Blow, Baby – parental discretion advised

On regular days, Rue stood at 5’1. She was a mutt in her own beautiful way; her mother was very French, right down to her cunt. Her father was some kind of German- Dahl.

But on Thursday nights like this one, she towered to 5’9.

Rue twisted her damp braids as she leaned against the glass of the phone booth. It was nearly midnight. Maxwell would be calling. The street was emptier than usual, she thought to herself.



It had been raining for 5 days in a row. The gutters were flooded with filthy water, pushing wrappers and a used condom down the street. She wished she had brought her coat.

Ring, ring.

Rue gripped the handle of the phone and wavered.

Ring, ring, ring.

She had never missed a call from Maxwell. He had a quick hand and an even quicker temper from what she heard from the other girls. But tonight, on this Thursday night, she let it ring until it exhausted itself.

Her breath fogged up the booth. It didn’t matter, anyway. She had already made up her mind. By sunrise, she would be collapsed in the alley way behind the after-hours club, sprawled beneath the flickering No Smoking sign. One quick injection and it would all be over.

Rue lit a cigarette and picked up the phone book. With an exhale of smoke, she closed her eyes and threw her finger down on a page.


Hannah. Stephen Hannah. 4673 Juniper Street Apartment 103. She picked up the phone and sank to the wet floor of the booth, cross-legged. She dialed her unknowing friend.

The sleepy stranger answered.


“I’m going to kill myself tonight,” said Rue in a low voice unfamiliar to her own ears.


She twirled the steel chord in her hand.

A deep sigh ahhhhed from the receiver. “On a Thursday night?”

Rue’s eyes glanced at her watch. 12:06. “It’s Friday now, man.”

“Fuck. So it is,” replied the stranger named Stephen. “Who is this?”

“You can call me baby, baby. Listen, I need a drink. I need to get out of here. I’m two blocks away from you.”

“You can’t just fucking call a stranger at 12:06 and request a fucking drink and expect them to join you.”

“Well,” she answered blowing smoke from her lips, “you answered. You shouldn’t answer calls in the middle of the night if you’re not ready to jump at an emergency.”

“What kind of fucked up game are you-”

“Do you get high?”

The stranger paused. “What?”

“Do you get high? Do you want to?”

“Fuck. What the fuck… baby? Okay, fuck it. Where do I meet you?”

A smile stretched along her face. On last drag, smoked down to the filter. In a low whisper she said, “Apartment 103.” Click.



The stranger opened the door in a tattered blue robe. Rue held out a bottle of whiskey. “Drink?”

“I’m dreaming,” said the stranger as he partly opened the door. In she went. She slipped off her heels and found her way to the kitchen. The door closed behind them. The apartment was lived in, to say the least. He must have been some kind of writer. There were papers strewn about, clippings from magazines and encyclopedias. The sofa had multiple ink stains on it from calligraphy pen spills. Rue pulled herself on top of the kitchen counter to reach the cabinets.

“Hey, hey- watch it… what the hell is your name anyways? Hey get down!”

She looked over her left shoulder. “I told you to call me baby. It’s nicer this way. You got glasses up here?”

“Yeah, on the right.”

Rue brought down two whiskey glasses and poured them full.


“Jesus. Alright, baby. You got my attention. What do you have for me?”

Rue pushed the glass in front of him. “Is that all I’m good for? What ever happened to talking? You know, getting to know a person before you get blown?”

The stranger took a gulp from his glass and she did the same. “Alright, you like music?” asked the stranger. “Never mind. Hold on. Just, sit down over there.” He motioned to the orange sofa in the living room. The one with all the ink spills. He disappeared into the dark hallway. A record needle scratched. Crackle. Cue Sleepwalk, Santo & Johnny. “What’s good, baby? What’s this talk about dying on a Thurs- sorry, Friday night.”

“I was only joking, mister. I needed to get the hell out of there. Maxwell was coming to find me. He would have killed me anyways, you know, if he just saw me standing there.”

