I want to die. Plain and simple. I am not good enough for anyone nor will I ever be. This isn't a new feeling but one I have been struggling with for some time. I can't bring myself to commit suicide. So every day, I ask God, why am I still here? I ask him to let me fall asleep forever. I have no direction, no purpose and I don't know what the hell I am doing on Earth. Someone just give me a reason to stay alive because I can't find one.

I'm drowning. Sure, I know how to swim but I don't want to swim. I sink further and further into the water letting it fill my lungs and while I the thought of dying terrifies me, I have a great sense of relief. My depression is drowning me. At first, I was in a panic but now I am beginning to make peace with it. I am suddenly angry with every person who has hurt me. I am tired of lying to people about my little visit to the psych ward. An omission of truth is the same as lying. My sister and I don't get along. No matter what I do or what I say, I will always be an enemy in her eyes. Someone to fight with, to knock down with insults and verbal humiliation. I will never be good enough for her. I am at a loss, I have no plans to try and harm myself nor do I plan on making any plans but sometimes I wonder, would it just be easier if for some unknown reason, I didn't wake up in the morning. My heart is breaking and will soon be broken like the rest of me, so why not drown.

Home Again

I was home at last. It felt better than good. The first thing I did was unpack and take a shower. A much needed one at that. As promised, I handed over any contraband from my room. It was my knitting supplies. With the scissors and metal knitting needles gone, my room was once again a safe haven. Part of the deal to return home was that I had to tell someone whenever I was feeling the need to self harm. So far, I have managed to keep myself from doing something like that again. If I stumble with this issue again, the only choice I have left is to go to a hospital four hours away. I would be truly alone then. My parents don't drive, so transportation and cost would be a big issue and I would miss out on the other important things happening close to home. It would be heart breaking for me to be so far away from home and my family. I haven't fallen yet, I am trying so hard not to but there is something inside me that wants me to harm myself. I have this urge to, I make plans in my head but I don't follow through on them. The fear of going to a clinic four hours away for four months is terrifying. But that need is there and I am trying so hard to move past it. My hands begin to shake and it's in that moment that I know I could do it. I don't, I tell someone. I talk to someone about it. I haven't discovered what my exact triggers are that make me want to do myself harm. It's not about death or dying. It's about the release I feel after the blood starts to flow. I can breathe again. It feels good in a sick way. Even though, I am experiencing physical pain, everything else feels right. It's twisted and doesn't make much sense but that is why I need help. I need to work through my fears, anxieties and depression. That's what I am currently working on, slowly but surely.

