Write darling.

About what?

Anything. Everything. About us.

I’m not playing these games with you today.

Then one of your drafts. Work on one of those.

I cannot.

They elude me.

They’re literally right there.

No. Their meaning. What I originally intended, I cannot grasp it.

So write something with a new meaning today.

There is no meaning. Not today. Notions with deeper meanings would tire me even more. I just need to relax.

Is that what this is? A relaxing exercise?

This. This is just a precursor.

To what.

My nap.


There’s a strange sense of relief.

I say strange because I don’t understand how it came about.

This relief came over me the day after a meltdown. The night before the cracks in my walls were widened, leaving me exposed. I still feel them today, tender, constantly making me flinch. But also, it feels as if a warmth is touching me. Like the sun on your face after being inside all day.




Time for honesty.
Maybe a little dose of reality too.
For myself. I know, I am prone to wallow in self-denial.
“You’re wallowing again.” (Thanks kid. I mean it. You’re always honest with me.)
That’s why I stopped writing.
Stopped expressing.
I thought I could ignore it. Ignore what I never brought up and out and onto the page. Pretending it didn’t exist, the little turmoils in my head.
I hate feeling like this, spewing metaphor after metaphor for sadness and pain. I say pain like something hurts but I’ve been past that. I’m talking about the pain where all my nerve emotional nerve endings have been fried. So now I can’t feel anything, even in the moments when I so desperately want to.
I am going to get through this though.
That’s a statement.
A fact.
I am going to push through and spew out all this garbage, because I’ve missed this. The sound of my fingers on the keyboard, writing down ideas the moment the pop into my head. I don’t even carry a journal around anymore. All because I don’t want to admit to it. To let it be real. To be real.
So real talk, with feeling.
My feeling, or feelings.
Those that I push so desperately in that box and place at the top of the closet.
I want.
Well, I want a lot of things. But concerning this, I want… Not to be more happy. Happiness is fleeting and lands in moments, briefly or lingering. Never permanent, no. We can of course feel its traces, like the touch of a lover that you still feel on your skin.
I want to be less.
Less sad, less wallowly.
Less empty.
Less of whatever it is, I’m feeling the majority of the time. I don’t need happiness to replace it. I need just more space so I can fill it up with something different. Something productive maybe. Something hopeful, inspiring.
Perhaps, what I am yearning for is…


“I’m fine!” I shouted into the abyss. My deep breathes and silence was all that was left. I shouted again. No response, not even an echo.

I waited. I waited days and nights. The sun would set and darkness engulfed me. In the morning I’d be surrounded by swirls of mist and fog. I waited for an answer.

Doubt began to creep in. I started to think I truly was alone, that my efforts were foolish. I was a fool for believing in the words of old. “The abyss will also gaze into you.”

Discouragement overcame me. I did not leave though, for there was nowhere else for me to go.

One dawn, before the sun had awaken, as I sat near the edge. Mist curling and unfolding around my figure. Looking beyond. Thoughts of defeat filled my mind, just as times before, and with a sigh I whispered to myself, “I’m fine.”

Suddenly, I heard it. The softest of replies. I peered downward, seeking the voice. I heard it again. My heart quickened. Had my patience finally paid off? Truly, was I not alone in the darkness of my soul?

A warm touch came upon my shoulder. So gently I did not notice at first. But this caress was not from the abyss in front of me.

I turned and the warmth fell upon my face. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon. Bright and burning.

“Are you okay?”



It’s 3 weeks til the end of the semester. I just need to hold my shit together for 3 weeks. Then I can go through whatever mental episode I’ve been holding off for weeks.

It’s bad tonight. All that static and white noise in my brain, then the burning rage because I can’t get it to stop.

Every instinct in me is telling me to tear apart this room, break everything I can, and then proceed to punch a hole in the wall.

But it’s midnight.

And all I want is to get past the anger and the bitterness.

Why the fuck am I like this? Why do I keep failing?

Honestly, I hate writing like this. Because it feels like shit and I see no beauty in the words. It’s me admitting how messed up I am. I’m not ignoring the ugly parts. It’s all the jagged pieces poking through and I can see all the damage. And I hate it.  I hate looking at myself and saying I need to get it together, because I’ve been saying that for the last 6 years. I’m tired of dealing with the same depression. The same thoughts, the same questions, the same fears. Fuck. You think some progress would’ve been made.

You think writing it out would help. Getting it out would release some of it. But it doesn’t. I’m just as angry. I still can’t think. My brain hasn’t slowed down.

It’s midnight and I’m burning.




Sometimes all that’s left is sadness.

It’s night. I look over all that I haven’t accomplished and all my failures. It weighs on me. I am weary.  I should’ve been better, stronger.

Now there is nothing left.

I wish I was past this. There are days and weeks I feel like I’ve made improvement, that I’m moving forward. Then a week like this comes along. Without warning, those dark clouds are back, surrounding me and my thoughts. All hope, all positive thinking seem to be  swept away.

I am very tired, and I cannot sleep because tears burn my eyes.


I reminisce a lot. I go over where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and how I’ve felt. I try to make sense of my past to try and understand why I’m here. Why I’m like this. Am I better than before? Or worse? Have I made progress?

Sometimes, I do it just to make sure I’m real. Silly notion I suppose. Things can get so convoluted, some days I feel like smoke. I can’t seem to grasp who I am. The past and future don’t even register as blips on the map.

Even that same day will feel unknown. Imagine floating in space, but with out the stars and light. Directionless, aimless, you can’t tell if you’re even moving or not.

Recently reminiscing, I found a poem or free verse I had written my first year at college, about having a panic attack at Chick-fil-A.

Community place
friends, family, co-workers
Every table has that
I sit alone, company of a book
And a voiceless phone
Rabble of voices over shadow me
Hordes of patrons break my thoughts
I make no sound
Barely daring to breath
Hands that make no mess
Fearful of a mistake
Tummy rumbles
Fingers tremble
I wait
For courage
Then eyes fill the room
I can’t

I’m definitely not saying, “Hey read this, I think its good.” I  think its rather sub par.

I think its important, as far as case studies go, to have an understanding of the history of the individual.