“What the fuck kind of joke is that?!” yelled the stranger, spilling some of his whiskey.

“Hey, calm down, honey. It’s not a joke. I really could have died tonight.”

“Who the fuck is Maxwell? Your boyfriend?”

Rue stared down at her drink. “No, man. He’s my…boss. He’s my boss and I was supposed to work tonight, but, fuck it to hell, right?” She took a long, loving swallow. The stranger’s eyes followed her silhouette from her tangled hair to the bottom of her pink fishnets. His face softened. “Hey, let’s talk about something else, honey. I found you in the phone book. You must be single. No way a woman would let you live like this.”

The stranger drank. “No woman. I don’t need a woman telling me what to do. Women are trouble.”

The record was on repeat. Something about the apartment was comforting to Rue. Suddenly, she pulled out a little bag full of white magic from her purse, along with a razor blade and mirror. Methodically, she placed each item on the coffee table between them as if they were offerings. She hummed quietly to the song that was playing for the third time.

Eight exquisite lines of cocaine begged to be consumed in front of their faces. Rue bent down, bowing to the stranger, and took a long inhale. She looked up at him with big, blue watery eyes. Her nose was powdery and pink. With a $100 clutched in between her teeth, she melted onto the floor and crawled over to him on her hands and knees.

“Blow, baby,” said Rue groggily.

The stranger bent down over her and sniffed up a couple of lines. The room begun to buzz. “Jesus, baby. That’s some strong-” Her lips fell onto the strangers lap. He took her chin into his hand and stared into her bloodshot eyes. “You’re high baby.”

“Blow, baby?” said the groggy girl with pouty lips.

The room continued to vibrate as he fucked her mouth. The song played 10 more times.

Sometime between her first orgasm and the sound of the garbage truck’s squealing brakes, they fell asleep on the carpeted living room floor.

Gently, Rue began to wake up. The stranger slept peacefully with robe undone. She checked her watch one last time. 7:09. The sun was threatening to rise. She rolled over and gingerly kissed his shoulder blade.

Quietly gathering her shoes and purse, she hit the last couple lines of coke. She took her watch off and set it beside a napkin on the coffee table which read, “I’m so happy I called you. -Rue Dahl”

Out she slipped into the morning dew to meet the flickering No Smoking lights.


Published and Promoting! Plus, a Prize Contest!!!!

Solipsism: (noun) The belief that all reality is just one’s own imagining of reality, and that one’s self is the only thing that exists. 1871, coined from Latin solus, “alone”

I have been published! Solipsist, my collection of confessional poetry, is now available on Amazon and Kindle!


I will be sending out thank you gifts to randomly selected WordPressers who share my book on their blog! Please be sure to link so I can include you in the prize selection! I will be sending the gifts on Friday, January 8th, so please make sure you share and link my blog before then!***

For those of you that don’t follow this blog, in 2010, I hit rock bottom. After struggling with crippling depression throughout my adolescence and heavy drug addiction, I attempted suicide. Thankfully, it wasn’t my time to leave. It has been an uphill battle towards recovery ever since. Every day I needed to make a conscious decision to hang on and get better. Slowly, with the love and support from my family and friends, I began to rehabilitate spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I am very grateful to say that I have been sober (and plan to be!) from the drug that had nearly destroyed me.

Through my arduous recovery process, I had turned to writing for healing. These poems that I have published in Solipsist were deliberately handpicked, as each one was written during a crucial point in my therapy. They are raw, unfiltered. I understand that some of them can be hard to read. They are difficult to share.

So, why open up to the world? Unfortunately, suicide is such a stigmatized topic in our society, along with mental health. I painfully remember not wanting to reach out for help for this very specific reason. All too often, people who are struggling with the above mentioned are labeled as “weak” and “attention seeking.” Then, when someone we love takes their own life, we wonder why we never saw the signs.

