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.Friday the twenty seventh of October at twelve thirty nine PM

-I am getting worse day to day, meaning that I am sad again. Real sad. Try anti-depressants even though they don't work sad. It's funny that I use that word since really it's empty that I feel . . . Or maybe hopeless. Call it whatever you want.
The thing about it though- is that I don't know who to tell. Half of everyone I know can relate which means no one even cares. I'm guilty of the same thing. "Just keep pushing it'll pass." Right? I love my job, my relationship is good, and we're financially stable. Nothing in my life is going wrong so I can't pass the blame onto some little problem. I spent nine hours cleaning my house on Wednesday hoping that I would feel better. I slept all day Thursday hoping that I would feel better. I wrote it down today hoping that I would feel better, but I don't. I don't feel better. Who am I supposed to call about things like this?

Not my sister because she's run out of things to say. There are only so many times you can be sad for no actual reason and expect someone to say something new. I decline therapy. It's expensive and I don't want to talk about a bunch of things that I've already gotten over, and pills? What are pills? I've been down that road and then down even further for . . ? Nothing. For nothing.

So what am I supposed to do when I'm carrying boxes and suddenly want to hurt myself? I've never been a cutter. Never been a burner. I want the weirdest kinds of pain. I want to snap a rubber band on my wrist or bite myself until I bleed. Crazy **** that doesn't make any sense to me. I work out everyday. I drink water. I bathe. I eat.

Honestly I'm really high functioning. I don't really spend a lot of time talking to other humans anymore, but I can chalk that up to losing my super empath powers I guess. I call it independence but it could just be exaustion. I'm so tired of self diagnosing. I can tell you what's wrong with someone else in thirty seconds flat yet somehow my own sadness continuously baffles me.

I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm not going to **** myself or do something crazy. I used to cheat on my boyfriend or let someone hit me during ***, but I've grown out of that kind of stupid behavior. For awhile I was writing essays about how to get through what I'm going through which were awesome for a lot of people but don't help me at all

Maybe I'm doomed to save everyone in the world other than myself. That would make sense since there's nothing I can do about my condition. If that's what I want to call it. So I guess maybe I'm just having a bad time.

I'm sure it will pass soon.
Marianna May 2019
I haven't wrote anything for so long.
My brain does not allow myself to do so. There are so many things that are bothering me, mostly about myself, who am i in this world, how people see me, what is going to happen to me. Every second i try to make some sense out of everything but i'm left even more confused than i already was.

Reality is scary; simply because you are never sure if you are genuinely aware of reality. That's because what i see myself as, might just be an illusion i created to ease my fear of being myself. I always thought i was a strong person, that i had values and strong opinions, that i am someone who will do big things. I always thought that i am a nice person, that i genuinely care for others, that i'm okay, just a little confused, but am i? Am i any of these things?

I feel like a ghost wandering from place to place. People are unaware of my existence unless i make sure they notice i'm there too. But i stopped blaming society long ago, it's not anyone's fault, i'm not sure if it's mine either,maybe it's my brain's, it plays tricks sometimes. But i am my brain.

Everything feels like it quietly falls apart, slowly but deadly and you can not notice the damage unless you straight up look at it. I don't think i am as okay as i say that i am, but i am okay enough, and i guess that's what's wrong. I can't wish for help because i am okay enough. It's a fine line that keeps me hanging there. We fail to care about ourselves unless it's obvious that we should. I guess i am like that too.

I don't know when i'm right or wrong, when i'm happy or just getting by. I find myself unbearable, weak and tiny, like a trembling deer chased by lions, only i am both the deer and the lion. I don't seem to be able to hide my genuine feelings anymore. I started to catch myself hesitating before answering to "how are you" or i keep repeating the phrase "i'm anxious about this or that". I seem to not be able to fake a smile anymore or other times i'm smiling too much. I trust people who seem to sympathise with me, strangers or not, i ran to open arms like a homeless puppy or i poured my soul on small glasses and forced myself to stop before i break them. It's weird because i sometimes feel in control and other times i'm all over the place or when i talk about myself to curious eyes i say too much as if i truly know what i'm talking about.

