Another complicated suicide

This week we lost two high profile celebrities to suicide – Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain.

I’ve been suicidal before. In fact, earlier this week, even before the celebrity suicides, I was horrifically suicidal for the first time in at least six months, maybe longer. It was terrifying because I had no idea where it was coming from. I just wanted to die, and more importantly, I was afraid of what I might do to myself. I have a knife in my room, a well-made, but decorative, knife that I got at the Renaissance Faire. It’s not super sharp, but it is sharp enough. And I was afraid to have that knife in my room this week. In some ways I’m lucky that I need refills on all my meds because usually poisoning by overdose is the way I contemplate suicide – but I knew I wouldn’t have enough of anything, even if I washed it down with the bottle of vodka that was in the kitchen. But did I tell anybody I was feeling suicidal? No, not until more or less right now, when I wrote it out in this blog post. I didn’t reach out to anyone. I did tell my roommate the next day that I “had a bad day” and told my friend that I was kinda thinking about the feeling of going to the hospital, but I didn’t come out and say, “I am suicidal”

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Words Hurt: A Performative Photo Project

Whether or not you hear these words from other people or from yourself, they tear you down and you fall apart. These are my words.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words have the power to emotionally scar and cripple me.

Take a moment today to think about the words you use – for yourself and for others. If you need to: change them. It might be a long process. But change them for your own good.IMG_20180104_120107IMG_20180104_120121IMG_20180104_120133IMG_20180104_120143


You used to be
the one I would turn to
the one who would hold me
who would comfort me
while I cried.
But when your promises turned to lies
you left me here
and now I hold myself
as I cry alone in the dark

I’ll always be here / I won’t be here a year from now, a month from now, next week
We’ll get through this together / You’ll have to fight alone
I love you / But not enough

You used to be
my rock, my best friend
when everyone and everything was against me;
even when I was against myself
you were in my corner
cheering me on
helping me up
But when your promises turned to lies
my corner was empty
and when I turned against myself
there was no one to call me back

I’ll always be here / I won’t be here a year from now, a month from now, next week
We’ll get through this together / You’ll have to fight alone
I love you / But not enough

Any time you said “we”
I felt so safe, so secure
Any time you held me
I knew it would be okay
But when your promises turned to lies
when you left me behind
you left me broken and afraid
and very much alone

I’ll always be here / I won’t be here a year from now, a month from now, next week
We’ll get through this together / You’ll have to fight alone
I love you / But not enough
I love you / But not enough

Continue reading “Promises/Lies”

The Ghost of You

I wrote this poem based on how I was feeling when my ex broke up with me. I felt his presence in everything, like a ghost. I thought it was perfect for today’s daily prompt. I’m going to try and write to the daily prompts at least once a week. I’m sorry the poem is so small, I had to write it in a word document, then save it in a PDF in order to save it as a photo so I could add it with the proper formatting to show up.

The hardest partof a breakup is_1The Daily Post



There’s a ringing in my ears
I answer it
There’s someone there
I can’t hear what they’re saying
It’s important
I was waiting for this call
Waiting for someone to reach out
To connect
With me.
I don’t know what you’re saying
Please answer me
Don’t leave me behind

Your call has been disconnected


I feel disconnected from my friends. I had a hard time articulating this a few weeks ago, and I was really upset about it. I had just gone to see a movie with several friends, and I felt like they all paired off and I wasn’t included. I couldn’t interrupt them, they didn’t invite me in, et cetera. I think this is a feeling a lot of people can relate to. We feel like we’re the odd one out, that everyone else has all this time, and that they’re together and have all these connections with each other. They bring up inside jokes, and mention things we weren’t there for. If we stopped to think about it, we’d know we do it too, but when you’re in the midst of feeling left out it’s hard to think logically. It feels like the Green Day lyric, “Nobody likes you, everyone left you, they’re all off without you, having fun.” I know I make bad decisions when I’m so lonely and depressed. I ended up sending a few friends a text the following Monday asking them if they were still my friends. That was not a good idea. They felt the text was emotionally manipulative, which I was not trying to be, I was just honestly concerned that they didn’t want to be my friends anymore.