The Inquisition

Rolling over and avoiding the nurse did not help me at all. My nurse for the day came in and introduced herself. She then told me that she had to interview me. So we went back to the tiny room that was crammed full of office furniture. I again explained everything again. She asked to see my cuts. I pulled my sleeve down and showed her. She said she had seen worse. I told her that I was embarrassed by them and ashamed. She replied, "pull your sleeve back down." So I did. After that interview I had to meet with the psychiatrist again. He and the nurse asked how I felt about being in the psychiatric ward. To be honest, I was intimidated, scared, shocked and I wanted to go home. I told them I want to go home. The psychiatrist said he was hoping I would stay and experience the routines and group therapy. Nope, I wanted out. I was irritated and agitated. He was a little surprised but said if I wanted to leave that I could as I had signed myself in voluntarily. However, it would be against medical advice as I had not yet met the social worker and signed up for my group therapy sessions. I then asked if I could participate in out patient programs. I wanted the help, I need the help. My mind is suffering terribly and I am harming myself. So I explained that if I could not receive outpatient treatment that I would very reluctantly stay. I was terrified of the other patients. I was scared and alone. I can't explain the terror that I felt, I feared being labelled by society, being alone in this ward and maybe just maybe I wasn't losing my mind and I had made a mistake by checking in to the hospital. The nurse said she would talk to the social worker and see if we could somehow expedite the process. I was so grateful. She was much kinder than the night nurse. After that, I was able to return to my room where I didn't feel so exposed and intimidated. I went back to sleep, but not for long. A doctor came in to ask how I was feeling and to check on me after being sick all night. In my half asleep state, I managed to tell him that I had heart burn. Odd, but true. He pressed on my stomach and asked if I felt pain, nope just aggravated that yet another person is asking me questions. He left and I went to sleep. It seemed like it was a dream but when I asked the nurse she said yes I had seen him and told him about my stomach issues. Finally, the person I needed to see came in and was able to help me. The social worker. He held my ticket out of this nightmare. We went to his office where I explained how I wanted to go home. He said he would do his very best to get me into the out patient program but it could take a day or so and I may have to stay another night. I agreed. I didn't want to stay, I felt like being there was really going to make me crazy. There was another catch, I had to call my parents and ask if I could come home. We had to discuss if it was safe for me and if my parents would continue to support me and help me. My mom agreed. She said it was my home and I could come home if I wanted. It wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. I wanted her to say with more enthusiasm, "come home, it's where you belong." My day dreams are always so dramatic and far away from reality. She was concerned about me harming myself again and that she really didn't know if she could protect me. The call ended. I was disappointed with my mom's response. I wanted more enthusiasm, I wanted to be wanted back home. You are probably thinking, well it was only one night, how can they miss me? How can I expect more spirit about coming home. My mom and I have an awesome relationship. We are very close, we have a best friend relationship. I adore her for all her help, support and love. That's why I thought the phone call would have gone differently. After the call, I went to my room. I was waiting for visiting hours which started at 3:45pm. I read my book, finished a few word searches, layed in bed. I was just waiting, waiting for good news from the social worker, waiting for my parents to show up. At 4:15 they arrived. As upset as I was about being in the ward, I was so relieved to see them. I could let out this breath I had been holding since I arrived there. The social worker had worked a miracle I could leave the ward and receive out patient treatment. I was so excited to go home. I packed my bag up as fast as I possibly could and changed into my clothes. The nurse and social worker wished me good luck and I was on my way. On my way home, I have never been happier to return to my home. I was safe again. Being there, even for a short time scared me. I saw how badly things could get if I didn't get help. Over medicated zombies lingered in the TV area. Listless, sad people staring at the TV eating awful hospital food. Angry people screaming and swearing at the psychiatric team. Or people who were plastering fake smiles on their faces just trying to get through the day. I don't know which category I fit in and I didn't want to find out. I kept my word to the kind nurse and fantastic social worker. I went to my appointment, I am looking at the courses available to me and on Monday I will be signing up for my groups. I have to tackle this, I don't want to return to the hospital and that fear has kept me from self harm. It's hard and I wrestle with my mind about cutting. The difference this time, I am thinking about others, how this will affect my family and friends. Before that, I never would have considered them. They had never entered my mind, it was me and what I needed. This is an addiction, it's a struggle but I fear succombing to my mental illness. That fear might just be big enough to keep me safe. So far it has but every day is different and the nights too. The nights are harder to cope with but I do it one day at a time. Just getting through one day at a time.