I lived through my experiences and I know that my purpose is to spread awareness. If I am able to save one life, my purpose is fulfilled.
That being said, I am VERY excited about my first published book. I am inviting you all to share this moment with me!


In dedication to:

American Foundation of Suicide Prevention

The Trevor Project- providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning (LGBTQ) young people ages 13-24.

RAINN- Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network
Thank you all in advance!!

One Year Later

I was casually reading a biography on Sylvia Plath, and these quotes stood out to me this morning:

“While few critics dispute the power or the substance in Plath’s poetry, some have come to feel that its legacy is one of cynicism, ego-absorption, and a prurient fascination with suicide.

The very source of [Plath’s] creative energy was, it turned out, her self-destructiveness. But it was, precisely, a source of living energy, of her imaginative, creative power. So, though death itself may have been a side issue, it was also an unavoidable risk in writing her kind of poem. My own impression of the circumstances surrounding her eventual death is that she gambled, not much caring whether she won or lost; and she lost.”

It has been one year since beginning this blog.


What a YEAR it has been. I am so proud of myself for actually committing to writing and staying with it. Secondly, I’m proud of myself for the leaps I have made and accomplishments. I survived! I survived when I thought for sure that I would have taken my life by now.

But I didn’t! I’m here!

It’s very strange, reading back on my old blog posts. I often forget where I used to be, how I felt, how my life was. I’ve made giant strides since then. On some level, it is comforting looking back and realizing that when I do fall into depression, it’s nothing that I can’t get myself out of. Then on the other hand, it’s frightening because I don’t know how long I will deal with depression.

I am very appreciative of the community here and for the friendships I have made. All of you have been so incredibly helpful on my venture through the mental health system and my own mind. Thank you.

In other news, this past weekend was a busy one. The play is going very well. I have 4 more shows to go. My girlfriend has already made it to 3 because she’s fucking awesome. My grandma surprised me and came into town to watch the play, too!

A few days ago, I was having another dumpling date with my girlfriend and I received a few text messages from my mom’s cell phone. The texts became urgent. When I called her phone, however, it wasn’t her. It was her husband, Charlie.

Just in case you don’t follow my blog, here’s a little synopsis on my relationship with her: she lives in South Carolina. I’ve never met her. I only just “met” her (over the phone) 3 years ago. She was a drug addict for years and years, spent ample time in prison, moved back to the south where she married her ex-convict husband, Charlie (who by the way, I just learned, is 35-years-old while my mother is 50. Just saying), and HE is also addicted to opiates and pills, a whole slew of things. Anyways, I do have a relationship with her now. There was a good period where she was abusing drugs again, so was he. He’s been in the hospital lately with some blood infections after he had his kidney removed, so he’s clean off of drugs. Anyways, this is a very detailed summary, I just realized.

The point is- Charlie called me and asked me if I could help them out with the electricity bill.

When I first got back in contact with my mom, I swore to myself that I would never, ever help her out financially. I don’t own her anything. Moreover, she herself promised me that she would never ask me for money, either.

So here calls Charlie, asking me for some kind of donation because their electricity was going to be cut off the next day. I think I believe it because she has been telling me they’ve been hurting for money since Charlie’s intensive hospitalizations. The thing is, though, it SUCKS that I even have to think twice about it. Hmm… are they using this money to use the lights in their home, or are they going to buy some heroin needles and tar and shoot up?

It sucks that I’m the daughter yet here I am feeling slightly bad that I can’t help her out and also feeling worried. I hate the feeling of not being sure if she’s using drugs. I hate that she’s married to this guy and I still haven’t met her. I hate everything about the situation and I think it’s bullshit.

I didn’t give him money. He asked if it could stay between him and I, and I said fine. I haven’t talked to her since that day. At first, I was more irritated then anything. Then, once I was by myself in the car, I couldn’t help but cry at the situation.

Other than that, everything else is going well. I’m moving soon! I’m really excited about that. My girlfriend is moving out and I’ll snag her bedroom. Finally, a space of my own that I can call home. Being at my grandma’s was great for helping me get on my feet, but it is time for me to move out and have my own space.

