january

good evening and happy new year. i have been pushing off writing my first journal entry in the new year AND new journal, as i wanted it to be professional and of good quality, but i seem to be in a bit of a block. the sensible thing to do would be to start off strong with a declaration, to say i am leaving behind my inessential thoughts and behaviors for good this time, or write with a slight hint of optimism, but i am not in the correct state of mind for such.
i am experiencing, yet again, another “shift” in emotional regulation and general reasoning. there have been absolutely no external environmental changes and i am not doing much differently in regards to personal and internal factors. i have just woken up the past few mornings and there it is greeting me as soon as i open my eyes— the feeling of being incomplete. something is off. it feels as if there is an essential piece to a puzzle that has come loose and been misplaced, but i cannot grasp where or why it is missing, especially with it being in ideal place and condition just the day prior.

i've began questioning my interest in getting diagnosed again, just right before this overnight “shift” occurred. i imagined the ways in which i would bring up this topic with my psychiatric practitioner, but considering the last time we spoke i could not seem to remember any of the hardships i had been facing, i was stuck. (emotional permanence is not my strong suit, so a lack of negative emotion means there simply are none.) i was met with embarrassment and self-humiliation when imagining these potential conversations in which i lay out what felt like a completely baseless claim. i know there is something deeply wrong with my mental state and its unreadable fluctuations, but claiming or insinuating that i am bipolar just feels incorrect. self-obsessed, seeking undeserved attention and concern, exaggerating my mental symptoms in order to be classified as “different”. i now know that this is untrue and i am back to feeling concern and an urgency to inform my providers with my self realization/discovery. i have, once again, been fooled. this keeps happening to me, like someone is clandestinely opening up the most vulnerable parts of me and flipping the switch of desolation. my chest is heavy; i cannot disregard the reappearance of an unnaturally high resting heart rate and the disinclination i failed to notice and appreciate the disappearance of. when i get into this cycle, i find it hard to feel satisfaction in anything i do or attempt to do. this includes hobbies, the usual daily actions i take, and the imperative— eating, sleeping, drinking, and the like. i've been stuck in an idle state today, waiting for a whim or want to make an appearance, but nothing. what to do if i don't want to partake in even the usual, simple pleasures? i cannot believe i have grown so used to, and idiosyncratically, comfortable with such a feeling, but never understood it, AND continue to misunderstand it. i don't like to mention that this constant miscommunication between my brain and its own illness has lead me to reconsider what kind person i really am. i feel as if i can no longer take pride in what i believe i once possessed; the permission to value my “self awareness” and “emotional intelligence” has been stripped from me. i am being blindly lead down a path i should recognize by now.. a path of pessimism and unrelenting depression. i haven’t even mentioned that i got the job i interviewed for this morning because i would rather ignore the negative emotions it elicits. i am too busy being a prophet of doom.

good morning. i woke up this morning with surprisingly clear, bright looking skin. it was all the tears cried last night while scrolling through my contact list, searching for an open crisis line that would accept my call from my state, and internally begging for someone to somehow know what i was experiencing. how can it feel as if there is absolutely no one to call while bawling my eyes out? how is it that i have already exhausted the options i do have with my continuous complaints about the ongoing, previous issues i deal with.

i still feel stupid about my sudden college decision, but too ashamed to admit it if i do withdraw not even 24 hours later. to admit that it was another spike of motivation, not a move made by my rational, “neutral” self. it would be disappointing to myself and everyone i mentioned this to while still riding the high.
i am so fucking tired, but i really should get up soon to take care of my tasks. laundry, clean my bedding, shower, and one i keep forgetting. i need to send out the thank you cards to family members

i am back under the warm blankets after finally lifting myself up from bed to eat dinner. i still cannot get used to the basic human need of having a meal or two, sometimes even three, every. single. day. there are not enough meal options for a girl like me, and for so many fucking days. it does not help that there is absolutely nothing appealing to me today, not just meals. i suppose i could read. the books i ordered yesterday evening during my kafka-induced inspiration arrived tonight, but that does not sound like a fun plan. i despise the feeling that ruins me during days such as this; there is an endless, invisible, helpless gap that cannot be filled. it begs to be entertained while simultaneously not finding anything entertaining. i may continue listening to old emo and post-hardcore albums i have never heard. i would like to add to my already lengthy playlist of every emo and adjacent song i have liked.

