Happy Halloween!

It’s my favorite holiday, guys! I mean, free candy, neighbors being nice to each other, dressing up, all my favorites! Although, this Halloween is a very important Halloween for me. It’s not only a year anniversary for my sister’s marriage as well as for my best Tennessee friend’s marriage, but it’s an anniversary for me as well. It marks a year after having stood up to my toxic person for the first time. 

I could go into detail about what happened, but to be honest most of it is kind of a blur for me. I don’t have any memory of what led up to our fight, but I remember losing my shit. I went crazy. I tore down posters, broke things, straight up hit his ass. After a year of taking emotional abuse, knowing he was talking to other women for months, and just plain controlling my emotions, I had had enough. 

That night, I called everyone in my phone. He likes to make it sound like I was just waiting for this to happen. What he doesn’t realize is that I was calling everyone because I was afraid of what I’d do. I was afraid of life without him. I honestly thought I would die if he weren’t in my life. I packed up an over night bag and went to my gay best friend’s house for comfort. He took me on a Walmart adventure and we drank and watched Netflix with his boyfriend. I passed out on their sofa, probably cuddled up with their cat or dog. I didn’t even cry myself to sleep that night, I knew I was strong enough to handle this shit. 

Fast forward to today, and you can see just how strong I’ve gotten since last Halloween. I’ve created a healthy relationship with an abuser, I’ve officially cut my toxic ex out of my life, and I’m fighting depression one day at a time. 

I didn’t plan this, but it seems quite fitting for today. Today is the day I took a stand to my depression. Once and for all. I’ve created a plan to get me through this week, to slowly build myself back up. As of today, I’m beginning to rebuild myself. I’m keeping the parts of me that I like, and letting go of those parts I don’t like. I’m going to go through the apartment and get rid of any negative things, I’m going to start fresh today. And it’s already been off to a good start. 
For the past month, I’ve done absolutely nothing for myself. Nothing to help myself. This morning, I woke up and took my dog on a walk. I started laundry. I wrote this. I’m getting back to life one moment at a time. Kind of like recovery week, but hopefully with better results, I will keep you guys updated on what I’m doing to stand up to my current abuser, depression and myself. 

For those of you wondering what I was for Halloween a couple nights ago:

I’ll post a photo of my costume from tonight, as well. I’m thinking, zombie/dead pin up girl? Maybe vampire pin up girl since I already have the teeth for it! We shall see. 



A Letter to My Depression

Dear Depression,

I wish I could say that it’s been nice having you around, again, but it’s not. Every time I make progress towards moving on without you, you come back. You don’t like it when I’m self-sufficient. You’re just like every other abusive person in my past, making me dependent on you. Well, I stopped taking the abuse from those people, and I’ll stop taking it from you, too. 

I let you in my head. I saw you coming from across the bar, and I let you slip in. You knew I was weak, I was in a bar and I wasn’t allowing myself to drink. You took your moment to strike, you succeeded.

You’ve become good friends with anxiety, so good of friends that you’ve learned how to make me believe I’m just a little anxious rather than me knowing you’re feeding me lies. You started by telling me that I should just keep my mouth shut or I’ll say something stupid. And when I did say something, you instantly told me I sounded like a stupid bitch. I let myself believe you.

The day after, you invited anxiety to join the party. You let me worry about what I had done the night before, I got 2 hours of sleep and you knew I was yet again vulnerable. I let you both in some more. I let you both sink your poisonous teeth into my mind again.

I spent my entire day Friday wondering what someone thought of me. I had no logical evidence to back up what you were saying to me, but I believed you anyway. I let you convince me that he didn’t truly care, that he’s going to leave me, that I ruined things. Then, you started to tell me how worthless I am. You began to remind me of all the hateful things people had done to me. You told me that I take too much effort, I’m not worth getting to know. I let you fill my head all day Friday. I let you fill my head again all day Saturday. And, I let you fill my head again on Sunday night, tonight. 

Well, I’ve got some news for you. I’m onto you. I know you’re here. I know you’re lying to me. I can tell which thoughts come from me and which come from you in the mocking voices of past abusers. I can hear a clear difference and I refuse to listen to you anymore. My mind is my mind.

