliency, but I have frequently asked why me? Why couldn’t I have just died all the times I came close? Why do I keep surviving? I’m exhausted.

I want to hide and wither away. The woman who wrote all those posts of strength and resiliency isn’t here right now, she may as well have never been.  Lately it seems laughable that I’ll survive all this pain and become the person I want to be.
All the things I’ve survived, successes I’ve had, the publications, the research I’m doing, the program I’m in – feels like nothing. I feel like nothing.
Today several friends of mine have told me how strong, resilient, intelligent, and hard working I am – I haven’t shown most of them any signs of my major depression coming back so I don’t know where its coming from, maybe I’m not hiding it as well as I thought. I’ve always been a good actress though. Part of survival.

I don’t understand how my friends have always been so patient with me. Through drunken fights to crying in the middle of the street to the cruel words I shoot out trying to push them away when I  want to isolate myself. Through it all they’ve stayed…why?
When will they grow tired of the roller coaster that is my mental state? Maybe they can still see the parts of me I can’t see in the fog of my depression.

I just want to be held. I’m drunk and need to stop writing.

Grief comes and goes in waves, thats what my therapist said

Today I’m Drowning.

All I have left of him is this pain and his stupid hat he wore everyday.
How could I ever let go? I haven’t had a day like this in months and after my interaction in February I thought maybe there wouldn’t be anymore. How naive of me.

As the anniversary of his suicide approaches I find my anxiety at a high. My heart is heavy. All I want is to be held by someone safe who wont judge me, but its been nearly two years…I can’t talk about it anymore. I can’t talk about how much I wished I had told him I loved him or how much I regret not showing up at his apartment or work place to check on him. I can’t talk about how much I worry I’ll never love like that again – or worse yet that no one will ever love someone who still has days where they fall apart crying over their dead partner. I can’t talk about how I sometimes wonder if he regretted kicking the chair from under him as he hung and tried to gasp for air, did he want to live in that moment? who did he think of? was he happy to know his pain would end – everything would end? I can’t talk about how I cry and fall to the floor or pull over wherever I’m driving to catch my breath.
I can’t talk about the fact that sometimes I see someone who looks like it might be him and for a second I think…maybe? I can’t talk about the fact that I still wonder what his life would look like today, I loved him so much I wanted him to be happy with or without me. Would we have ended up hating each other? That would’ve been better if it meant he kept living. I can’t talk about the way I miss his eyes or his laugh. I can’t talk about the fact that after our first date I jumped in my bed and yelled “I’m in love!” and meant it despite knowing that was insane. I can’t talk about the fact that I saw such of a mirror of myself in him that some days I predict I’ll have the same fate. His family said I was his light, but he was mine.
He was my fucking light.

Its been nearly two years. I can’t talk about that.
No one likes the sad girl. I put my chin up and smile, keep busy, stay successful, intelligent, funny, beautiful.
I’ve put everyone through enough after his death in terms of my mental health. People get tired.
So I cry and break alone. I hold myself tightly and play it all in my head on days like this.

Its been nearly two years. I can’t talk about this.

So I write it here because I have to get it off my chest.

The epitome of health

I convinced my therapist and physician to give me the ok on Xanax.
I definitely do have anxiety, but the panic attacks are so rare compared to two+ years ago that I don’t think I can honestly say I “need” it.
I just want to have it so I can fuck around and barter for adderall.
So my reward for going to the gym today is picking up my prescription.

My depression was/is definitely creeping up, but I’ve started working out again which helps a lot. I need structure and goals I’m actively working toward in order to feel fulfilled. The past 6 weeks has been a mess, no working out, tons of travel, drinking and binge eating garbage. Its time for me to get back on track. I need to loose another 15 lbs (ideally 20) by June.
My therapist and I touched on my compulsions last sessions and its something I want to further explore -why am I like this?
If I’m healthy I’m super healthy – eating well, gym, yoga, dance. If I’m working toward a solid goal in school I focus on that as if I have tunnel vision. If I’m abstaining from sex I’m abstaining from personal dating in any shape or form.
But just the same
If I’m not healthy I’m binging on garbage food, binging on booze, binging on men, binging on shopping – until I quite literally make myself sick, like i have this round having my depression creep back up on me.