it is 8pm now and i've started reading a bit of one of the three books i mentioned buying. i hate men by pauline harmange. shoutout to misandrists. no one understands me the way you do. i think i will sit in my bed and redirect all of my current anger and sadness toward men for the time being.
it is a hard night and i am sure i am not making it better by having a drink. i will put my cup down and drink from my bottle of water instead. i am not sure why i keep drinking knowing it makes me anxious nearly everytime. stupid. besides, this is not my point in writing tonight. i writing to inform that i am having the hard conversation that i have been avoiding for weeks now. i am not in love anymore, or maybe i am, or maybe i never was. i got so caught up in what it felt like to have someone, my own person that liked me more than they liked anyone else. what i once felt and the behaviors exhibited are not what they once were. i began telling myself that maybe tomorrow, maybe sometime soon, i will get back that initial feeling i had last summer. god, i am tired and a little bit drunk, i think. i explained what i had been feeling. the fleeting emotions, the long gone positive feelings i received from doing what i was always able to rely on during such a depressive time in my life— talking to the people i love. but how do i tell someone as direct as it is? i no longer have the desire to talk to you.

i am shifting rapidly between having an inflated sense of confidence and being insecure in my personal attributes, physical and personality wise. sometimes the fat that lays on my body in awkward, unappealing positions gets to me, or the flatness of my chemically damaged hair, or the way i carry myself in conversation, friendships, and relationships. these are trivial matters that should not have such an effect on me, and maybe instead of allowing myself to be upset at these traits i should take it as an opportunity to improve. i don’t like how uninformed i may sound when conversation revolves around a certain topic, well, i could read more books and get curious enough to find the answers to my confusion. i don’t like my body, well, i could eventually learn to be comfortable in it, or alternatively, find healthy methods to shape it in a way i would prefer. those are much easier said than done though, and i know i most likely won’t put time into these alternatives.

i had a psychiatry and therapy appointment yesterday and like i wrote about a couple pages ago, i mentioned the concerns about my mood to my practitioner. it was somewhat humiliating to give details, but necessary. i think the main, maybe even sole, reason i feel this humiliation is a subconscious fear of not being heard, not fully listened to or understood, or worst of all, not believed. i cannot think of any time i had been explicitly shown signs of disbelief or a lack of concern by my provider, but thinking back to my time at other clinics, it was a fairly common occurrence. i expected, and even prepared myself, to be met with some unnecessary backlash because of a simple telling of FACTS. emotions i had felt. my own experiences and how i handled and reacted to them. but like mentioned, that has yet to happen with my current provider. i did feel some shame, however. i felt as if i was coming across as exaggerative and telling my signs and “symptoms” in a way that purposefully aligned with the criteria of a bipolar diagnosis. i am deducing this to simple projection on my part to save myself from feeling badly about my time with her today. i will admit, there is an awkwardness in the air that i cannot quite place or describe when our appointments take place. something in the way the conversation flows, something in how she reacts and responds displays discomfort, but it is something i can’t quite read or understand. besides this usual awkwardness, she prescribed me an additional medication to take daily with my amitriptyline with the idea of underlying bipolar signs in mind. i am soon to get back to a morning dose of abilify to regulate my emotions and their fluctuations, just like i did in high school, but this time with a new concoction of issues to address.
i had meant to pick this up today at the pharmacy, but my body had differing plans— a migraine, stomach ache, general body aches, fatigue, a general uneasiness, and a huge fucking nap to recover from it all. i have pulled up goodrx in preparation for whatever ridiculous physical and psychological price i must pay for being completely uninsured, but thankful for the affordability this time around. thank god for discount coupons for broke, CRAZY bitches like me. alongside the price, another concern of mine with being on these medications is the interactions with alcohol. it’s not like drinking is all that common for me to partake in with me being emetophobic and having previous traumas related to alcohol consumption, but damn! i’ve been doing it much more than i originally expected. just a few weeks before my 21st, i told mom just how much i hate alcohol and everything to do with it. i hate the feeling of being drunk, i hate the kind of behavior it can induce in me, i hate the effects if too much is ingested, i hate the fucking taste. but all of these factors suddenly stepped aside for the strange interest i recently took in it. i think the appeal is that, to me, it is like a sign of adulthood, something i want to have access to and show off in every opportunity possible. that’s another insecurity of mine. there is this need to prove myself as an adult, to show the masses that yes, i am old enough to drink. everybody look, but don’t be fooled by the girlish appearance and behavior and voice because i am holding a case of beer and i am going to pull out my own ID that indicates i am in fact an adult and i am going to go home and slam it. and half or more of the time, the slamming in question is done in complete isolation, so i am unsure what point i think i am conveying through my now regular consumption. it’s a silly display, and dare i say, has the exact opposite effect. if this is my method of showing my adult age and assumed maturity, i must not be mature at all.