I fear so many things, so so many things that keep me from living. I want to do things, be with people, date, say my opinions out loud, i want to live and not force myself to carry the weight of my head everywhere i go. There are times when i put my guard down and i close my eyes and i feel my head falling to the side, too heavy to keep it still. I fear everything but love so much.

The reality of who i really am is suffocating and i don't know, i don't know, i don't know. My god how i wish i could cry in public and whine and scream on top of my lungs "******* all!" just because i can't be any of them. Or to make my mum understand that when i tell her that i am not that good i mean "mum!i!am!not!okay!" but i'm scared to hurt her. How could i choose to make my mother cry when i tell her that i think about death a lot. But i'm not doing it, because i am okay enough.

How i wish i could date the guys that call me "interesting" and want to get to know me, but i'm too scared of speaking to strangers so i act cold to turn them down when in reality i'd love to feel their warmth on my skin. If i wasn't afraid of going to new places, or talking to people, or experiencing life, or not ******* up every line i say because i'm too stressed to actually put my words in a correct order. There is such a huge gap between who i want to be or how i feel like i am and who i actually am or even who i end up looking like.

If there was no fear, how could my life be? Who could i be if i wasn't afraid of being? Really, is there anything in my life other than my loneliness and a universe of polluted thoughts? Am i anything more than flesh and bones? And how? How can i change and find myself? How do people know who they are if i, who knows too much about myself cannot understand a single part of my existence? If i can't understand myself then how can i ever be able to truly understand others, to be happy, or to be alive? How could i truly ever live my life without feeling the weight of myself dragging me down?

I sense the catastrophe running through my veins. Really, how small can a person become? I feel so small in my own room, even smaller in my own life. Am i even as big as a dust in space, as alive as a falling star or is there nothing for me? I wish i could be someone you turn to face, but maybe my sunrays faded away and maybe i'm way too small to take up all that space; but for you to look at me, that would have been the biggest accomplishment i have ever made.
If you are still reading you are now looking at me straight in the eyes.
Planejane2 Dec 2018
You are a wreck.
Spiraling out of control
Too scared of staying and
too scared to let go
You do not know
where you are headed
but the path most traveled
of grief, pain, and havoc
is most dreaded
Yet traveled nonetheless
creating new doors
of new stress
But you have the
to say no or say yes.
No to those things that hurt you.
Yes to those things that assert you.
Which ever the choice
What will YOU GAIN
or what will YOU LOSE.

zen Sep 2018
Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.

Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
Or is it the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we wear it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?
Blue is the warmest color
zen Sep 2018
Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.

Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
Or is the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we where it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?
blue is the warmest color
zen Aug 2018
This place is amazing
nothing like anything
Ha! This place is gorgeous!
This place is a palace of some sorts
A mothership,
This place is full of delight and adventure and rainbows
I wouldn't give it up for the world this
Honor, this Creed
clambering continually in calamitous Abyss
Who is it there behind the rainbow curtain,
calling upon my name?
It's important that you leave home
Alyssa Gaul Aug 2018
The poet examines her work
leafs through the crumpled papers
watching handwriting change
from entry to entry
sometimes within poems
as if emotion dictates scrawl-
lighthanded, looping, or harsh and flat

She stops on a few
drawn in by memory
or lines like dreams
where she imagined sleepless nights
or the end of a life
anything her mind could imagine
fleshed out with the fluidity of a stream

The words had always been in
her brain. It is impossible to know
if they would have disappeared
with nowhere to go
if she hadn’t guided her pen to paper
everyday, writing about whatever
or whomever. Like the sketch artist

she has gotten better everyday
the words appearing quicker and quicker.
This might be due to English class
it’s hard to say
regardless she has grown-
like a tree budding in Spring
learning everything has a purpose

The poet is not just a poet
she catches snippets from novels-
the dialogue or introduction or
internal stream of consciousness
clanking around her brain
She once wrote a fairytale
about a boy who spoke to trees

All of them are precious-
they are pieces of her soul
spread out on lined paper
calling out for a life that imagines,
wonders, feels free,
does not stand still-
floats on the breeze like the eagle

She has learned a thing or two
from Sylvia Plath:
the good stuff
the quality of dissonant language
the stanza-length-decision
Before she would write whatever
sounded nice- she might still

The poet, satisfied, closes the journal
imagining that one day
her poems would reach into the
minds of the world- gently
drawing out dreams-
inspiring words like she has been inspired
And she closes her eyes with an exhale
When you used to journal every day, and don't anymore, what do you do? I try to remember.
Journal Entry #13

I know its been sometime since I've written, but in my defense
I've been a busy girl.