I have a purpose, to be happy and to inspire. I have amazing qualities about myself that I love. I’m caring, thoughtful, loving, supportive, kind, intelligent, uplifting, and most importantly, I’m stronger than you. 

I will wake up tomorrow morning when my alarm clock goes off. I will get up, make my coffee, and take my fur baby for a walk. I will come back and continue to live my day. Tomorrow, I will be going to a coffee shop and you are not invited to join. I will be confident, loving of myself. I will not let you hold me back any longer. I’ve got a life to live and you can just get the fuck out of my way. 



Why I’m Accepting This Depressive Episode as What it Is

I don’t remember the last time I ate a meal. I think it was on Tuesday. Today is Sunday, I think. My days have been getting jumbled up in the clouds of my mind. I’m pretty sure last night was Saturday. Yes, yes it was.

 I’m starting to see the effects that not eating is having on my body. Before Tuesday, I had gone another five days with only one proper meal. My clothes fit better, my collar bone is starting to show, my face looking thinner. I blame it on my medication, which is also used to fight binge eating as well as ADD/ADHD. The truth is, while it does suppress my appetite, when it wears off I can eat. I haven’t been able to eat when it wears off. Normally, if I take my afternoon ADD medication, I wake up starving in the middle of the night. I haven’t felt hunger in weeks. 

The truth is, I’m going through another Depressive Episode. Only, slightly different than the previous ones I’ve mentioned. This one has no cause, it has no reasoning. Maybe it’s possible to have been triggered by the emotional loss of my toxic person, but I felt so happy when I stood up for myself. I was on top of the world. Now, my depression needs me to stand up to it and fight. I don’t have the strength. 

This Depressive Episode isn’t like recent ones. It’s not leaving me hopeless. I don’t feel suicidal. I have felt numb, like I wanted to self harm, but I didn’t. Maybe I just need to clean more, or get out more. It’s possible I may have let myself attach onto another person and given them that control over me that I had just gotten back. I’m not used to having it, so that’s a possibility. 

I’m learning to accept this for what it is. It’s another time in my life where I feel as though I can’t do anything. But in reality, I’m writing more and actually drawing for once. I’m happy when I’m creative, maybe this is trying to teach me something. My sister (best friend) told me that this is a phase that tends to happen in my life. I get real low, real down and I stop doing things. Then, I eventually kick my own ass and good things start to happen. I’m choosing to stick it out and see what good thing will happen.

The most frustrating part about these phases is that it makes me feel so damn unreliable. I can’t hold a job just while I’m feeling good, leave while I’m depressed, and then come back as if nothing had happened. I want to start volunteering, something that’s been on my mind for a while, but I don’t know if I have the strength to help others at the moment. You have to help yourself before you can inspire and take care of others. My inspiration place, my soul, feels drained. I’m so self obsessed trying to figure myself out that I can’t afford to focus on others. And it’s killing me. 

My two goals in life are these, to be happy and to inspire others. I can’t inspire others unless I’m happy. And, I guess, maybe right now I’m not exactly happy. It’s not because of my depression that I’m not happy, it’s because I’m not happy that’s making me depressed. There are things I want in life that I’m so close to having the chance at, that I’m ruining it for myself. I’m so close to building a career, so close to a possible relationship, so close to inspiring others on a daily basis. 

I long to be back in a place where even though I’m depressed, I can still say that I’m happy with how life is. I know I need to do some soul searching, some information gathering, I just can’t bring myself to face the hard stuff. I have a plan all set up to start rebuilding myself, yet I’m terrified to do it. I just freeze up. 

It’s so easy to just stay miserable. So much easier to blame everything on my mental health issues. And while some things do come from that, others come from me wanting to stay in my miserable little comfort zone. It’s amazing how comfortable heartache can be. 

I do want to leave my readers with something other than my emotional rambling. While I hope this made you feel less alone in your struggles, I want to leave you inspired as well. Take heart in knowing that one day, you’ll feel again. Even if you feel sadness, be grateful. This means you’re alive. Happy isn’t the only emotion that tells us we are living. Pain, suffering, they’re just there to remind us that we are alive. We are learning something. Pain is a warning sign, too. It’s a sign that joy and happiness is on its way. You just have to see the pain through, let it run its course. This, too, shall pass.