good afternoon. i have just sat down in bed with my plate of lunch. i am feeling quite down today. i woke up with a burning sensation in my nose and eyes, a slight headache, and of course, another stomach ache.. the worst. chest in pain and anxiety heightened. all worsened by a mistake on my part. i opened up my old phone with other initial intentions, but eventually ended up scrolling through my old messages. not as far up as past times, but just enough to recall the closeness and affection and feel a sliver of regret in succession. the idea that conversations like these would cure this ailment of loneliness and despondency is especially prevalent during these “off”, depressive periods of mine. it is not the affection shown through the good mornings and goodnights, or the gentle reminders of feelings for each other that i focus on, though. i found myself rereading the simple messages, like the sharing of daily, domestic tasks that had no distinctive significance then, just to pass the time and keep the conversation moving. i wish i had appreciated the moments of no distinctive significance a bit more. not even with this relationship alone, but with my friends and family too. i don’t regret the shortcomings and failed appreciation within this relationship specifically; i would not change our outcome. but i suppose i wish i could feel this same connection once more. this is a difficult ask of the current day me though, and i fear that because i have aged, this communication with others will never be replicated. i am away from my phone and rarely do i have the urge to spend all day talking to someone. anyone. it has never been the same.

i think this is the reason why i decided to give dating apps another try, besides boredom, which sounds terrible of me. it hasn’t turned out too well. i have only become more apprehensive towards men and questioning who and what i am romantically/sexually interested in. i will take my lack of attraction as a sign— a relationship will have to be formed naturally, especially one with a man if i am ever able to withstand it. plus, the terms of service on these apps are too discriminatory against a real mean bitch like me. i garner too many reports from insecure men that cannot handle when a woman is anything but kind and nurturing. i mean, fuck me i guess. have me executed for stating that their presence “makes me want to kill myself” because that’s against the rules i guess. it’s so silly, but in retrospect, this is likely the best thing for me considering that such services are easy to form a habit around. i overuse, i seek attention, i talk to a man that makes me believe that men are hopeless as a collective, and i move onto the next one. and i say this next part with great amounts of shame. dating has a roundabout way of causing insecurity in me. because god forbid that one absolutely beautiful man with the most perfect, sculpture-like nose has a a genuine interest in me. what am i going to do once it is time to meet and talk about myself in deep detail? is the fact that i cannot even handle taking a trip across the street to shop for groceries and the lack of accomplishments and accolades as sexy as my pictures? there are too many difficulties present that should NOT be for someone my age and i lack the ability to be straightforward and upfront about it. perhaps. i should finally accept that dating is not for me in this present moment, but i have so many worries about how i am currently going about my life. i feel i am wasting what should be my fun, adventurous, experimental, young years, and i am still plagued by the subconscious, hidden desire to have someone alongside me despite it being the opposite of what kind of person i claim to be.