Lucky Part II

The same nurse, led the way to a small room, it had a desk, three chairs, a phone and a blood pressure cuff crammed in there. She sat at the desk and we began my interview. She asked me the same questions as everyone else. She asked why I did this, what led up to this and then she threw in some random questions to make sure I wasn't delusional. What is the date, what year, what time, my first and last name. It just went on and on and on. I answered all her questions satisfactorily and it finally ended. Then she checked all my vitals. I must have been calming down as my blood pressure was back to normal, my heart rate was normal and I was beginning to feel exhausted. Finally, left the tiny interview room so she could give me the tour. Not much of a tour when you are in a locked ward. If you needed anything at all, you had to get out of bed and go to the nurses station. There were no call buttons, meals were served cafeteria style and there was one phone for patient use. As she showed me around, I asked for something to eat. I sat in the waiting room for 10 hours, I was starving. We went to the cafeteria where she gave me a salmon sandwich, milk and orange juice. I hate fish but I was starving. So I ate it without trying to taste it. I gazed around the room, there were a few games and puzzles. There was a shelf with a very sad assortment of books. Then, I noticed on another shelf, photocopied pages of a coloring book. Next to the pictures of puppies was a container full of crayons. No markers, no pens or pencil crayons. They worry patients may try to harm themselves with items so only crayons are allowed. Within minutes of eating the fish, I began to feel sick to my stomach. I walked the long hallway back to my bed. I crawled in and again I didn't cry. I thought I would but I didn't. I layed in bed and the nurse brought me some meds. Two ativan and a sleep aid. I asked if they were my meds I had brought with me and she said no. I was not allowed to have my meds as the doctor had placed a hold on them. So I received a less than half dose of my sleep aid and nothing for pain for my shoulder. I was already unhappy, now I knew I wouldn't sleep and I felt sick. She left and came back with papers for me to sign. Eventually she left for what I hoped would be the rest of the night. No such luck. They do bed checks every hour. They open the door and peer in with a camping lantern to make sure you are still in bed. What fresh hell was this, what had I gotten myself into I wondered. After the second or third bed check, I finally spoke to a nurse about my upset stomach. She came back with ginger ale and crackers. She said she wouldn't be able to give me any gravol or pain medication unless the doctor prescribed it and he wouldn't be in until the morning. We are in a general hospital, what do you mean there is no doctor?! At some point, I fell asleep. I don't know what time as there are no clocks allowed on the ward. It is the place that time forgot. I was angry and upset, I felt sick and there was nothing I could do. No one could help me, and now I was trapped in here. Before I knew it, there was a new nurse in my room. She was there to wake me and my roommate for breakfast. She came in, announced the time 7:45 am, and that breakfast was now being served. I'm sure I looked at her with glaring, fiery eyes that said how dare you disturb me at this ungodly hour. I rolled over, away from her and went back to sleep. My stomach was still upset from the awful salmon sandwich and I really didn't want to deal with anyone or anything. Unfortunately, rolling over only helped for so long.

Lucky

My name was called. A nurse came over and said "you're very lucky, one bed left and now it's yours." With that, she proceeded to put a new bracelet around my wrist telling everyone I was now a patient. She left and in came a security guard to escort me to my bed. It felt like I was in trouble. A security guard in front of me and one following behind. We made what seemed like a long walk to the ward. I went through one set of locked doors and then to another. Eventually, I was handed off to a nurse who would show me to my room. As I looked around, I was shocked and horrified. These people here, were definitely in the right place but I was not. I suddenly felt so lost and alone. I looked at my parents, still hoping they would change their minds. I couldn't believe where I was. I wanted to run, but run where. I was locked in this place. I agreed to be locked in this place. The nurse ushered me in to the room and promptly went through the contents of my bag. Suddenly, I felt like I had done something wrong, like I had committed a crime. She searched through each pocket of my bag, then took my cell phone, wallet and iPod. She locked them away in what would no be my locker. Then she demanded I put the rest of my belongings into the small nightstand/dresser next to my bed. Just as she had ushered me into the room, I now had to return to the hall,I was going to be interviewed. It was time for my parents to leave and all I kept thinking was "you are really going to leave me here? In this place?!" How could they leave me here, this wasn't the place for me. I know I need help but can't I stay at home. I just kept reminding myself that I did this, I put myself in this situation. They did leave. I didn't watch them and I didn't cry. I couldn't, if I did I wouldn't stop.

