Do you know how ******* hard it is to have a disorder with no cure?
“It’s all in your head.”, because it’s so complex that doctors can prescribe anything for you, of course shock therapy isn’t a thing anymore.

I look down at my hands and think, “Is this real?” Of course it’s ******* real, stop being irrational.
But, why doesn’t it feel real?
I’ve been eating fine, sleeping ok, taking my medicine. Why do I feel as if my brain is not connected with my body?
Well, maybe it is. Maybe a part of me just isn’t here anymore.
I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel, off. I’m not me. I’m not anything. I can feel the oblivion in my veins. My sense of reality is gone, and I don’t know what to do with myself.

I can see what’s going on, and I do have control over my actions, but my thoughts are a jumble and some tastes, smells, etc don’t feel the same.
I miss myself.
I miss myself so badly.
Don’t get me wrong, clinical depression and such has kind of guided me towards self hatred, but I’d rather feel self hatred, than feel, this.
Feel everything at once, yet feeling nothing at all.

I’m reckless. I say what I want, do what I want, because nothing feels real.
I even dropped out of school, quit my job, all at 16 and I stay home trying to play video games to distract myself.
Distracting myself always seems to be the best solution. It holds me back from the temptation of just laying on my floor, crying and screaming, just wanting to feel normal. Feel whole.

I can sometimes have normal conversations. Sometimes. Very rarely unless it’s someone very close. Even family members I avoid speaking to in general.
Calen has been helping me, alot. Mostly distracting me. He understands my needs in general, and doesn’t insist on my spilling my emotions to him. He just supports me through it all. If I need to cry, if I need to laugh, he’ll be there.
He’s honestly the only person, well the only thing that has made me think twice.

Now, I’ve laid on the floor, screaming to the moon and to any higher power that might be out there to make me feel sane.

But Calen has seemed to be the only thing that makes me feel, real.
Like, continuing life is actually purposeful.
You could give me a list of things I could do with my life, and amazing things I could accomplish, but all I have to do is talk to him for 5 minutes, even if we talk about nothing of the sort, and I’ll feel the need to live another 24 hours.

I can't believe you did this to me.
To my heart.
We talked and stayed up all night chatting.
At what point did you think we couldn't talk about it?
We had talked about it before.
You were writing a book, thinking of the future.
Why?
Your last words to me were "Don't forget me"
You grabbed my wrist.
That plays over and over in my mind.
I can't eat. I can't sleep. But I can't feel either.
Why?
Just why?
You knew this would hurt me.
I can't be that mad at you though.
I know I can't blame it on you,
What else am I supposed to do?
Why did you do it?
Make yourself die?
We could have talked it over and you know it..
Made it all right.
But I'm not mad. Just disappointed.
But.
Not when I had felt the same way.
Been there, had that, tried and done that.
But gosh **** it, I miss you.
My eyes are red and swollen as well,
I had cried myself to sleep since.
You were my friend. I told you everything.
We really did have so much in common.

Jack ropes and merriopes
In solicitous rhyme in fer derilious velope
envy implicitous insectuaryan harridannous
Ensole brodequins forbearing to lace
Trace elements of that remaining empoisonous

For failure interred
Is succes disinterred? And if so, form where?
Where derinferred strands failure unerred
By error masked muscovado coloured Breadth
Pneumonic, perhaps caustically mate
Aerial’d on the glib side of acoustical elimination
Veritable under pooh stick discrimination

Matte clouds of drab depression ove in
An area of low pressure
According to yon hypothalamic forecaster. Core has ter
Fail lently viola lapidavitious stretch so she as
fer ter rousse fer ter kamuskova. An epic
Scribbled on der calen.

Sole of brevity then being approximately an inch and a
Bit minus that
Torrent all yendergelpin cleaving
The very schism wit! It cynicism
Be as may be a pea, no spelling bee entrusted
Where? In there? In that jumble of line?
Barely knows his lime from his rhyme, or indeed
Lime from lime.
He’s just trying to fill up that calendrous space
And make some sense of it.

I am not the problem.
My whole life was... IS a mess.
Continuously molested at 2-4 years old.
Taking care of her kids whom had become mine.
Making sure my mommy is not dead but passed out.
Babysat by my mom's multiple 'boyfriends'.
Taken to a new home full of yelling laughing older boys.
But I kept going!

At 5 I am welcomed into a great home where I finally open up to my grandma.
Spend a lot of time at their house and make cookies with my brothers and sisters.
Then I'm 8, getting older and finally growing into my ears.
But then my grandma has a brain tumor.
My world once again has come face to face with sadness.
But I keep going!

Then we decided to move to this big ole house out in the country.
I got my own cat and named him Garfield and I had so many friends.
And so did my parents..
Even my dad had a girl best friend, who had a husband
Who grabbed in between my legs when I was going to show him the house.
But you'll never going to guess what I am going to say.. I kept going.

Then at 15 I figured I wanted to know about my birth parents.
I sure did miss my dad, the only one who truly cared.
My adoptive parents were supportive but told me he wasn't my real father, he was the twins.
Torn.
My heart was torn.
Then they did even worse.
I was shown his obituary.
I struggled hard, but I kept going.

Still at 15 I started cutting,
I couldn't stop one night and there was blood everywhere.
I just didn't want to feel the pain.
But I knew it was wrong.
I got my mom, she took the razors.
I was put on meds.
I. Kept. Going.

At 16 I made close friends with a kid named Calen.
He was opinionated and strong headed.
He wasn't attractive but to me his thoughts were GOD.
He had never been kissed.
Last thing on his bucket list.
I checked it off, and he checked his life.
He killed himself two days after telling me not to forget him.

Still 16 I tried to **** myself.
I overdosed on over 400 pills.
I didn't even know what they were.
I didn't care what they were.
Because they were my way out.
He was my fault.
I ticked his last box, it was all my fault.
I tried to make it better but my little brother found me puking and my dad saw my ***** was right.
I was hospitalized and my meds were upped.
But I ******* kept going.

4 months later and I have downed my meds .
I am enlisting in the Navy.
The most important thing to realize in your life is, tragedies are not your fault.
They are the key.
Don't you realize other people have it worse?
I know it sounds harsh, but really if they can make it, I can make it.
You.
Yes you, can ******* make it.
Keep going.