That’s all for now, WordPress!

Rapid Cycling, a Guest Writer, and PNES


I am cycling faster than an Olympic Triathlete. And I’m tired of it.

I am depleted, depressed, deranged, and desperate. I want to say the hallucinations are better, but with the influx of anxiety at work, I am still swimming through teeming auditory hallucinations. I’m frustrated. I am not a fun person to be around right now. Every little thing sets me off either into a fuming rage, or into a morose melancholy in which I sit in to ponder my existential purpose.

On top of this, I want a drink. OH I want a tequila shot. Or a glass of wine. I’m itching and I cannot remedy the cravings with grape juice anymore.

On another note, I’d like to introduce a guest writer- my girlfriend. I wanted her to recall what happened on Thursday night, since I feel it’s important.

Without much further ado, COME ON DOWWWWWNNNNNNNN

 In regards to what happened last night, there was a certain familiarity to the situation. There was a loss of touch with reality, a sense of fear (mostly emanating from me), and what I would describe as a kind of takeover.

Simply enough, she and I were laying in bed. She sat up and blankly stared ahead. I asked what was wrong, and she told me she didn’t feel too well – that she felt a bit hypoglycemic. So off I went into the kitchen to get a glass of whatever I could find which ended up being some flat soda. After drinking it, her hands stopped shaking and she just laid back down. No more than 10 minutes had passed after this incident when I got up to get dressed. I stood at the edge of the bed while she began to sit up and addressed me. She looked at me mischievously, and in the most tauntingly devious, callous tone of voice she began to talk. This was the dialogue:

“Oh, you don’t want to fuck me first?”


“I fucked you, why wouldn’t you fuck me?”

“Why are you saying that?”

“Come here baby, *makes kissy noises* OH, I loooove you.”

At this, she began to slyly grin. Her hand was reaching out for me – she wanted me to come sit down next to her. She dropped her gaze, bowed her head, with her hand still in the air, she got really quiet and began to cry. I sat down and looked at her and asked her to come back to me, since she was far gone at this point. When she stopped crying, she looked up with a manic grin behind her eyes, and I realized she was dripping blood from her mouth. She looked at me in the same way she had just moments before, and said “You’re sure you don’t want to fuck me now? Come on babe, I’m right here.” This is when she began to have what appeared to be a seizure. It was a slow onset; she began shaking lightly, then more and more violently. This lasted for about a minute and half. As she shook, blood dripped from her mouth, down her chin, and onto her thigh. I wiped it up with my hands and went to go get a towel or something in the bathroom. I was gone less than ten seconds, and when I came back her head was back down and she was no longer ‘seizing’. Her voice changed to the voice I’m most familiar with, and a meek “I don’t feel well, babe” escaped her lips.

I pulled her towards me, and she was confused. I asked her to get dressed, to put her pants on. She kept coming back to me. Her eyes slowly unglazed and she came back to reality. I guided her to the bathroom and when she saw herself in the mirror she asked why she was bleeding. We then realized that she had bitten and chewed the inside of her lip and that’s where the blood was coming from (this to much a relief for me, since my first thought was that she had been back to using drugs without my knowledge; this wouldn’t be the first time she bled from her mouth in that manner).

She, for a couple of minutes, had completely dissociated and removed herself from present time. She had no recollection of what had happened. She remembered laying down after drinking the flat cola, then coming to, when I was asking her to put her pants on.

All I could do was lay back down with her, assuring her everything was okay, that I loved her and that I was here for her.

Also, because she cares so much for me, or maybe she was just scared out of her mind (because who wouldn’t be), she did a little research and learned about Psychogenic NonEpileptic Seizures (PNES). According this website:

“PNES are attacks that may look like epileptic seizures, but are not caused by abnormal brain electrical discharges. They are a manifestation of psychological distress. Frequently, patients with PNES may look like they are experiencing generalized convulsions similar to tonic clonic seizures with falling and shaking. Less frequently, PNES may mimic absence seizures or complex partial seizures with temporary loss of attention or staring.