Welcome to my Nightmare

This time my break from cutting would last a day or two longer than the previous but I had a compulsion. Something inside me told me to even though I knew it was wrong. I took seamstress scissors to my forearm and began making the cuts. Three long lines, probably an inch or more in length. Not deep but enough that I could watch myself bleed. I did it, at first I had great satisfaction in my efforts. But then I knew I could never hide them and that someone would notice. I also knew that I had a sickness. I didn't know if it could be treated at home. Again, I confessed. I made a deal with my mom, I wanted to sleep in my own bed for one last night and then first thing in the morning she could take me to the hospital. She agreed. I was thankful but also hoping that she might change her mind and not take me. She would allow me to stay home. No such luck, she took me. We played the waiting game. I would talk to a nurse, crisis nurse, social worker, psychiatrist and emergency room doctor. I was dreading having to speak with the shrink. Two patients before me had left the room crying after speaking with him. I was nervous, my name was called. I went in, expecting the worst but he wasn't so bad. He and I had a longdiscussion, the conclusion being that I voluntarily check myself in to the hospital. It was my nightmare come true. I knew the decision was ultimately mine but deep down, I knew that my mom would be very upset if I had not stayed. She was already feeling as though hospital personnel weren't taking my complaints and concerns as seriously as they should. So I agreed. I came back and told my mom that they were looking for a bed for me in the psychiatric unit. It was at that moment I was angry with her. I knew I shouldn't be but I was. I wanted to tell her to go home and leave me alone. I wanted to blame her but I couldn't. She didn't cut me, she didn't force me to harm myself. I put myself in this situation and now I had to deal with it.

The Psychiatrist

I have been seeing a psychiatrist in my community for quite some time now. I don't particularly like him but there are a shortage of them and the waiting list can be a year or longer. So I grudgingly see him. On February 28th of this year I explained to him that I was feeling overwhelmed, stressed, frustrated and that my anxiety had increased drastically. His response "from a psychiatric standpoint, you are a mess and I don't know what to tell you." With that, my appointment was over. I left feeling more broken and distraught than when I had arrived. I came home and told my mom but no one had no idea how to respond to that. No one knew how to make me feel better or what they could say or do to ease my pain. I went to my follow up appointment as promised when I left the hospital. I told him immediately that I was angry with him. I was angry because I had told him at my last appointment how I felt. His only concern was that I was angry with him. He did not ask what led to the angry slashes on my left wrist. He did not ask about my medication. He just wanted to make sure he could wipe his hands clean of my actions. I have never ever blamed anyone for what I did. Not once. I came to him for help long before I arrived at this point and he didn't help me. He made me feel dismissed and unimportant. My follow up appointment had been a large waste of time. My mom had come with me and she was present in the room. He made sure, his hands were clean. I felt as though he had no concern for my well being. He cleared my mom and I out of the room and scheduled an appointment 3 weeks later.

The Hospital Fiasco

1am and hysterical, I sign my name to the clipboard to be seen by the triage nurse. I am called in almost immediately. A barrage of questions, quick scribbles on to a paper and I am moved to the next area of waiting. This goes on and on for hours. Finally, I explain to the nurse that I have an MRI appointment across town and will I be seen by a doctor by that time. Of course not. It is revealed that there will be no one there to help me until after 7am. I had to sign out against medical advice and return after my MRI. If I had not asked, we would have continued to wait in this tiny room with some chairs across from the security desk. I ask for the paperwork to sign out of the hospital, which is promptly given to me, however they have misplaced the medication I brought with me. After my appointment, I return to the hospital, sign the clipboard and start the whole waiting game all over again. I see a nurse, social worker, emerg doctor and a psychiatrist who ask me all the same questions. They ask me if I see people, do I hear voices, what day is it, what time it is etc. I pass the pop quiz. No one takes a look at the biohazard bag full of pills I have. They give the number for a 24 hour crisis hotline and send me on my way to follow up with the psychiatrist I already have in the community. Unfortunately, for me, this isn't the beginning. It's more like the middle of a bad movie and you can't decide to stop watching it or follow through. More to come on that, this is an ongoing issue and will take many blog posts.