Ride or Die

I have Major Depressive Disorder. Which means, I go through depressive episodes as well as depressing days and I need medication. I’ve been dealing with this for more than 10 years. I’ve never thought about what the root cause of my depression was, but I’d say it’s a good chance that it was a combination of losing all my friends and suddenly staying home 24/7. I had been labeled the crazy girl. At only 10 years old. 

Now that I’m in my twenties, I’ve started taking medication for my depression. When I first started on Prozac, depression took me on a ride. It took me to the lowest point, suicidal. Then, it quickly shot straight up and I was suddenly on top of the world. And I would stay in this place for months. Until, a life event happened that triggered my depression back. After I signed my first house deed over to my ex, I fell into a major depressive episode. It was a point in my life where if it could go wrong, it sure as hell did. One right after the other. For a while, I was up and down and then, I was just down. 

I then started taking a new medicine, Rexulti. The change from this medicine has been so mild and climed so slow that I didn’t even realize it was working until I had stopped taking it for 2 weeks. I still don’t notice it much. It doesn’t do the same work as compared to the Prozac. But, my doctor just wants to keep upping the dose. So, we will see what happens at my next appointment. 

I’ve finally reached a place where my ADD is under control. I have steady medication for it and it doesn’t usually take me on a ride anymore. At some point, though, I joined back on depression’s ride. It’s taken me to self harm, being suicidal, and it’s let me come up for air and feel strong again. Right now, I’m low. I can’t see what’s ahead of me, it’s too cloudy. But I know I’m riding this ride low to the ground and it’s staying pretty level. 

This is where I spend all my days. Constantly. It’s like a concrete prison square. It’s my comfort zone. I’m not even comfortable inside my own apartment anymore. I’ve started bringing my notebooks out here. I’m moving my place inside to my place outside. Day by day this place sucks the happiness out of me, but I can’t leave it. 

I’ve been sitting here for a month, now. With the occasional breaks for sleep, doctors appointments, and a few outings. But for the better part of the month, I’ve been here. I’ve gotten up to smoking 2 fucking packs a day. I drink at least 2 pots of coffee. It’s all I fucking do. 

I know a better life waits for me on the inside of these walls. Just a short distance from where I spend my time. If I just cleaned up a bit, did some laundry, and actually ate something, I’d be better. If I worked in my anxiety book, made the phone calls I needed to, and just did something, anything, I’d be better. 

Truth is, I can’t do anything. Or, I won’t. It’s become too painful to face my depression. Or maybe, I’m afraid of getting better. Right now, all that I have are my mental health issues. I don’t have anything else. I don’t have anything, because I refuse to work on things. I could have writing, a relationship, a social life. But I refuse to try working for others, I refuse to trust someone, and I refuse to get out of my beach chair. 

The best I could do today is move from my beach chair, to my actual chair. I have plans to go out tonight, but because we didn’t set a time I feel like they’re not going to happen. He’s actually given me no reason to believe he’s forgotten about me, or doesn’t care, but I’m so used to being tossed to the side. I’ve got it in my mind that he’s not going to follow through. And honestly, that’s what’s causing my depression. My motivation to sit down and not do a damn thing, that comes from having my hopes up and immediately crushing them myself for no logical reason. 

Even though this is all self inflicted depression, I can’t seem to get rid of it. I can’t seem to help myself. I know no one else can help me, because I’m not at the point where I want help. All I want is to have a certain someone come over and hold me while I suffer through this phase. That’s all it is, a phase. I will make it through this, and I’ll be back here again, but it’d be nice to have someone by my side. 


I am Not My Anxiety 

One of the hardest things to remember while I’m in recovery is that I am NOT my mental health issues. While in recovery I’m crazy aware of how each thing I do will affect my mental state. And sometimes, I forget I control myself. 

Yesterday, I was in a constant state of panic. Could have been caused by too much caffeine, not enough sleep, or the fact that nothing is wrong. I spent so much time making one little thing into this irrational state of panic, that I couldn’t do anything else at all. At one point, I couldn’t even smoke a cigarette. I had had it. I was fed up knowing the rational reasoning yet, still in a complete panic. 

This is what it looks like when I’ve about had it. I wanted so badly to just give in to the panic, but I couldn’t. I tried all day to keep it away, afraid I’d turn to someone for comfort when it was way too soon to turn to them. Eventually, I made a choice. I decided to force it. I decided not to give into the panic, but to force it to happen. This photo was going to be my “before a forced panic attack” photo. 