A specific traumatic event, such as physical or sexual abuse, incest, divorce, death of a loved one, or other great loss or sudden change, can be identified in many patients with PNES.”

I’m not self diagnosing. I will bring this up to my doctor, however, does anyone out there have feedback, and/or experience with PNES, or dissociation? I want to know I’m not alone here.

I wrote this to my girlfriend yesterday and it describes how I feel:

I feel as if the dust of my childhood had settled for years and years on the attic floor, untouched and unbothered by light or a footstep. Now, I’ve let people into the attic- doors and windows splayed open. The wind is tossing all of the dust into a flurry, illuminated by bright sunlight. And I’m in the middle of it all, gazing at the floor, remembering that the wood panels below had etchings and designs. My lungs are contracting, wheezing, and coughing from all of the dust. All the while, everyone else around me is well equipped with masks.

I think that through group, I have been rustling up my past memories. Yesterday I actually had a flashback to my molestation. As I ran to the restroom at work, I kept thinking over and over, there’s nowhere for me to hide. Not a crease, nor crack. There is no place where the pain won’t reach me. So, I cried in the stall and cut my wrist to quiet it down.

My girlfriend made a great point (again. She’s great). In regards to me telling her that I don’t think I’m getting better- I mean I WAS feeling better, but I crashed again. She said that when I was first admitted, I handled the immediate situation. I got meds, I was in therapy, I talked out my immediate issues and felt better. However, we all now that mental illness isn’t cured by wiping the superficial grime off of ourselves; I began digging deeper and finally hit the center of my earth. My childhood and past. It’s hitting me like a truck now.

I know I’ll be alright, though. I need to keep thanking those around me for simply being there for me. I’m a wreck right now.

When Lazarus Was Homeless

This evening’s topic: When Lazarus Was Homeless.

Albeit, not for long- but homeless, nevertheless.

Jotting back a few years ago…I was doing well (alright….poorly) in my 17 year old existence. My home life was in shambles due to my alcoholic brother, and my ever growing drug addiction in general. I had been pissing my entire family off because of my failing grades, my complete and utter discord for school.

Then, the night happened where my brother became so inebriated with tequila, he pushed me up against our second story bay window, choked me and with a great red, angry face, sputtered the words, “Do you want me to fucking kill you?”

This anger, of course, was brought upon by his default slurred statement, “You’re just like Dad.” I’d seen it before, and unfortunately, I would see it again.

So, I packed up some clothes, my ID, and left.

I meant to only be gone for a night, two at most. He wouldn’t let me back in the house because I had called the cops on him. I didn’t really have anywhere to go. So, I slept behind a church. I slept behind a church for 16 nights. This was the beginning of my heroin relationship. I had met my dealer/ex-boyfriend here in the soggy gutters- who, coincidentally became a gang member soon after we broke up.

I ambled around aimlessly during the days, strung out and euphoric. I met up with a few people from middle school as I dealt coke and pot as a means to get by. It was a time of a rather grandiose “fuck you” to the world, looking out from my illogical teen eyes.

Thankfully, one of my best friends at the time had found me and allowed me to stay with her for two nights to wash my clothes, to get myself together. I returned to my home, no questions asked to my astonishment. All of my belongings were gone from my bedroom. My brother had poured water on my mattress- why? I have no idea why he did anything.

I made it out alive, obviously. Relatively untouched, unscathed- sans the drug dependency I created for myself. Moral of the story? Don’t stick in a needle in your arm if you ever find yourself homeless. And don’t get stranded in a crime-ridden part of town.

I’m a badass motherfucker now. Nice to meet you.

PS- Look what my girlfriend made me for my birthday. BEST girlfriend, EVER.