Now I’m like Okay, I’m gonna work out and go back on my healthy eating…but I’m going to abuse adderall and Xanax. I’m still not sure where my stance is on men. If I’m honest with myself I do want to just go to a bar and pick up a new hot guy every other night, I’m insatiable once I start and its just so easy. But I’m also aware that won’t fulfill me so I want to find one or two I can tolerate who are actually good in bed and can see me regularly. I can’t have just one I get too attached and one can never give me everything I need/want.
The only men who’ve ever been able to live up to my standards of money, care, sexual appetite, intellect, and empathy have all been Sugar daddies. Maybe theres something to the fact that most men say “I can’t give you everything you want” when they dump me considering its  historically been used most often.
But I’ll never lower my standards considering I hold myself up to the same ones.

I feel good about the fact that I can stop to psychoanalyze and reflect on my compulsions. I’m not where I want to be, but I’m eons ahead of the girl I was in my early 20s.

Do I just need Ice cream or is my buddy Depression paying me a visit?

I keep crying. I can’t find the root of it.
Is it leftover emotions from the weekend with the musician? Is it the fact that my half sister contacted me asking about our biological father whom I haven’t spoken to in years? The potential mistake I made in sleeping with the other guy in order to run away from the feeling of longing? The fact that I’ve been taking adderall every other day? The stress that I have no upcoming work? Simply PMS? All of it?

Oftentimes I wonder if other people look into their emotions as much as I do. I’ve always felt a need to analyze them and figure out where they’re coming from – and why. Sometimes its maddening. Sometimes, like now – when I have no idea. and it truly could be early PMS (I’ve cried because I dropped cereal while PMSing so…gauging the reality of my emotions during these periods of time is difficult). But its always terrifying when I start to feel this way because I find myself asking “Is my depression coming back?”
I’ve struggled with depression since I was about 13. Not only do I have a genetic predisposition from both sides of my family I also had survived a lot of abuse by the time I hit 13. I grew accustomed to the cycle and learned to cope, at first in unhealthy ways. Then as I entered my 20s I coped more with art, travel, exercise. But sometimes there was nothing to do.
Sometimes I just lay in bed crying for days at a time.
Its difficult to admit because only those closest to me know how much I struggle. To everyone else I’m always put together, smiling, charming. Usually I don’t want to let my loved ones know. I feel like a burden – a bummer. And especially after my double depression in 2015 I know showing an ounce of depression coming back would have most of them jump to their feet worrying I’d off myself.
I don’t really have suicidal ideations anymore. Which is a big deal for me. from 13-20 then at again when A died I frequently thought about it. And attempted a couple times. I was constantly tired. It was all I could say to describe how I felt. Tired of living, tired of fighting, tired of trying to cope, tired of the abuse, tired of feeling trapped, tired of my own mind sabotaging itself. Tired.
This isn’t that anymore now my depression has changed into some strange form of apathy toward life. When it creeps up I have to fight like hell to get myself out of the house and do something, anything, that might snap me back to “me”.
But I always worry what if it doesn’t work? It doesn’t always work. What if this time I fall again. What if this is the time I don’t make it out.

And so sitting with a feeling of sadness and crying for days for no reason -terrifies me. Its a good sign that I am terrified, it means I’m still me and I can try to pull myself out of it. Once I stop being scared is when the real trouble hits.
Some people have bad days and can let themselves feel all these emotions then know it’ll pass. I have these bad days and spend half the time wondering if this is it. I’ve lost several people to depression and its a lifelong battle more often than not. Loved ones get used to it and say its just a phase and you’ll get out of it in time like you always have! But thats not true, not everyone does. I know that feeling. Standing on the ledge feeling nothing but pain, feeling like a burden, a failure, an open wound thinking “itll stop if I jump” and meaning it. Having to find yourself there time and time again is hard. And not everyone makes it out.

I can’t do anything but ask myself is it PMS? Do I just need to cry and lay in bed for a day or two? Or is my gloomy best friend back to pull me under?
I breathe in and get ready to fill up my schedule as much as I possibly can with work, research, friends, projects, travel – while thats the last thing I want to do. What I want to do is lay and not move, but thats giving it in, making it easy for depression to swaddle me in a blanket of darkness. The least I can do is keep busy and try to outrun it. Sometimes it works.

Maybe I’ll be back in two days writing about how I feel completely fine and it was a false alarm I just needed some ice cream and cuddles from my dog. Which would be great! I’ll feel dramatic and ashamed of this post, but I’ll leave it up. Its part of my reality. Not all of me is beautiful.