I know my posts have been a little darker but i need the reminders i give myself here...

The one night I nearly OD'ed, I prayed, dug nails into flesh, hyperventilated, and cried myself into a dry heaving headache before I caved and texted friends in the wee hours after midnight to plead for prayers.

Obviously I fought that to be still writing this today.

But when I think back on it, it wasn't really that I was fighting to live. I mean, I questioned my existence on an hourly basis. I wasn't thinking of living.

But Carrie Fisher helped me understand those thoughts better now.

I wasn't thinking of living. But I wasn't thinking of dying either.

So that night of the exceptionally bad attack, I fought not because I wanted to live. I fought because I didn't want to die that night out of convenience.

That said, if I had planed it... if I had detailed it and arranged for it, I'm not even sure I would be posting this now. I lived because I never meant for myself to die in the middle of an attack.

When I first told L about it, she reminded me gently that I had beaten depression before. She believed that I could be strong enough to fight it again. Not "would". But "could". There was no pressure on my will but encouragement based on my capabilities.

And so I'm logging this down to remind myself that if it happens again.. if I fall into darkness again.. There is also a chance that I will recover again too. And that is one hope I'll cling to with His watchful eye and guiding hand in my life. So remember.

I hate that in spite of everything I'm saying or have said, my mind still filed away "coal briquette".

Please stop, brain.

Hurts. It hurts. Why does it hurt so much. I want it to stop. I need it to stop. Go away. Please go away.

Everyone is lying. No one cares. They can't wait for me to be gone. No one cares.

Loving them means I shouldn't be a burden to them. What is a period of mourning without me to a lifetime of angst and grief with me. I can't help them help me. It's worse for them when I'm around them.

Perhaps it's just me but... It's dark here. Where do I find light?

Mind tricks? No. This is me. It's not mind tricks. It's me. I'm broken. I can't be fixed if the wrong is me. I'm that rotten and hopeless and helpless.

Eventually, this life is going to fade. I could do everyone the biggest favor. I could save myself from the lies I tell me. Perhaps when it fades faster, I'll be the hero finally.


- In every cry. In every thought. In everything that a depraved mind works out, there's a silent hidden "Help me". -



It's not about me. Or at least that's what I tell myself. Every time I read about someone who's given in, I have to remind me that it's not about me.

But yet I get it. I understand. I know the moments when the demons take over and your mind is no longer yours. There is no reprieve or comfort or will or strength and all you can do is to rely on that pill or that therapist and hope that your faith in God will deliver you somehow. There is nothing you have control over.

That's why it's a mental illness. And now that I'm on this side, I cannot stress enough the importance of seeking the right medical help. The world outside of the realm of professionals and patients doesn't understand or even begin to comprehend the surface of this complicated illness. But it's very real and it needs the right treatment. Not self-help mind control books. In mental illness, a patient has very little control over his or her thoughts. He... she... we are completely reliant on others. So it's the "right" others who truly understand that can help us.

Even today, I'm still scared. It's happened twice. I've seen smiling faces hide the anguish and hurt and hopelessness the way I used to. I've heard those smiling faces give in to their demons and leave us. And I'm so damn scared that if it's happened twice to me, it can happen the third time.

And in those moments, will I realize it early enough to get help again? I honestly don't know. :(