i am using this shame to get on top of a few things, or to at least think more responsibly about them rather than an immediate dismissal. the “i don’t want to think about it, so i wont” attitude has put me in my current position and i am ashamed. i think of my pass dismissals with annoyance because i could have accomplished so much more had i been more rational and responsible. i was devastatingly capable of doing so much when i was younger, but not so much anymore. too much doubt and too much disappointment that cannot be leveled. too much sickness. just too much in general. i am searching into the process of reapplying to college, nonetheless. i don’t expect my research to lead to much beyond better understanding, but i will reframe it as preparation.

i spent the rest of the afternoon and the majority of the evening filling out applications for college and financial aid, and now that i am finally settled down in bed for the night i no longer want to enroll in classes. i don’t want to do anything. i am currently wondering to myself with regret, why the fuck did i do that? now that the spontaneous spike in motivation has subsided, i am not looking forward to dealing with my instantaneous decision of going back to school. this is a post-impulse clarity that cannot be pushed aside because the effects have become too real this time. i applied for my undergraduate courses and the financial aid options. i told mom and did the applications in HER PRESENCE, asking about her personal identifiers and tax/financial information, so there is yet another individual that will be holding me accountable to these impulses.

these impulses are beneficial for me obviously, as i was just complaining about the shame of having no accomplishments or achievements at my big age, but it feels as if these decisions were not made by me. not done by myself. of course, i have mentioned school many times while in similar impulsive states, but i have never made such a big decision so quickly. if these are really signs of bipolar, then obviously, my self control and recognition has decline drastically. working a new, full-time job while juggling classes in between lengthy shifts sounds like a burnout waiting on the sidelines, but i suppose i will work it out. i am no longer excited about what i have done, but it needs to happen. i am going to take my nightly meds and melatonin, turn on a movie to distract, and hope that this confliction will be washed away as time passes

i am feeling an emotion i am not sure of the word for. conflicted? confused? disappointed? worried? whatever word that describes all of those in one, along with a general sadness.

the more knowledge i gain about myself, my habits, and bipolar in general, i wonder how they went such a long time without being noticed. the signs are all there, clear as ever just like they have always been, but i’ve spent so long making up unrelated explanations to tell myself that i was just fine. just overreacting and dramatizing to receive attention (despite this going against the negative feelings ive always had towards publicly sharing my dispositions, and generally keeping most details to myself). of course, i had the past habit of seeking validation in my romantic relationships, and my relationships with others in general, through cries about my mental illness, but i spent that effort wailing about the wrong illness. my time spent exaggerating borderline symptoms caused me to completely ignore the more serious ones that silently brewed while being overlooked. the topic of my therapy and psychiatry sessions back then were always the emotional dysregulation i was faced with, but i believe that these mood swings were simply the difficulties of being a teenager. what i feel present day is much different and in no way an exaggeration in the slightest. my current symptoms and their severity are what i spent so long trying to lie to myself about. karma.

i am glad i got past the pattern of oversharing about my mental state and its constant declines, but honestly, i feel so fucking alone. who do i tell? when is it ever an appropriate time for me to put such a thing out to someone else, especially after anything and everything stated about my agoraphobia. sad, isn’t it? to add to the diagnoses as the years go by instead of what i should be achieving through so much time and effort— the complete opposite. and i don’t give a fuck anymore if it is embarrassing to share these otherwise unstated thoughts on reddit. just like the good ole bpd days, it is what has got me so confused as to how i could have been so oblivious. there are others that have responded with their similar stories. maybe this is why i feel such a confusing, unknown, unintelligible emotion. i can no longer deny a diagnosis. until today, i had a small amount of hidden hope that this is another one of my exaggerations, credits to my hypochondriac brain. but nope, it is undeniable. it is obvious.

do you ever feel an unbearable loneliness when reflecting? when you finally completely comprehend that absolutely no one knows you? when you don’t even know you, which version of you, which differing personality shown to differing types of friends, which emotional state is the truth.
it is isolating and despite the constant attention placed onto this subject, i cannot come to terms with it. it is isolating to not understand myself and much more so when the reminder makes itself known— this is irrecoverable. this doesn’t go away. this is lifelong from now on, and so is the need to constantly remain on alert, educating myself, taking maintenance medication, consistently using the unchanging coping strategies, just riding through the waves! i haven’t really told many about this yet, only ** and ** during the first times i noticed the signs. they don’t know about the details because i am too opposed to the idea of tacking on one more thing for them to deal with. thank you, journal, for being my only true confidant.

