Waste Basket- Triggers

My thoughts this morning as I lay crumpled in tears next to my sleepy girlfriend: (not for the faint of heart. suicide, drugs, self mutilation)

1. I wonder what was going through my father’s mind as he injected himself one last time with his lethal opiate cocktail. I wonder what he was thinking when he wrote his last letter, his farewell memo. Did he see my face, my brother’s, or sister’s? Did he really think the world would shine brighter without him in it? I wish I could remember what he smelled like, how his arm muscles felt when he picked me up, or how his face wrinkled when he smiled. I wish I could remember his voice. Remember, Dad, when you wrote me my first birthday card? How you said you’d always be there for me and I was your little sweetheart?

2. My grandfather. His Alzheimer’s took over. He had always been my dad; taught me how to ride a bike, how to build with nails and wood, how to weld metal, how to dance Cumbia and Salsa. He taught me about music like Glenn Miller, Arite Shaw, Frank Sinatra. He showed me my culture, the language, the passion. When the family first found out that I had been cutting and had become suicidal, he looked at me with a heavy heart and said, “What happened to my little girl? You used to follow me around like a puppy. Now, you barely even say goodnight to me.” I had hit that teen angst, and I was sucked into solitude. It had hurt him that I had become apathetic and unresponsive. Fast forward a few years when his memory was being eaten alive. I called my grandparents house. He answered with a shaky voice, “Mija, when are you coming back?” I had moved out of the house at that point. I was impatient on the phone… “Soon, Tata, soon…” The regrets I bare now are unbearable.

3. Am I a selfish person? Like my father? My grandfather, in his own and old way was begging to see me before he forgot my face. I was so wrapped up in my own selfish little world. Why couldn’t I have looked past my irrelevant bubble to see his human desperation?

4. I must have felt what my dad felt the moment he boiled his tar. Years ago, I too sat in my bedroom, saturated with benzos. I relived it this morning whilst thinking of it. I had clutched these bottles of pills in my hands, thoroughly weighing the pros and cons of my suicide. In the past, it had hurt to realize there were more pros. This time, however, something terrible had shifted within me and I felt peace. Everything would be okay. I hope to never lose myself again to the irreparable ideation. What a terrifying place to be… no longer able to feel emotion, ready to pull the trigger, to jump, to inject, to inhale, to swallow and hang.

5. I want drugs. Anything I can snort. I want to sift through all the drawers here and find as many hydrocodones and I can. Crush, snort, repeat.

6. Will I ever meet my mom? Do I even care anymore? I’m embarrassed to admit to anyone that nearly every time I call her, she sounds high. Sometimes it doesn’t even register to her that she’s talking to me. I call her on my way home from work, she blames it on her exhaustion. Until I hear her husband in the background, “Come back baby, one more hit.” I stay on the phone, pushing back tears. I just want her to talk to me. I just want to tell her about my day. Mom, I’m having a hard time, please for fucks sakes, can you please just listen to my problems for once? Even if you don’t care? I hang the phone up, left to my own thoughts, feelings, fear. I go home, panicked because I’m home alone. I’m drawn to the bathroom cabinet like a moth to a flame. I fill the bathroom sink up with water, take out a razor blade, and hold my wrist under the faucet. This is not the answer…. put the blade away. I crawl under my sheets, text my girlfriend and cry.

7. How much more of this can I hold on to? I’ve lived my entire life with the magnificent ability to control my emotions, to eat them like air. Down they go to lie. I am beginning to feel sick and one by one, they come bellowing out from my stomach. I feel too humiliated to ask for help. “It’s always something, isn’t it? You should be better by now. Come on, we’re all going through something.” I’m just sad. I’m sad about Father’s Day, I’m sad that my mom can’t even hold a sober conversation with me, I’m sad that I’m sad.

8. Okay, Lazarus, that’s enough emotion for you now. Suck it back down





To Be Released Momentarily

I have an appointment with my therapist in two days with my girlfriend. This will be the first time a significant other will be with me in a therapy session. I’m pretty excited about it. It’s important to me that she is included in my progress and recovery.

Today’s Statistics
Anxiety: 1
Depression: 1

Two nights ago I was curled in my sheets, fantasizing over opiates, staring at an empty beer bottle by my dresser. Yesterday, I was distracted, though content. Today, I feel better. I think my mom threw me for a loop in which I spiraled momentarily.

Rogue has been padlocked up for days now, under the secure arrest of Goldie and her firearms. Sometimes, I can hear Rogue’s voice reverberate in some hollow space in my head. She’s restless.

I know I should probably disclose this to my therapist but fuck, it’s so uncomfortable. It’s SO uncomfortable. I don’t know how to even discuss it, where to begin, what to say…what if she comes out? I don’t know how to control her. At least I have Goldie as protection.