1385728_10206525493202571_8857666476753992123_nContents include: My Little Pony Rainbow Tutu, Adventure Time undies, Pocky sticks, 3 books including my Hyperbole and a Half book!!! a worry doll, and a sunflower to grow!

Day 5 of Partial Hospitalization- Learning to Love Myself

Today was Day 5 of my PHP! Technically, it’s my last day, but luckily my insurance approved me for 5 additional days. I’m going to finish PHP through this Friday, then starting Monday I’ll drop down to IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program).

Group therapy was difficult for me this morning.

In my second group, I processed through my childhood and my sexual molestation via my father figure and cousin when I was 12. I dove into my first suicide attempt as a 14 year old. The feelings of betrayal, abandonment,apathy, and hurt came floating to the top. The whole conversation came about with my origination of “I don’t feel anything.” During the past 5 days, I haven’t felt a damn thing. I can talk about my dad’s suicide, about my attempts, about my homelessness, heroin addiction, self-mutiliation, etc…not one tear or lump in the throat. Our therapist then pointed out that disassociation is a classic symptom and effect of abuse and molestation during childhood. It makes total sense. That’s how I survived- by building barriers around myself, pushing my feelings way down into my psyche, and carrying on with my life. I never really thought about it in that way…

There’s a new guy with us now. He’s really awesome. In the past  year, he has attempted suicide 3 times. He also has a 6 year old daughter. Our therapist asked him, “Where does your daughter fit into your attempts? Did you ever think about how your suicide may effect her?” He replied with, “In the throes of my depression up to my attempts, I thought my daughter would be better off without me in the world.” I broke down crying. I hope that that thought never went through my dad’s mind when he took his own life. I turned to him in group and I told him, “My dad killed himself. I wish he was in my life. You are a blessing to your daughter. Keep going.”

Something really hit me today in group. After I talked about my childhood and really stirred up the memories, our therapist said it’s time to really look back, as an adult and knowing what I know now, I can go back and be with that young child who was hurt, who was abandoned, and angry. I can love and nurture that child. I can stand next to her and hold her- something I didn’t have when I was going through that trauma. The therapist also suggested that I take a picture of myself when I was a child so I could visualize my innocence.

Well, I did just that. And it hurts a lot. I’m in tears right now as I type away. I’m at this critical point in my life where I’d like to be with that child, to forgive myself, to love myself. Which is difficult, because I harbor a lot of unwarranted guilt and resentment towards myself. However, I need to love myself and heal.

So, I’m dedicating this song tonight to the child-me, from the adult-me. Here’s to healing, forgiving, loving, and ultimate recovery. We all deserve inner peace.

When you’re feeling sad and blue
Don’t you know that I will always be here for you
When everything just makes us go out of our mind
Just know that I will always have the time for you
You say that I am your influence
You should know that you inspire me, now until the end
I’ll help you get through the thick and thin
And I know you’ll remember when, I say…

You are strong strong as a soldier
Even when winds are tough you’ll always keep it together.
You are strong, strong as a soldier
I know you’ll get through anything
‘Cause you’re strong, strong, strong as a soldier.

When the waves are crashing down, can’t get up
Just know I’ll pick you up from the ground
When it feels like everything goes wrong,
Just remember to listen to this song

You are strong strong as a soldier
Even when winds are tough you’ll always keep it together.
You are strong, strong as a soldier
I know you’ll get through anything
‘Cause you’re strong, strong, strong as a soldier.

Don’t you worry about the obstacles to your happiness
If you let them get to you, you’ll end up just like the rest.
I know you’re better than those people who get in the way
Just remember what I always say…

You are strong strong as a soldier
Even when winds are tough you’ll always keep it together.
You are strong, strong as a soldier
I know you’ll get through anything
‘Cause you’re strong, strong, strong as a soldier.

You are strong, strong, strong as a soldier
Strong, strong, strong as a soldier

PS- An extra song for us women 🙂

Washing Down My Feelings with a 2005 Dry Rose

Morning came and went, passing, crawling. Vodka, sip, sip. Norco crack, split in half. Small scissors scratch, scratch, in the stalls I push more plush from my wrists. Dark, caved-in eyes, darting from the light fixtures on the ceiling, desperately answering back to chimerical chatter.