And so it begins again

I survived one night without cutting my arm or trying to harm myself. I talked to my mom for hours. I tried to explain that it was an impulse. A compulsion that made me want to do this, there were no voices in my head just a burning desire to want to do it again. I managed to make it through one night before I did it again. I took apart a razor and used the blade to make these lines and cuts all over my wrist. They were quick and angry strokes making a mess of my wrist. I came to my mom, giving up the contraband razor. I terrified her. She screamed at me in sheer terror. She told me to pack a bag and I had no choice. I was going to the hospital. I was crying and trying to put a few essential items into a knapsack. 1am in the morning and sobbing in the back seat of my brother in law's car, we drove to the hospital. Everyone e asks me, what made me do it, to that I have no explanation other than I felt this need to do it. We arrived at the hospital and that was another whole mess of things, this time a mess I did not create.

Broken and Scarred

Not 100% ready to talk about what happened but if I don't keep my hands occupied, I will be in big trouble. I have been saying for some time now that I am stressed out and completely overwhelmed with everything in my life. So over a week ago, I took my large pocket knife and started cutting up my left wrist. I did it and it felt so good. The release was intoxicating making me want to do it over and over again. I didn't care about the consequences at that moment. If I died, oh, well. I had entered this trance like state. I was somewhat aware of my actions but it was all confusing, I was in a haze of confusion and relief. The blood slowly flowing from my wrist felt amazing. The physical pain is so much easier to deal with than the emotional. I am in such emotional turmoil, I felt I had no choice anymore. If I died, then I died. After, I had realized what I had done I went running to my mom knife in hand and hysterical. I cleaned out the cuts and my mom talked to me about options. The biggest one being that I go to the hospital which I absolutely refused to do. I stayed up and talked to her about what made me do this and how it happened. Of course, I surrendered all sharp objects including my two knives. My mom was absolutely devastated by my actions. I promised not to do it again but that promise would soon be broken.

And Start!

I don't know where to start. How do I say I am sorry for what I have done. Hallmark doesn't make cards for this situation. How can I ask for forgiveness when I have caused so much pain and heartache. How do I collect my thoughts enough to explain myself. I don't know where to start. I deserve all the anger and hate that I am receiving. I did this, I put myself in this situation. I can't complain and don't think that I am. I just want to know how to apologize to all my friends and family.

Not Ready to Talk

There are some things that I am not ready to share yet. I became extremely overwhelmed, frustrated and stressed. I didn't cope with my emotions the way that I should have. People were hurt and I am sorry. That was never my intention. I did something I thought was the right choice for me. People are angry and confused. I understand all of it. But please know that at the end of the day it wasn't about attention or feeling alone or unloved. It was about the release of tension and finding some peace from my scattered mind.

Find the value of 'x' in the equation

One of the many things I do miss about my most recent ex boyfriend is that he lived about 45 minutes away and I don't drive. I would take the bus to see him, It took about an hour and half on the bus because of the stops at other towns/cities along the way. I didn't mind the commute, I would lose myself in thought about everything and nothing at the same time. My music from my iPod, drowned out the noise of other passengers. It is days like the last few where I wish I had that bus trip to give me a sense of peace. I would be able to relax and just breathe. The world faded away along with my problems and everything else that cluttered my mind. I don't have that anymore and I certainly don't have $30 just to travel to another city so I can think clearly. Whenever things get hectic or too much for me to deal with, I run. I run away from all my problems. I can't do that anymore. I don't have the money to just pack up and take a mini vacation from my life. I wish I did. But it isn't the most responsible thing to do and it never solves anything. I come home and my problems are still here. Waiting for me. They never left and sometimes they are worse than they were before. The person I usually run to in times of trouble is actually coming here at the end of May. Running away right now wouldn't help at all because I would just have to come home with this person. So skipping out of the province is completely out of the question. That means I have to deal with my problems. All of them. I am overwhelmed and exhausted. My best friend tells me to tackle one at a time. Easier said than done in this situation. I have anxiety just thinking about them all. Next week begins the week of medical testing to find the cause of pain in my shoulder. I have an appointment every single day. So does that count as tackling them one at a time? I almost wish I had my ex boyfriend to talk to about this, engineers are so logical and straight forward. No nonsense, no excuses, just plain and simple answers.