I feel as if I am constantly chasing my memory. Even with simple things and routines. Granted, this has only happened a handful of times this week, but a sentence will come out of my mouth that I had absolutely no control over. At all. I even had to stop and really think about what the hell had just happened.

My seconds are over-lapping. Tunnel-vision, blurred vision.

My Peculiar Orchestra and Learning to Give Myself Credit

A few minutes after I took my medication last night, I began to hallucinate. It grew very loud and chattery. I noticed the narration a lot more. Nothing was real. Instead, I felt that I was a mere observer of a well-written film. I could not get the narrator to stop speaking. As we walked from her car to her apartment complex, my body shifted back and forth like sand being pushed and pulled from the ocean. I felt very fuzzy.

The voices came back vociferously, weaving in between the ridges and pockets of my delirium. I quietly tucked my body beneath the safe waves of blankets and pillows in an attempt to silence them.

Before the return of my peculiar orchestra, I was at my grandmother’s house, dropping my dogs off. My cousin will be watching them until I officially move in the weekend. We had dinner together whilst enjoying a good episode of Intervention. I spent some time with my grandma as well. She has cleared a lot of space for my belongings and such, which is nice. I’m looking forward to staying there.

All of this sudden change is really, really getting to me. I’m having dreams of failing and panic attacks. Although, I suppose I should be giving myself more credit; I’m not turning to drugs or alcohol. I’m not caving in (although emotionally, I’ve introverted, most certainly) and letting the stress consume me. I’m asking for help, which is something I usually have a hard time with. I’m making it work. I’ve come a long way and I’m still improving. Instead of sulking in the darkness, I am actively finding resources to cheer myself up. I know I’m going to be okay.

After all of this, I think I’m going to take myself to karaoke and sing my little heart out.

Marla Knows Me Best

 Young lady, 5’2, brunette, 104 pounds, goes by the name of Lazarus.
Last seen blogging and happily snacking.
No reward if found.

Mother, what’s wrong with me?

I feel so detached from everything and everyone. I’ve been isolating.

Mood swings? Forget about it. I’m snapping at everyone, left and right. My anger and irritability is through the roof. Perhaps the irritability is just another symptom of the depression?

I’ve been crying on and off throughout this weekend. No word from my mom. However, I got a missed call on Friday afternoon. I googled the number and it belongs to a psychiatric hospital. So, I’m holding on to the idea that she was admitted and I will hopefully hear from her soon.

My appetite has left, along with my grasp on the world. I’m not even thirsty. If it were up to me, I’d pump myself with a euphoric drug- with a needle. A really sharp, silver, cold needle.

This week. I have to hold out to bump my meds up. I’m tired of feeling like I’m on everyone’s nerves. I’m tired of constantly being a problem for her. I’m whiny, I’m not positive. I keep lusting after passive suicidal fantasies. She doesn’t deserve that. She has her own shit going on. But here I am! Unable to come out of this depression-coma.

Day 2 of Partial Hospitalization; Animated Paperclips

Day 2 of PHP was fantastic, again. I was so drained and exhausted by the time I came home last night that I didn’t want to write.

In the morning, I spoke to the social worker for quite a while. I realized how much pain and turmoil I was suppressing in the depths of me. Also, she is going to work with me this morning to file for a leave of absence. As you know, I work for a company deemed as a Scientology affiliate; they manage the staff and all under the administration side of the church. The social worker suggested that I call my medical primary doctor and ask her to put me on leave for a month or so. This way, my job is a little more protected (legally, too), I can continue to work on myself and push through the shit, and I’m in a safe place while my meds are shifted and increased. There is a plethora of stress and anxiety accumulating over the logistics of filing for disability and blah blah…

I think what makes me most anxious about- and this may seem silly- taking more time off is I miss my girl friend. We work together, we communicate consistently throughout the workday, and I miss her. She’s what brings me back to reality, she makes me happy, etc, etc. I know, I know- I need to work on stabilizing myself. Maybe this experience will also give me the strength to change my living situation as well. I have been using ad hockery as a crutch. Now it’s time for me to start planning, little by little so as not to overwhelm myself of course, planning my recovery.

Anyways, so I strategized with the social worker. Next group session, I processed about Allie and my fears of losing her due to antipsychotics. (I would be elated for the others to stop, in particularly Morris) My homework last night was to list the various traits about Allie that I found to be beneficial to me. What was it about her that made her such an intrinsic support net for me?

Then, the more I was expressing this, I came to another a-ha! moment. Morris tends to reiterate pernicious phrases from my past. I had never given this a second thought until now:

When I was very young, I heard from my grandfather, my brother, and step-mother that I am the reason my father committed suicide. That’s fucking hardcore. As a child to be told that not only did my dad take his own life because of me, but my mother abandoned me as well. I had stuffed those memories way down in the caverns of my darkest memories. Now, it’s all resurfacing.