I turn thirty-two in a couple days, and I'll be honest..
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
This year has been nothing but changes for me.
Walked away from a toxic marriage.
Moved away from everyone and everything I know.
Walked away from childhood friendships,
Because they refused to grow...
Depression took over and consumed my life...
Crippling me.
I was alone.
With nothing...
But pain to keep me company.

That's one thing about me...
I've always been about bettering mine.
I may forget how strong I am temporarily.
But I'm not the type to roll over and die just like that.
All those so called people in my life that said they loved me.
Always wanting me to do good, but never better than them.
An ex husband who blinded me with lies and his own misery.
It's sad once you realize these were the kinds of people I let take up so much of my time...

But none of you really knew me at all...
Never thought I'd stand up on my own two feet again..
Get my **** together again.

You thought you knew me.
But that's one thing about me.
As soon as you doubt me,
I'll show you how hard I grind.
Proved all of you wrong, all at the same time.

I can't give no more time to that petty ****.
The petty life you chose to live.
You're steady complaining about your life,
but doing nothing to change it.
Drowning in your own misery.
Assuming I'd always be along for the ride.
why'd I tolerate that **** for so long?

But see,
I'm not that same girl you use to know.
And that's one thing you just never saw.
You're not moving,
You're stagnate in your own misery.
You're not growing with me.
Its just time I let you go.
I have no more sympathy to give to you.

Oh, you think I'm heartless.
Well get this...
This is how I see this...

If I can stand up from my own personal hell of...
Lift my own self up..
Walk out into better days..
All because I made the choice to change things.

Why cant you?

I'll be honest...
I hate that I had to let you go...
I get it you're upset with me..
That's okay I'll let you be.
Yeah, I hear some of you are hatin' me.
I had mad love & respect for you..
But that's the thing about me..
And yea,
I know you say...
I'm selfish...
I cant grow with people in my life who refuse to grow with me.
Life's to short to have ****** people in your life let them go.
christianne Apr 2018
It's a book of letters to myself
To remember my loss,
My grief and heartache.

It's a counseling mechanism
To maneuver easily between periods of time,
Lonely increments and shallow waters.

It's a group of papers and inked pen
To imprint and scar a white destitute,
An empty canvas, an unwritten book.

It's the company of three dimensional personalities
To converse and decipher identity,
Purpose, spirituality, and direction.

It's a rhythmic set of words
To convey my need for self-actualization,
Importance of thought and a barrage of unspoken ideas.
Journal Entry #11

People in my life always ask me why I don't date, my mother included. And we can now add my therapist to that list as well.

I told my therapist I find dating humorous and annoying currently.
I think my answer caught her by surprise as she smiled at me and then asked why?
So I decided throwing out actual scenarios would be my best course of action.

I told her for starters I'm completely oblivious when a guy is interested.

For instance:

My Mother: "Honey, why didn't you end up going out with that nice boy, he seemed like a good person for you?

My Response: "Mom, I planned on going out with him. But then I started watching that movie What Woman Want with Mel Gibson, and I came to the conclusion that I'd rather not wear pants.
So I never left my apartment."

My best friend: "Hey, that guy over there keeps looking at you. He's totally checking you out!"

My Response: "Naw, he probably has something in his eye and just so happens to be looking in my general direction. He was probably eating something spicy and touched his face. You don't know!"

My Sister: "Umm, that man was clearly hitting on you. He was just just taken by you, it was so obvious! He was smiling at you the entire time."

My Response: "Naw, he was just really interested in what my preferences on vacuums were."

My therapist laughed at my awkward interactions with men and then went on to say,

"Clearly men are interested in you, but maybe you're just not ready to even be open to the idea of dating again, and that's why you really don't see when men are actually interested in you. How do you feel about that?"

My Response: "I think in part that's very true. But I also think that the idea of actually having to put on pants and talk to men is just a huge no thanks. I think the day I even humor another mans existence will be the day a man makes me happier than eating bread in a pile of freshly washed laundry.
A girls gotta have her standards."
F*ck dating lol
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