Since then, I’ve had a talk with the ones I sent the text to. With them, I’ve been able to determine that what I was feeling was a lack of connection. It didn’t mean that they weren’t including me (which I felt like they weren’t) or that they didn’t want me around (which I felt like they didn’t) – it just meant that I had a hard time reconnecting with them on a personal level, particularly in groups. For the most part, I’m okay with most of my friends one-on-one, but when we get into groups, that’s when it feels like they don’t like me anymore. I was pushing them away, and they were giving me the space they thought I wanted, which made me feel like they didn’t want me, and it ended up being this sort of catch-22.

There are two main reasons for this feeling, from what I’ve determined. One is that my depression and anxiety tell me that I’m going to push away everyone I care about and then I’ll have no one, and so that’s sort of what ends up happening as a self-fulfilling prophecy. I have this sort of abandonment complex because of how my ex left me, I’m afraid everyone will leave me in the same way. The other is because my friends and I are all at such different points in our lives that it’s hard to get together. The problem I have is that almost all of them had two years where they were growing and working and settling themselves into life, whereas I had two years of being stuck, hospitalized, and just trying to survive the life I had, with no energy to spare to grow up. I just needed to focus on not dying. But now that I’m feeling better, and am beginning my own path to my future, I need my friends back.

Of course I needed my friends when I was in the midst of my crash and when I hit rock bottom. But in some ways, they played a different role. I needed them to support me, help pull me back up. But they knew at the time I was in no state to help them back. Now that I am, I need to reconnect with them in a way that allows them to know I am, for the most part, emotionally stable, I can support them, but I still need their support. I think they might be unsure of their role in my life right now – they don’t want to make me feel worse, but they also can’t be my entire support anymore. And that’s fair. I don’t want them to be, nor do I think it’s fair to expect them to fix my problems, or walk on eggshells around me, or whatever. But we are all sort of walking on eggshells around each other, trying to reestablish friendships and boundaries.

I now have words for what was causing me pain before, and that makes me feel better. I’m disconnected. My problem is, I’m still having trouble reconnecting. A number of us went to the beach this past weekend. This time, I didn’t feel like anybody was pushing me away (with one exception, who literally and figuratively pushed me away) – but I still felt disconnected. I tried to participate in conversations, but I was mostly silent. I felt as though I had nothing to contribute, or that when I did have something to contribute, the conversation fell silent soon after. I tried really hard to be an active listener, and not zone out, and actually communicate and participate, but I would say I was only successful 30% of the time. Now, that’s an improvement over when I would just disconnect and not be able to reengage at all, but it’s still not good enough.

I don’t know what to do exactly. I know I have to keep trying, but what if it doesn’t work? I can’t lose my friends; that would kill me. It’s hard and discouraging when it doesn’t seem to work. But I can’t expect my friends to do the work of connecting for me, though I don’t think it’s unfair of me to ask them to reach out every once in a while, or if they see me disconnecting try to bring me back. I’m not asking them to constantly do that, or implying that it’s their responsibility to bring me back when I disconnect, but it would be nice if they put some effort into the relationship fixing too. And for the most part, they are. I only have one friend who seems like she doesn’t want to put any effort into fixing our relationship – and she was the one I felt the most disconnected from in the first place. I might be losing that friendship, or it might work out. I don’t know. I know I’m not giving up on it, not yet, but it’s hard not to let that affect my other relationships. Especially since we’re all part of the same friend group and she is fully integrated, whereas I am on the sidelines right now.

The poem above is more negative than I feel about the situation, and also puts more responsibility on the other party. That is not how I feel right now, but it felt right when I was writing the poem. I know I can do this. I can reconnect with my friends – after all, they’re my friends. They care about me. They wouldn’t have stuck it out this long if they didn’t want to. Together, I think we can work it out.

Put on your Armor Part 1: You don’t know what it’s like to be like me

This will be part of a three part series on depression. You can find the other parts here:

Part 2
Part 3

What’s the difference between typical teen angst and signs of depression? I can’t say I knew when I was a teenager, but the adults around me didn’t know any better either. In hindsight, I can clearly see the beginnings of what would become serious problems in my life, but at the time, even my doctor couldn’t tell me I was depressed. I was always “borderline”. I still don’t know what that means. Maybe I was borderline depressed, and it only got worse as time went on. Maybe this was typical teen angst just taken to an extreme. But no matter what it was at the time, I should have gotten more help than I did, and no one knew to give me that.

Continue reading “Put on your Armor Part 1: You don’t know what it’s like to be like me”