I felt as if I was buzzing inside my body all day. I was AWAKE and ready to go. I had to take several deep breaths to bring myself back down. I was hallucinating a lot more- though I’m sure that was due to anxiety. In the morning, I had to speak a little slower in group, and focus on what was happening. I found my self wandering around in my mind. Although the voices and such were prominent, I was dealing with a significant flux of visual hallucinations. For example, objects would animate. When I closed my eyes, I would envision people falling from the sky, hitting the ground, bones shattering and ….well you get the idea. THAT was unpleasant.

I slept like a BABY last night. I was so alert and felt fantastic when I woke up this morning.

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.

Sick, sick, sick forty-eight

There is a sad, tenebrific sickness pushing through my body.

I feel as if I am in a movie. I’m not myself. I’m watching the great production. How could I explain it…

The premise of the movie revolves around the final days before a young girl’s sudden disappearance within 50 days. Everyone around her is clueless, unsuspecting of her ever-growing cheerless eyes. Even she is naive to the inevitable. The world continues to spin in such a way that her mere existence is over-looked and taken for granted.

I don’t want to disappear in any way shape or form.

God- I feel so fucking weird. I swear, I don’t even recognize myself right now. I am a different person.

As I was driving home, this pang of melancholy pushed right through the center of my chest. I felt so incredibly sad. I’m thinking that I’m going to hop on some suicide chatline and work it out. Although, those lines rarely bring me comfort as the operators on the other side (usually) show no true understanding.

Even the weather seems odd to me. I just feel that everything is wrong.

The clocks are ticking, I’m staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes are sunken in, my face is a different color. My insides are twisting and cracking. They want me. Micah is here now, teeth splayed wide. I feel that I am unable to move. My limbs are weighed down, like lead. I keep hearing high notes and cracking. Help me, my hands look so different to me.

I want to crawl and creep beneath my sheets, get lost within the wrinkles, and hug my knees.

How entirely nonsensical this may seem. Oh, I need help.

The Wolf in the Ranch

Bowen Ranch.


It’s this neat little camping ground, privately owned by the Deep Creek hot springs in Apple Valley. We cruised up there (meaning myself and 4 other loud boys) yesterday around 11 am. I was amazed at how beautiful the scenery was. The beryl sky was bursting with vivacity and stretched-out clouds. The dirt road leading up to the campsites was slightly perilous; our car nearly tipped over once!

We reached the campsites, finally, and decided to hike 2 miles down to the hot springs. The walk itself was lovely. The air felt clean and inviting. About an hour of traveling downwards through the narrow trails, we began to reach the creek where the hot springs also resided. In order to get to the springs, we need to hop rocks across the bustling river flow. We each climbed down the face of a small, rocky mountain to get to the stone pathway. I had to face my fear of heights- no easy feat! We scaled down, nice and easy, and were able to hop across the wet rocks.


The springs were divine, healing, magical, absolutely rejuvenating. I could feel all of my muscles relax as I floated among the minerals. The area was astir with good people, laughter, and Mother Nature herself. We spent a good two hours unwinding in The Womb- a name given to one of the hot pools. It was very much shaped as a womb and was 8.5 feet deep! The hottest of the pools was 106 degrees.

The sun began to exhale behind the mountain ridge. We decided it was time to start walking back to the campgrounds, Nightfall had wrapped himself around the creek and the only way back to the site with minimal light was through the icy river. (I literally mean icy, as a small chunk of ice was floating downstream)

I can honestly say I had never felt pain like that in my near 23 years of life.  The water was so cold, I couldn’t breathe. Not only that, but I had to balance on the rocks underwater, guided only by the beam of a small headlamp from our friend across the river way. I had slipped in the beginning, cutting my foot open on a sharp stone. I wanted to cry! My boyfriend followed closely behind me, huffing and groaning with the same misery.

Finally, we reached the other side of the river. I collapsed onto the cool sand, grasping at my legs. It felt as though a hundred knives were stabbing me all at once. I was numb. Slowly, the feeling began to come back and I felt the throbbing from the cut on my foot.

The hike back up the 2 mile trail was gruesome. We had been reclining in hot, mineral water just 30 minutes before and now our legs worked overtime trying to get us over the steep ridge line. Tired and hungry, we arrived to the campsite and set up our tents. I crawled into my sleeping bag, awaiting spaghetti to be made over the burner that we brought. Alas, dinner never came, as I was too exhausted to wake up for it.

Nighttime hit 34 degrees. I shared the tent with 3 other guys. I could feel them all shivering through the night. Even with my 8 layers of warm clothing, I was still pretty cold. Allie slept by my side, cold as well.