How do you force a panic attack? I’ve honestly got no clue. My entire life I have been accused of faking anxiety attacks to get attention. Then, I sat down and thought about it last night. I have no clue, after 10 years, how to force myself into panic. I had been right on the edge all damn day, I just needed something to push me over. I begged for something to send me falling into panic. 

I did what I knew had made me panic in the past. I turned off the lights in my bedroom, laid down, and turned up the music on my, “Cry, Cry, Cry” playlist. Name inspired by Johnny Cash, of course.

The first song that came on is one that usually makes me cry. “I Wonder” by Kellie Pickler. It talks about a girl whose mom wasn’t there for her, then she up and moves to Tennessee. My life, right? Well, usually it brings sadness but, ever since I was able to record a cover of that song in a studio, it brings joyful memories. Next, was a song called, “God Sent Me You.” Normally, this one makes me cry because, “I drink whiskey, and I’ve smoked weed.” The lyrics are also my life, and this man is breaking down calling out to God in forgiveness. And then, God sends him his angel. But, I don’t have my angel, so usually, I get sad. But this time, I was full of wishful thinking and hope. Nothing was working, and then I began to cry. 

Then, I got a text message. It had been one I had wanted all day to come. But, I know people have lives so I remained patient. Little does he know, not only did he save me from an anxiety attack, but he made me feel understood. We were able to talk about what was happening. I didn’t mention that I was trying to make myself have an attack, but I did say anxiety was kicking my ass. He put a smile on my face when there had been no emotions just hours earlier. I had felt like self harming again yesterday, I’m thankful I hung onto hope. 

While I’m not happy that someone else pulled me out of a panic attack, I’m also glad they did. What I mean by that is, I want to be strong enough to not have to turn to someone every time. It’s not healthy to have the number one thing on your go-to list being to turn to someone else. Because, eventually that becomes just one person. And if you turn to that person every time, you’re giving them too much power over your emotions. And, if they don’t answer, you’re stuck and it usually makes the panic worse.

However, I’m glad at the same time that it happened. I didn’t turn to him, he had no clue how I was feeling when he texted me. I was only honest when he asked how my day was. And he understood. I wasn’t desperate for his help, but I allowed him to help, even though he probably has no idea how much he helped. 

I could tell that something good was on it’s way yesterday. It may already be here, or it may be on its way. But, yesterday was too calm, the sky too perfect. When I looked up, it was as if God was trying to tell me to just trust in Him. Yesterday, I didn’t have the strength to. Today, I currently have the strength and will keep trying to remain strong in my faith. I’m giving my power of control over to Him. What happens next will not be because of my actions, but because of His grace and His promise. He truly does have a better plan for me, I just need to wait. 

I want everyone who is struggling to remember, these are just passing moments. The anxiousness, fear, doubt, whatever it may be, it’ll pass. Eventually, happiness will come and it will pass too. But, you can rest assured in hope that happiness will always find its way back to you. Why? Because we all deserve to be happy. 


When You Finally Realize it’s Not Your Own Voice 

For years, I’ve struggled with the negative thoughts, or “voices” in my mind. The words coming from myself and my mother were the hardest to accept. The ones from others were tackled over time. It took me 10 years to realize I needed to begin work on the negativitiy from myself and my mother. But, after writing my last blog post, I realized that it may not be my mental health issues that caused me problems last night. I think there might be another trail of negative thoughts left behind from someone else. 

While I’ve taken every step possible to create distance from me and my toxic ex, his words are still engraved in my mind. I finally realize just why I was so uncomfortable last night. And God, do I wish I could have recognized it sooner. 

My ex had a difficult time understanding my social personality. I’m closed off, I don’t do well in groups of people, especially ones full of people I don’t know. I resort back to being as shy as I was in high school and earlier. I get quiet, and when I try to say something, it comes out wrong. 

He instilled in my mind that I come off as a bitch to the friends of the person I’m interested in. My ex’s best friend hated me so much at first, he tried to break us up. He won. After a while, his best friend understood I actually was cool, I just didn’t come off that way at first. However, my ex remained extremely hesitant to introduce me to people in fear I would be a bitch. He refused to introduce me to people. He told me I was a stuck up Arizona city girl with a bitchy attitude. He made me believe it. I didn’t even know until now that I believed him. 