Sink this (relation)ship

Someone please explain this to me; Why do my ex boyfriends feel the need to contact me a few days after the break up? I don't get it. I broke up with you. Shouldn't you be angry with me and cursing my name? Not messaging me with the "Hey girl." When I broke up with you I don't recall using the "let's be friends" speech because I think it is bullshit. It is a lame statement made by the guilty party to lessen the blow of the underlying message which is "I am dumping your ass." I don't use the "it's not you, it's me" speech either because it is always the other person or you wouldn't be ending a relationship. I state exactly why I am ending a relationship and sometimes there are things that I have to work on but for the most part, I have found some reason to break up with you or something just isn't working. That's exactly what happened here, things weren't working and instead of dragging it out for months on end, I sunk this relationship. Dane Cook's Vicious Circle talks about how couples drag out awful relationships because neither one is mature enough to end things. I think he uses the excuse "but all my CDs are in his truck." For the most part, this is true of relationships or at least it was with my first serious boyfriend. I didn't do that this time, I sucked it up, I made the decision to have a "conscious uncoupling" to quote Gwenyth Paltrow and the Coldplay guy's name because I can't remember it. But I am not a fan of Coldplay anyways (or Gwenyth). I know that sometimes it's a booty call, I'm not stupid. But, in this case, it's an "I miss you" message. Trust me on this one. I miss him too, but nothing has changed in two weeks. I am still the same girl I was two weeks ago. The girl you didn't want to bring home to Mom and Dad. So keep your hellos to yourself and leave me alone. Just because I broke up with you doesn't mean I am not hurting. My heart aches and I have to use every fiber of my being to restrain myself from sending that "Hello" message. When I said goodbye, I meant it.