Then, the high is gone, the vodka wears off. I’m empty, emptier, emptiest.

Well, not so empty. It’s not so bad. Although the thought I want to kill myself flew by more than once against the wallpaper of my corneas.

She took me to my favorite store ever, World Market. They have everything. Anyways, I broke my own heart. I was looking around at items, things I really wanted, little things like tea. And I had the thought, “What’s the point of acquiring more physical items? It just means more clean up for people when I die. It’ll just take up space.” Then, I stepped back for a second because I had scared myself so badly. I know I have this sick, perverted love lust for suicide, but I think it really shook me up inside actually planning and thinking about the aftermath of my death.

So, I bought some Hello Panda chocolate just to hold onto life a little bit longer. I don’t really want to die…I just really, really don’t want to feel this pain anymore. I don’t want to be the cause for anyone’s heartbreak.

Now, I’m going to purge because I feel sick with anxiety. I’m going to lay in bed, and I’m going to try to not think about being stupid and taking another hydrocodone.

Thanks for reading through my morose soliloquies. I know it’s a bummer. This depressive episode has been a rocky, sticky one to say the least.

And thanks for everyone that has been supporting me, commenting and such. It helps. Just knowing someone is reading this and cares enough to comment back helps my heart. It really does!

Maudlin Narrations and Wished Upon Oxycontin

Fuckkkkk I have a lot to say and I don’t know where to start, so I’ll start and I’ll leave it up to you to unjumble, unscramble, decipher, and peel it apart.

I started a new vlog, perhaps I’ll post up my channel here one day soon if anyone is interested in it.

Sorry for the awkward nostalgia, again, but here you go…

I feel like I’m nothing but poison to everyone around me. I’ve mentioned this before, but I see myself as so parasitic to those around me. My (ex?) boyfriend would tell me, “Then stop doing that! You can change your mind at any time!” Oh, lovely, if only it were that easy! I need a hug. Oh damn, do I need a hug.

I really shouldn’t be complaining. I’ve had a fantastic few days with her and all… I feel like such a bitch. Like no one is good enough for me. Or, rather, I’m not good enough for them.

God, what a maudlin display. I am bathetically pouring out all of the things I hate about myself today. I wish I had good news! I wish I could tell you I won another poetry contest, or I’m in love with this wonderful woman….etc.

The truth is, readers, I feel like slitting my wrists, popping back a few oxy’s, drinking a bottle of wine and bathing in my sorry existence. I want so badly to say, “I’ll get out of this one!!”

You have no idea how close I am to admitting myself to a psych ward.

Embittered Embroidery

I had this really weird thought, just for a split second. I thought, “I need to call my dad.” If you follow my blog, you know my dad passed away 20 years ago. I wonder why I had that idea.

This morning I was extremely embittered with myself. Everyone and every thing was fueling my anger.

Whenever someone spoke to me, I heard their voices bend into harsh and rigid tones. I was having trouble deciphering whether they were speaking to me or reprimanding me. I was on edge, to say the least.

It was so loud. I feel like I was a stammering idiot the entire morning. I cried like a baby in the bathroom because I couldn’t seem to pull it together. After getting some caffeine in me and talking myself down, I got better.

Then, boyfriend’s mother was waving ten Vicodin pills under my nose lackadaisically. (She “knows” I have a problem with opiates, but she always brushes it off. “It’s natural to be addicted….to each their own.” She is also addicted to painkillers and cocaine. Let’s be real) It took all of me NOT to ask her for one.

Tomorrow is my appointment with the psych to pick up my script for Zyprexa. I’m shitting bricks. I just want to have it, I guess… although, like I mentioned in an earlier post, I’m reading/hearing horror stories. I suppose it comes with the territory of antipsychotics. It doesn’t make it any easier though.