Last night, I was so concerned with trying to make the perfect impression that I probably did come off as a bitch. Why? Because I was listening to my ex’s voice in my mind. Still haunting me. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to get over this one. Hopefully, the guy I went out with continues to talk to me and remains in my life. Hopefully, he will give me a chance to warm up to him. Hopefully, he will let me explain. All I can do is hope. Even though, he asked if I wanted to possibly hang out for a third day in a row, I still feel like I fucked up. 

But, what I want to say is this: I know who I am. 

  • I’m caring
  • I’m loving
  • I’m happy
  • I’m funny
  • I’d do anything for someone that matters to me
  • I love deeply
  • I’m kind
  • There’s not an ounce of me that is hateful (yeah, I strongly dislike a few people)
  • I’m genuine
  • I’m a smart ass
  • I’m just plain smart
  • I’m talented
  • I’m deserving of love
  • I’m deserving of respect 
  • I’m not a bitch.


What it’s Like to Chill With A New Group When You Have Mental Health Issues

This story is solely based off of just one social anxiety experience that I have had. It does not in any way reflect the life of others nor is it exactly equal to every situation anyone, including myself, has experienced. 

Last night, I went out on a date. It was a second date with a guy I had just officially met the day before. He had invited me to go out with him and his friends to a pub and then we went back to one of their houses to play Cards Against Humanity. I felt like I was back in fucking high school, guys. 

I don’t mean by the way him and his friends acted, I pride myself on being one of “the guys.” I’m the girl that wears high heels and a ton of makeup but can crack one of the dirtiest jokes around. I win every time at Cards Against Humanity. I’m freaking hilarious and I’m able to be that way without demeaning anyone or lowering my moral standards. I think I’m pretty badass about it, actually. That is, until I’m met with a group of guys I know nothing about. They don’t seem like my typical guy friends, and I’m way out of my league. Shit. 

We sat around the table last night at the pub. Everyone with a beer except for me, keeping my promise to my readers that I would no longer drink. I was tempted, but I didn’t. Every guy there was nice, with his own twisted sense of humor. The racist jokes flying, the sexist jokes being created, and laughter all around. Even me, I can have a twisted sense of humor at times, too. But, not on their level, and not with people I don’t know. 

I tried here and there to make a sarcastic comment, I think I made one joke that was laughed at. I know I come off as a bitch when I’m shy and when my jokes aren’t taken correctly, I was making an ass out of myself all night. I think my date even “ssh’d” me once. Which, was totally called for if no one understood the sarcasm of my joke. Without the humor, it was just a plain out bitchy ass, rude comment. Or maybe I’m just over thinking things, who knows.

When you’re with a group of unfamiliar people, and you have social anxiety, you crawl into your shell. You listen, you pretend to laugh, but the jokes aren’t being well received through that outer wall you’ve built up. To make things worse, my afternoon medication, as I like to call it, in reality it’s an ADD medication, isn’t working at all. So, being in a loud bar with lots going on, I kept zoning out. I was not pleasant company. 

To top off the bar experience last night, not only was I struggling with my alcohol addiction, but my PTSD. See, normally I’d have absolutely no problem pulling someone aside and being like, you can’t make that joke around me. But, for some reason, I felt like I was being tested for how “cool” I was. So, I didn’t say anything. But then the date rape jokes came up and the nazi jokes ran wild, I wanted to break down. A little background on the PTSD and Nazi jokes, let’s just say that going to an old concentration camp will change a person forever. I believe everyone should go to at least a museum on the subject. 

After that was all said and done, we headed back to one of the guys’ houses. I thought this was my oppurtunity. There wouldn’t be the noisy bar to drown my thoughts, I could actually function. Damn, was I wrong. Turns out, my need for approval from this guy and his friends was so high, I could barely function still. He held my hand, he did small little physical things to show he was interested, but I was still a nervous wreck inside. I felt like every time I opened my mouth some comment would come out in a bitchy tone and I’d ruined everything. I kept apologizing to everyone, saying how sorry I was that I was awkward. I haven’t felt this way in a while. There were at least two times that night I just wanted to allow myself to have a panic attack. I didn’t want to seem overly emotional, so I kept quiet. 