7 am. I stepped outside of the tent to use nature’s restroom. The sky was a breathtaking hue of magenta and orange. I bundled up and proceeded to read my book until the others woke up.


We had a fairly easygoing start to the day. I brewed coffee with my carafe and condensed milk. Foxes trotted by in the distance, chirping at one another happily. I had a lot of time to think about my life- maybe too much time. The more I think about my current life conditions, the more I want to be impulsive…

Anyways, during the hour, we packed up our tent and belongings back into the car and head out one last time for the hot springs. The hike down was more bearable this time since we all knew what to expect. The pools were quite crowded with people, most of them nudists. It was wonderful, though. We met some pretty great people, including this older, naked, hippie guy with a white beard. He was from Florida originally and is a frequent hot springs visitor. There were plenty of tourists and women with dreadlocks.

My neighbor, W, is a practicing Shaman. He’s a pretty rad, wise, healing, hippie man who has spent a plethora of time in the Amazon, conducting Ayahuasca ceremonies and such. Well anyways, here is where my trip summary gets really interesting…

As we were coming back to the campsite, we decided to take a rather risky way back across the river. This was real, true stone hopping. I was a bit nervous since the rapids were….well, rapid. As I was hopping along, I slipped. And when I slipped, a black wolf defended my body from the river current. I was able to lift my body back onto the rocks. If you’re wondering where this black wolf came from, it was Micah.

Now, that’s not the interesting part, although it was pretty fucking amazing. W, who had taken a sufficient amount of mushrooms, was talking to the guys behind me as I was climbing the last of the rocks. He was telling them that he saw a speeding black wolf, and it disappeared just inches away from him…

I shit you not. Pardon my French. I didn’t even bring it up to him. Partially because he was high, but mostly because I didn’t see the point of telling him about Micah. No one knows anyways.

I walked back with a wolf at my side. He isn’t very affectionate, but he’s loyal. Funny how that worked out…seeing as though he entered my mental vicinity as someone to be feared…

All around, I’m reporting a successful hot springs camping trip. It was just enough time to enjoy the spring water and get away from the city chaos.

I had sufficient time to be with my thoughts, with Micah, with Allie. It’s not so bad when they’re around.


Song for the trip:

Medicine Cabinets; the Elusive Psychiatrists Edition

Psychiatrists are elusive.

I tried to contact the referral psych I’ve been mentioning. All of his numbers are disconnected. I called another recommendation that my insurance gave me, and that doctor isn’t qualified for my Glitter Rainbow Imagination…I did some research and called another one that did specify in schizoaffective disorder and schizophrenia. However, now he stopped taking my insurance. Why is this so difficult? I’m even trying to find support groups.

Well, yesterday was fantastic. Little to no issues.

This morning, however, I was abruptly woken up to a new voice I’ve never heard before and he said, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

I promptly threw the covers off of me, stumbled to the restroom, flung the medicine cabinet open and grabbed the bottles of pills. I don’t know what was going through my thought process. I just kind of stood there as he spoke to me, clutching the plastic tightly. My body was shaking. I remember thinking that I looked insane. It’s as if someone else was operating my body. I felt like I wanted to reach inside of myself and rip my skin to shreds. I know that’s an awful visual… Then, I went numb, standing there, staring at the water faucet, The voice was laughing at me.

My dog sprawled her body across my feet and I snapped out of it. I tried to wake my boyfriend up to tell him that I didn’t feel safe. I was unsuccessful. The doorway looked dark and eerie to the living room. I crawled back into bed and it grew louder. I tried to calm myself down. I hate being woken up like that. It’s one thing to be awake and to feel it coming. At least I can prevent it somehow. I can help myself. But when I’m woken up, I’m thrown into a panicked battle arena. I can’t find a weapon quick enough.

As of right now, I’m doing better. It stopped and now it’s quiet.

It’s gloomy and rainy outside. My favorite weather.


Me, Myself, and Metal

isolated showers cartoon1


I’ve been up since 4 AM. At first, it started off as clinking and general snaps around my head. Then, Micah came up next to me and told me to get ready for the day. I got scared and anxious, then I couldn’t breathe. It all collapses on itself.

So, today if you don’t mind, I’d like to bury myself in work, put my headphones on, and listen to continuous metal- it drowns everyone else out pretty nicely 🙂

I hope I’m able to work today. I have a lot to get done, and some deadlines to meet. I NEED to make an appointment with my psychiatrist. I need to. I’m also going to research some holistic places as well. My boyfriend thinks I’m just lazy and I don’t care about my mental health. In actuality,when I pick up the phone, they all yell at me and question if I want them to go away. I don’t want them all to go away…I just want to learn how to better cooperate with them. But today, I think I’ll call.