It’s been a long time since I’ve wrote. It’s been even a longer time since my thoughts have been this jumbled. I need this space again to let it flow out. It needs a place to sit and be seen or heard or maybe just released. There needs to be a place of truth. It won’t all come at once. I wish it would. I wish I had the time and energy to open the flood gates and pour it into this one post. I’m not going to though. It will drain me. I thought I was being drained before everything taking and pulling everyone wanting something. I think I’m changing the perspective. Talking about it is the draining part. Everyone and everything keep pouring in to this shell that I have that is overflowing with too much. So, instead of procrastinating anymore let’s get started with poking holes in this shell so some of it can leak out. 

I don’t know where to start and it doesn’t matter. Honestly, I don’t know if any of it matters but I know that thinking leads me to the deep dark depths of depression. I have gone to enough counseling now that I have the skills and the knowledge to differentiate from my depressive thoughts and the real ones. At least I had enough before I stopped going. It’s been a while since I went. I didn’t necessarily quit. I just stopped going. At the time I was in a good place, at least mentally I was. I realized in my last few meetings with her that I had stopped talking. I didn’t discuss what I felt I needed to talk about but rather what I thought she wanted to hear. They weren’t lies but it wasn’t the truth coming out either. She would ask me simple question that I didn’t know the answer to or didn’t care to explain to her. I felt protective of my thoughts and actions and feelings about certain things. The meetings had become so infrequent that I just felt like it was a lunch commitment with an old friend to catch them up on my life except I didn’t know what was going on with the other party. It started feeling more of a social chore than mental health work. It is what I made it and I made it into something that was no longer helpful to me. Last week I asked my primary care physician for a referral to a new counselor in an email. He told me he wanted me to come in to discuss why I didn’t want to go see my current one and I haven’t responded. It made me frustrated. I threatened in my head that I’ll just find a new pcp too but I’ve said that for about a year. 

I haven’t came out. I probably should eventually to my family but I haven’t. They’ve met the girl I’m seeing but I haven’t actually told them. My friends know. 

The girl I’m seeing is pretty great. We go through cycles and when we’re good we’re freaking awesome. When we aren’t though, it’s a mess. She has some issues. We all have issues but with me being who I am the things I see get to me more than she understands. I have this strong passion about mental health and she was raised that mental things are fake and shouldn’t be discussed. Which drives me up the wall, pushed me in the corner and makes me cry uncontrollably. 

This is where I’ll stop for this one. It’s a good start. Once it’s out there I’ll see how it feels. 


Let’s get down to business 

I’ve neglected this space for a while now. I’ve thought about it often but haven’t sat down to make the effort. I could go back and fill you in on what’s happened but then by the time I get to the place I want to be, I’ll find a way to avoid it again. I guess this is my way of focusing and forcing myself to jump right in instead of hiding from myself. It’s time to think, feel, learn, realease and move forward. This is me trying. 

The void is still there. It never went away. It’s lurked around, sulking that I’ve been ignoring it or too busy to give it the time of day. I knew it I hadn’t gotten rid of it forever but that I had found a way to cope, to deal. It’s really no difference now than before except I have the better skills. 

I’m feeling remorseful and discouraged. I guess I’ve had it in my head that since I have the new skills I wouldn’t have the same feelings. Logically, I know this isn’t the way. Emotionally, it seems tragic that I’m in this place again. 

I now reserve the right to use this place for my thoughts, for my feeling. You also have the right to disagree or agree or have no feelings about this at all or anything in between. I feel like something is missing. Something is out of place. Or not there at all. I don’t feel like I’ve lost it cause that would mean I had it in the first place. The self that was raised in the country where there are churches close enough to throw rocks from one to another, would tell me that I need God. I’d used to agree with that but I’m not sure if it was my true self or the one amid to please others and do what was expected of me. The self I am now, at this current moment is unsure. I don’t think it’s religion I’m missing or the concept of religion. There is this hole, this pit, this emptiness where I believe my depression had taken a piece of my brain and is using it as a host. Maybe it is a higher power that I’m missing but I’m not finding comfort in this thought or any pull. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Or just depression with a side of anxiety. Or anxiety with a side of depression. Whatever it is I don’t want to feel more empty than I do happiness or satisfied. 


I’m kind of scared to start writing again. I know that writing this has only helped me. It helps me validate what I’m feeling, realize when my brain is overreacting, connect with other people who are going through similar things and just the general letting my thoughts be out there instead of stuffed inside my head. 

The anxieties towards writing my thoughts down have been prominent since I was younger but there for a while I had the “fuck it” mentality and just did it. 

Maybe I’ll start trying again. It’s not the worst thing I could be doing. Actually it’s probably on the top 5 positive things I could do for myself. 

I become very self conscious. I know my writing skills are lacking, my grammar and punctuation are a joke and my spelling, well my spelling is shit. Then trying to get past that obstacle to the harder part of actually saying what’s going on and how I’m coping and feeling about the situation. It’s terrifying. I’m not really sure how I was doing it before. 

Maybe restating that it’s mine. This is my blog. Where I have the ability and the right to say what’s on my mind. It’s not going to be perfect. It’s not supposed to be. It’s raw and it’s my truth. It’s my place to be open. It’s a place to let the judgment on myself be challenged by my own writing. It’s the place to release and let go of my inner voice. 

Welcome back blog? 

God I hope so.