After my date, I texted him to thank him for inviting me. I apologized again. And I’ll probably apologize again today. That’s just what anxiety has us do. 

I went to my best friend’s house last night at 3am because I needed to feel at peace. I needed to be around someone who understood me, so I didn’t feel so crazy and out of control. We hung out for a bit, cuddled up and watched some Netflix. Eventually, I passed the hell out. So did he. I woke up a couple hours later and came home. It felt good to be understood after that night, I needed it. 

Dating when you have a mental illness feels like a lot of mistakes, a lot of opening up quickly, and a lot of apologizing. I know I don’t need to do these things, but I genuinely like this guy, I want him to understand. I’ll try anything to help people understand. 

All in all, his friends were great and hilarious, I laughed and had fun. I just hadn’t been that shy since, well, my first boyfriend in high school. I was out of my comfort zone without the proper coping mechanisms. Okay, without my bad coping mechanisms. Guess that’s something to talk to my therapist about. Oh, also my date was super sweet, and I like his cuddles. 


My Recovery Week

*This post contains subject matter that may be a trigger. Abuse and self harm are discussed.*

This time last week I was standing tall. Well, as tall as I can for someone who is 5′ 1″. I had just broken free of the chains that had once held me down. For the first time in 5 years, the weight was taken off my shoulders, and the chains had been cut loose. I was finally free. 

I know I only did a few days of my recovery week, but that is because I feel like I didn’t do any hard working steps toward recovery. Instead, I let life guide me. So, here’s the update y’all deserve from the week that I was going to recover. Which, by the way, I’ve made tremendous progress, while still having more to come. 

As you may remember, this photo was taken the Sunday before my recovery week had begun. It was the lowest point I have hit in years. And I took a photo to show all of you. I wanted this photo to be as powerful as it is, to share with everyone just what anxiety could do. However, what I didn’t realize was that it wasn’t just anxiety creating this moment. It was abuse. 

**Before I begin to explain, I want to state that I in no way believe that this person was ever purposely harming my mental state, I honestly don’t believe he realized the power he held over me. This post is not to condemn him, only share my experience of mental abuse.**

I told you all the story of me seeing a movie that brought back sensitive emotions and memories. This was a day after my ex had contacted me. I was trying so hard to ignore the negative impact his prensence had made in my life, even though all I could think or talk about was him. He didn’t realize this, or maybe he did, but I had given him full power over my emotions. I had done this for 4 years and another year of a back and forth battle of trying to get the power back. I finally won. 

My anxiety and depression was being caused by not having control over my own mind in many forms. One of them being that he held all the power. And he took advantage of it. He could make me love him, hate him, feel guilty for shit I didn’t do, everything. Even as I write this I wonder, was I really standing up for myself, or did he make me? I honestly wouldn’t put it past him to say those things to me knowing they’d force me to get angry and leave him once and for all. I know somewhere, he does care about me. He knows we’re not good for each other. 

The day before I went to therapy, I had broken down and hurt myself again. I was on my way home from a date and the feeling of being totally emotionless was overwhelming. A song came on that brought up a flood of emotions as it reminded me of him, I scratched my arm again. The second time in three days. I knew I was not okay. 

The morning before therapy, I had created a plan. I was going to give myself until Sunday. The day my niece would be born. If I had not made progress by Sunday, I would take my dog to my sister’s house, her husband would then drive me to the hospital of my choosing. I would check myself in, possibly putting myself on suicide watch.

 I can only ever recall two times of being suicidal before, and they were both due to medication. Not once before had I considered ending it all. I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t think up ways to harm myself, I just remember thinking, “What would happen if I floored it into oncoming traffic? What would happen if I just drove into a wall?” Thank God for my mother, while she put some not so pleasing things into my mind, she also instilled this in me, “I want to kill myself, but my luck I would mess up and just end up paralyzed for the rest of my life.” While it may be dark, it’s one of the best things my mother could have ever said to me. It’s kept me alive for more than a decade. 

Later that day, I went and saw my therapist. While he liked that I was coming up with a plan, he didn’t like the plan itself. I didn’t really like it either, but part of me felt it was the only way to get someone to care for me. He suggested this instead, to wait until our next appointment, a full week. And to do things in the mean time to get out of my house, to experience being uncomfortable. So that way, I’d have emotion. 