good evening. late start to my day today. i woke up at 3pm thinking it was still late morning, though this is partially better than yesterday’s wake time at 5pm. as long as i am awake before sunset i suppose.

is it bad to say that this worsening sleep schedule is due to an unintentional all-nighter to talk to ** on the phone? it is something that i've been slightly secretive about, especially with my closer friends since my last mentions of her were full of one-sided malice and spite. i regret it because as of late i only want to talk to her. conversation flows naturally and the insecurities i once held during our talks have been left behind in my younger years.
i notice a sense of regret, or something more like jealousy or anxiety, when there are mentions of the friends she will be moving with. i can’t help but imagine what this will change about our friendship. will she find someone new to love there? will she grow intimately close with a roommate? what effects will this have on me? the question of “what about me?” selfishly comes up, completely ignoring that the events that took place in our relationship were ultimately my doing. there is no “me” and that was decision made by me alone, even if done under the influence of her unfavorable behaviors. i could have taken it upon myself to improve communication and understanding. besides, it’s not like a move on her part is something huge for me. she is already many miles away, so what is a couple hundred more? perhaps it is time for me to dissipate my daydreams. her decisions are not made with me in mind, just as it should be. plus, what the hell i am expecting? we fall in love? i take regular visits to see her in person? with what money? and what courage? i’ve now accepted that relationships are not realistic, nor a sensible decision to make, but i have yet to quit daydreaming of one.

good morning. earlier rise for me since i had terrible trouble falling and staying asleep last night. i started my low dose of abilify, NOT thinking it would put me through a hell-adjacent experience, and still, i am not feeling like my proper self. it reminds me of the past when i put myself through terrible withdrawals from nonadherence of my lamotrigine. i wrote about this instance not long ago, more centered around my other stressors i experienced at that same time, like being broken up with in such a sensitive period.

i'm too afraid to take another dose today. i acknowledge that this feeling i get may seem unbearable at this moment, but will likely subside after a few days, but i am not sure if this will be the best decision for my mind and body. i could argue that refusing to allow these side effects is my way of looking out for myself, because truthfully, if i put myself through another night of fighting off the urge to vomit and attempting to put an end to the mysterious, constant pounding in my chest, it most likely will cause more damage than good. my main takeaways of regularly taking/trying new medication might just shift to something exclusively negative like, "all medication is bad” because of how awful i initially feel. and perhaps would lead to refusal of being medicated at all.

maybe one day, if i dream big enough, if i follow my wants and aspirations, she will fuck me again. our skin will touch. i will allow myself to be completely swallowed by my pleasure and desire. i will melt into the fingers that touch me inside and out.
how do i admit that i long for her in such a way when admiration and the occasional intimate, but non-sexual, moments feel as if i am indulging in something forbidden to me.
i fear these admissions may be too much for my journal despite it being here to write such thoughts in, but still, excuse the details i am getting into. i must remind myself that sexual desire is a normal, common thing for a woman like me, and for everyone actually. it is not abnormal for me to beg, internally, to be fucked passionately by a woman in love with me. i crave to be shown affection and attraction through a tongue on my skin.

i know full well that i am not healed enough to leave the house whenever i please. i understand that at one moment i may feel perfectly fine, the worry and overanalyzing of my body sensations no longer present, but when it comes time to get in the car, take the drive, or sit in the parking lot of a shop, the panic sets in. despite understanding what point i am at in my healing and exposure process, i cannot fully GRASP it. my expectations and wants take control and hurt themselves when realizing that they cannot be met yet, even if just the day prior i made substantial progress.
i am too easy disappoint, especially by my own hand. i gave myself a headache and medication-induced fatigue by trying to go out tonight and what. all of this for what? to end right back in the same place in my bed, but now with a headache, nausea, and excessive overthinking of everything i eat, drink, touch, look at in addition. this is the joy of anxiety and ocd. i thankfully avoided the worsening of this headache by fighting the tears of disappointment, which also preserved the full face of makeup i spent all afternoon into the evening hours on.