Time to play catch up

So it has been a little while since I have been around and there have been lots of changes in my life. I have temporarily given up on my career as a dental assistant and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. It's a time of self exploration and reflection for me as a person. I'm feeling a bit lost and not sure what to do but I am thinking of going to school or trying something new for a career. I just have to figure out how I want to spend the next 40 years or so. I have to find something that I will be content with as a career option for 40 years and some change. I have packed away my scrubs and dental equipment. Listed some scrubs for sale online. It was hard, a part of me was grieving for the career I thought I wanted. I cried as I packed up this part of me and my life. My shoulder injury has healed some but I don't know that I will have the strength and capability to be an assistant ever again. And let's face it, I have never fit the mold for "normal." I get these manic moments where I need another tattoo, a differet hairstyle (cut, color etc) or to shop until I break my bank account. I can't fit into the office atmosphere where I need to abide by strict dress codes, I can't stand being told what to do and how to do it. I am stubborn and always need to do things my way. This is not the recipe for a good assistant in a medical setting. So, we close this chapter and move on to the next. The future is unwritten and it is mine for the taking, just depends if I have the courage and bravery to push myself out of my comfort zone. That will be the hard part but time will tell. I have gone back on all my medication and I have finally received pain management for my shoulder. Turns out, if you complain to your doctor for 35 minutes straight she will eventually do something. I had insomnia for a few months. I was a wreck. I thought the medication wasn't needed anymore. I thought that aside from the insomnia I was doing great. Not so much. I didn't want to be locked away in a treatment facility so I went back on the meds reluctantly. My depression and anxiety were a little better but because I had been off them for so long, it was like starting the process all over again. Not fun, don't recommend it. The shoulder issue is still complicated and I have testing coming up to hopefully get to the root of all these problems. I have taken up knitting to help with the numbness in my hand and arm. I even made elastic loom bracelets, 76 of them to be exact. It has helped and it has kept me busy since I haven't been working. Knitted a half scarf that I am calling a pot holder, so far the dogs like to drag it around the house. At least someone is enjoying my efforts. I have seen a chiropractor, physiotherapist, massage therapist and acupuncturist to help with my shoulder. They have all been time limited amounts of relief so hopefully the MRIs and EMG will help. I hate feeling broken and useless. I couldn't lift a case of water in to the grocery cart for my mom. At that moment, I wanted to die from embarrassment. Here I am, 26 years old and unable to complete a simple task. My parents try to help me stay positive and focused on healing but it isn't always easy when you are the one living with the pain all day, every day. One of my former best friends has decided he is mad at me and I have absolutely no idea why. I have asked repeatedly with no response from him. However his jealous and insecure girlfriend blew up my phone with text messages. First she said, she was uncomfortable with him having female friends. That's weird because I thought her and I were friends as well. Then she said he was mad at me. I asked why and she told me I should talk to him about that. Easier said than done, sweetheart when he refuses to speak to me. Then it dawned on me, I don't need all this high school drama. I don't need a friend who has his girlfriend fight his battles for him. I don't need a "friend" who decides to attack me and my life via text. If you have something to say, say it to my face or don't bother. I told her I was done with the both of them and their childish behavior. I don't need my phone bombed with texts from a jealous girlfriend. I cut them out of my life. I don't want or need the negativity. I have enough to deal with and no time for childish drama. I graduated highschool 8 years ago and thought I left that behind because I couldn't wait to get out of there. It's really not about the number of friends you have but the quality of friends you have in your life. It has never been more true than it is now. I had the cleanest break up I have ever had with someone. It was a long distance relationship. They are tricky and love can be a fickle bitch at times. I have some serious trust issues which automatically complicated things. Then there is the fact that I don't drive and need money to take a bus to visit or spend time with my significant other. Money is tight, I am still not working due to my shoulder injury and I am having difficulty even finding a temporary part time job to earn some cash. But my now ex boyfriend wasn't holding up his end of the deal which was that he would come see me once a month since I did the majority of commuting to see him. Then he had two jobs and very little time for me. Things were starting to fall apart. Texts and phone calls became fewer and fewer by the day (made me a little crazy with the whole trust issue thing). I tried so hard to make things work, to fix the problems in our relationship. I saw a counselor about my trust issues and I searched for jobs. I could have done more or been more proactive with certain aspects but I wasn't. I could blame my depression or anxiety issues but I can't say for sure that it was the real issue. One day, when I finally did hear from my significant other, he was on a tear, a loud rant, yelling at me for things I did not know about related to his personal life and job. So I asked him point blank "Is this really working for you? I mean us, this relationship, the distance?" He said yes but I said no. I needed more from him than a once a month visit for three hours. I felt like I was doing all the work to maintain the relationship while he did not. I didn't break up with him because I don't love him or care about him. I broke up with him because at this time in our lives, we could not commit to each other the way we needed. It hurts like hell. I love too easily, I wear my heart on my sleeve and at the end of the day I expect the best from people. Maybe that makes me naive or stupid or childish but it's who I am. I loved this person, a part of me still does. I miss him, I have moments where it takes every fiber of my being not to contact him or tell him how much I miss him and I want to know how he is doing. Things are messy and complicated in my life. I don't know what I am doing or where I go from here. I know my heart needs to heal some more. I know I need to discover a new career option or just find a job to keep me busy and sane. That's about it, for now. I think we are all caught up.

"And I hope to God I figure what's wrong..."

I feel like I am failing at everything in life. Not every aspect of life, I have many good things to be thankful for, but I can't get my career together. I need to go back to work but I have a lot of anxiety about it. I'm notoriously flakey but I am getting better. I lose interest quickly and space out. My skills could be improved upon greatly. Sometimes, I feel like I am not in the right field but I love it so much. I'm torn, do I keep trying or just give up?