I attempted to follow his advice, as well as my own all week. I ended up having a pretty busy week and the things I’m used to doing/needed to do got put off. I went to my coffee shop, I spent a day getting a new phone, I went to the hospital to welcome my new niece, and I went back the next day to spend most of my day helping them out. Tuesday came around and I thought I’d have the day to myself, but instead I went on a date to a new place. Then, we hung out at my apartment for hours. Wednesday came, and my week was up. 

I started my day by getting up early and getting ready for a date. A date at 7:30am. Yeah, I might just like the guy a bit. I went to a new coffee shop, which I plan on revisiting, and spent a while with him talking. He invited me to go out with him and some friends tonight, so hopefully that goes well. I left my date, after having a good bye kiss I will never forget. 

Later that day, was my therapy appointment. The moment I’d get to look at my therapist and tell him, I did it. I changed my number and I cut my toxic person out of my life. I took my power back. I went on to tell him how busy my week was, about the new baby, everything. He seemed really impressed, yet he knew more work had to be done. I’d given up on reading my anxiety work book. I hadn’t been doing a healthy routine. This week, it’s dedicated to getting back into the swing of things. And, hopefully more dates with this guy! 

My life has made a complete turn around since a week ago. I still have a lot of inner work ahead of me. I still am not feeling emotion as well as I’d like, and now I have to deal with the fact that there’s a new guy in my life that has gotten my attention. I’m working hard to deal with this in a healthy way. I’ll possibly be writing about dating and mental illness here soon. It’s been on my mind lately. 


The Escape

Today, I took my ADD morning meds. I drank a cup of half-caf coffee. Then, I drank another. And then, on my way to my coffee date, I had another coffee. Once I got to the coffee shop, the barista thought I said half and half, not half-caf. I ordered a large, I didn’t correct her when I noticed she hadn’t heard me. I probably had at least 3 shots of espresso. I went home, I had maybe 4 more cups of half-caf. I took my afternoon ADD meds, before noon.  I went to therapy, but stopped by Starbucks and grabbed a half-caf from there. I went home, took a nap, got up, poured another cup. Damn, coffee rules my dang life! I also made another pot of coffee. 

I messed up. I messed up when I let my social anxiety take over. When I didn’t correct the barista, I knew my day was going to be absolute shit day. Why? Because caffeine is one of the things that you can do that induces anxiety. Too much sugar? Anxiety. Too much exercise? Anxiety. Absolutely anything that increases your heart rate? Guess what, anxiety. 

The unable to sit still, the unable to focus, the dreadful migraine. It pushed me over the edge of being able to function. I laid down, and while I didn’t actually fall asleep, I daydreamed my headache and anxiety away. When I got up, I felt at peace. Ready to tackle the rest of my day. 

I went outside to smoke a cigarette, where I currently am. When I finished, I just looked inside. Wondering, what was I going to do after my cigarette… I was going to do something. “Oh, yeah. Get more coffee.” I looked down, my coffee mug still full. God, I swear I’m worse than a Gilmore Girl! Thank goodness this is half-caf. Which I’m pretty sure Luke was secretly giving Loralei all those years. 

My to-do list popped into my head. I thought, oh, I should work on that! Then, I realized that’d mean leaving my patio. Going inside. Sitting at my messy table. Most importantly, not smoking. Then, I looked at the time. Well, shit. It was 5:30pm. The anxiety back in a flash, “You’re a fucking failure.” The depression to the defense, “Just do it tomorrow morning.” The realization, I have plans tomorrow. I need to do these things now, I needed to do them weeks ago. Do I put them off another day? Another two days? Or do I bring my stuff outside and do it outside, since I’m so desperately dependent on my smoking addiction. Which has taken a turn for the worst, 2 lovely packs a day. Sometimes, 2 1/2. The stress from last week got to me, the smoking from last week never quit. 

Now, I sit here. Outside. Debating whether to light another up. I’m hungry, my ADD medication isn’t working. I have about 5 other stories plus 10 drawings and the random urge to sew all taking up my mind. Everything. At once. Which do I do first? Do I write the letter to my future boyfriend, or do I write about my recovery week? Maybe I should draw some more as words have been difficult for me lately. 

I think I’ll just take my dog for a walk, he’d like that. I’d like that.