• living,  mental health,  secrets

    the direction of choices

    I’ve been asked a thousand times… “Do you want to die?”. Doctors, therapists, counselors, medical techs and a whole host of random medical professionals. My answer to them. “No.” But it’s not the truth. Well, sort of. I do want to die….but, I don’t. I don’t want to actually die by my own hand. I don’t want to leave my family and friends, my life, my future dreams, but the pain of anxiety and depression makes me want to die. I know..it sounds very contradictory. I get it. How can someone want to die, but yet not want to die? Isn’t it kind of like being “a little bit pregnant”?…

  • writing

    The Woes of Writing

    Writing anything is hard enough, but trying to put thoughts into a story the way I see them in my head is difficult. I typically start with a story and then build the beginning off of that, but then I tend to start new stories because the ideas I have won’t fit into the current story I have going. I guess that’s not only the woes of writing, but the woes of having a mental illness as a writer. My anxiety gets the better of me a lot of the time. I have so many ideas, but I struggle with trying to get them down on paper in a fashion…

  • addiction,  love

    jungle of madness

    carry me with you, through the jungle of madness don’t let me sink into the sand i know you are damaged, your limbs are broken and your back is weak your mind is all you need to make it through, but my heart is rotting flesh the insects are devouring my spirit, my mind is leaking out my ears my soul is fading away, my love is fading away carry me with you, through the jungle of madness don’t let me sink into the sand i’ll let you rest for a while i’ll let you hold my hand    

  • narcissist

    dead lands

    When you said that cryptic message, that nothingness, it got into my head. It drilled it’s little hole into my head like a beetle eating through wood, trying to survive. Those words infected my heart and made me doubt myself, made me hate myself, made me second guess who I am and what I stand for. Yes, I am sensitive, but I have learned, through many years of brushing off the ash and trudging through the dead lands that you are the empty one. For those who spew hatred are the ones who died long ago.

  • addiction

    how true honesty can help keep you sober

    I wonder sometimes why I have nothing to say. Do I have writers block? Do I just not care? Do I just not feel anything I have to say is important? Am I not funny enough? Not witty enough? None of this matters. I write because I enjoy it and if someone likes it, then awesome, but sitting here with my computer in front of me, imagining writing the perfect blog post or great masterpiece or jumble of thoughts is frustrating when I have nothing to say. I used to sit in twelve step meetings, waiting for my turn to speak, imagining the perfect speech. The perfect and most inspirational…