Allie is scared. She’s been upset all day. She’s sitting next to me crying because she’s worried. She’s afraid that the anti psychotics will take her away from me. To be honest, I’m just as scared. I’m sure we’ll sit with each other throughout the night, conversing, exchanging faint goodbyes…just in case. *weeps*

I haven’t really thought about it until I began writing this post. What would happen if she left? Or if Micah left? I hope they don’t disappear.

I’ve been thinking about attending NA meetings in my area. I kind of want to give it try next week.

A support group would be helpful. I would like to get clean off of everything- meds or no meds. Off of inhalants, painkillers…maybe alcohol, but I can’t even fathom not drinking. I’m not as honest as I should be about my drug use and self-harm. Readers, friends, I think I have a problem with drugs and chemical dependency. More so alcohol than anything else.

Damn. I thought to myself earlier, “I should blog about something happy tonight.” Where did that plan go south!?

Something happy… tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. I haven’t figured out what I’m doing for Lent. I like to take on things for Lent, not give something up. However, maybe this season I’ll abstain from gossiping and talking poorly about other people. (Which is difficult, as shitty as it is to say. It’s very easy to complain and bitch about some people in my life… but I think I could benefit from filling my heart with more love than hatred, right?)

Also, another random thought, I’ve been tossing the idea of moving out into my own apartment around in my head, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I would have a really hard time at night. I’m just speaking honestly. I don’t trust myself to be alone when the sun sets. It may sound stupid, but at least in this chapter of depression I’m experiencing, I do not trust myself to abstain from shooting, from self-harming, from drinking myself to sleep. God, it’s sad to admit it, but I mean it. I guess I could surprise myself. I’m not saying I would be like this forever, but right now, within this episode, I don’t trust myself…

Anyways, to all of you reading this, thank you for being such a great support group for me. I really appreciate all of you. I’ve learned a lot these past 3 months, and I’m looking forward to learning more, sharing more, laughing more, writing more.

You are all so awesome.

LeleleleLEIBSTER Award!

Hooray! I was nominated for the Leibster Award by Fractured – who by the way, is an awesome blogger. I feel I relate to her a lot, actually. So, thank you. ❤


  1. What’s the one song you can’t live without?
    Everlong by Foo Fighters, acoustic version
  2. Do you have a bad habit? If so, name it.
    Hmm… I can’t think of a bad habit I really have. I guess the first thing that comes to mind is I tend to hermit myself a lot. For instance, when people come to visit us at my apartment, I always would rather be alone in the bedroom. I don’t really like socializing anymore. Or maybe I do and I just go through my little episodes. I don’t know, but I feel like it’s something I have to work on.
  3. If you were a color, which hue would you be?
    I think I would be dark purple with little gold glitter flakes.
  4. If you could bring a fictional character to life, which one would you pick?
    Easy- Ice King from Adventure Time!
  5. Can you live without technology?
    I’d like to say yes- but in all reality, absolutely not. I use technology to communicate with my family a lot.
  6. What’s the worst food you’ve had? Describe its taste.
    Seaweed. Tastes like sea shit.
  7. What’s your main hobby?
  8. Do you have any of the stereotypes associated with your zodiac sign?
    I’m very intense, impulsive, and combative. Aries.
  9. Did you have a favorite stuffed animal when you were younger?
    Yes! He’s a stuffed dog in PJs and his name is Snoozy. I still have him!

I nominate bittersweettruth94, bipolar me, Madness & Truth Collide, My Wonderland, bipolar redefined  

My Questions for You:

1. What do you appreciate most about blogging?
2. What’s something you used to do and miss doing?
3. If you could meet any celebrity, who would it be?
4. Tell us something no one else knows about you.
5. What are you scared of?
6. What’s your favorite snack?
7. Drugs? Alcohol? If so, what do you indulge in?
8. Favorite childhood memory?
9. Least favorite childhood memory?
10. What do you wish you were doing right now?