why is it absolutely devastating seeing someone you used to be with start dating someone new? a man i know i did not love, nor do i currently love or have a single, remotely positive thought about, so why do i feel so sick to my stomach seeing her posed in the same jacket i have worn? i am much too quick to turn to comparison, but it is such an awful sight to see someone so drastically different than me, someone who solidifies the idea i had about his “type”, someone who is white. another one added to the list of those nothing like me.

my life would be much easier if rumination and insecurity did not exist, and so would hers if she found someone much more suitable for her. someone capable of matching her allure and offering much more emotional maturity. the only consolation i can find is the fact that they look so similar, like siblings, or possibly even twins depending on the facial expressions made. i hope everywhere they go, they are looked down upon with the belief that they are family members with a fucked, illegal dynamic. may they be struck down by law 39-15-302.

to be so sensitive and overly sentimental is a hindrance unless allowed to be completely and freely expressed. if i disallow it to flow out through a kind gesture toward another, a confession of admiration to a friend, a letter mailed to a loved one, a kiss planted on the head of my mother, it sits too long and begins to rust into an uninviting, overwhelming muddle. just throw me into the apparatus and scribe the words “too mawkish for her own good” because it might as well be a crime.

good evening. i forced myself to make a makeshift “meal” with the little food/ingredients found in the fridge and pantry. quite a difficult task, and all to soothe yet another migraine.
i am having trouble believing that i am in a depressive episode considering my actual mood isn’t absolutely terrible, but all other signs say otherwise. the persistent headache, the refusal of productivity, the hours spent in my bed, the fact that i need a shower. badly. but of course, “i don’t feel like it right now,” like the urge to get up and clean myself up will suddenly appear later, just like the clothes ive been in for five days will suddenly change.

i am endlessly working on myself, which is what is expected, healthy, and beneficial of me. this is a necessity as i age further along into adulthood, especially at such a sensitive time. this is an age with a surprising amount of responsibility and characterized by lifelong decisions. i am currently building the foundation of a fully mature, grown adult version of myself. scary to think about. regardless of its heft, this is an expectation of nearly everyone. the bare minimum. the idea of a life without “success” is a particularly frightening one for me, but this is something that i must put aside as i try to sort out the bigger issues at hand. the mental kind.

i am sure it is no big secret to reveal such a thing to those i am close with, but i recently started the process of getting diagnosed with bipolar. this is something i have yet to share with anyone, besides a very good friend of mine once in the initial, “i think i have it” stages. this has been such a dramatic weight added on TOP of pre-existing issues, but the thing that holds the most weight is the fact that nothing has changed at all. my current issues are just as they have always been.
in recent days, ive had a difficult time functioning and coming to terms with this new piece of information about myself. it feels as if i am in a constant battle with separate versions of myself, but i just CANNOT recognize it. ever. for how overly conscious and analytical i am about my behaviors, patterns, and habits, they continue to go undetected by both myself and the people around me, just like it has always been. i am always on edge, always questioning myself, and looking out for any warning or indication that a manic or depressive subpart is beginning to take over, but regardless of how obvious they may be, i continuously convince myself otherwise. they absolutely do not register as unusual, out of character, or threatening.

lots of disappointment, lots of feelings of incompetence, and deep, deep embarrassment after the fact, when the alternate parts of myself have already done their damage. there is a perpetual worry, in addition, that any “progress” on myself is only an illusion and the intermittent grandiosity. it’s the bromidic cycle— i believe i am healed. i begin to see the beauty in the world again. i kiss and hug my mother more. i feel an overwhelming sense of adoration for my friends and must compliment them, share a paragraph of appreciation in their messages, and make a multitude of plans i cannot keep. i can’t see myself as anything but beautiful and intelligent and amazing; i can’t imagine why i was ever self-conscious because my faults present themselves as eccentricity and make me perfect. then, i am convinced everyone else thinks i am perfectly crafted as well, and in a way that compels them to fall in love with me and sleep with me. until they don’t. and i am unsure why anyone would think these things about me in the first place, even myself. and this cycle continues on and will continue until i die.