On Being Alone

There are a lot of truths about me that I am fine with being alone is one of them. I hope those who read this add their own.

1. I am fine with being alone. I like it, need it, cringe without it. Many don’t understand that I don’t need someone there with me on a daily, weekly, or even monthly basis. I particularly don’t need a boyfriend or girlfriend to validate me.

2. I get more accomplished when there is no one around.

3. I like to eat alone because I can read or simply enjoy the food without having to make conversation.

4. I like to go to movies alone. I can hog the drink and popcorn. I can enjoy the movie without someone judging me for what I am watching or what I think about it.

5. I don’t care if people see me alone. I really don’t care what they think. When they try to keep me company because I am alone and must need it it just keeps me from enjoying the activity I am doing.

6. I don’t think a woman alone has a problem, no friends, or is lonely.

7. Please don’t touch me. I don’t like it when you do. It is not that I am inhuman I just don’t want your hand on me. I don’t feel an obligation to put my hand on you. I don’t want to be hugged or comforted I might be alone but I am not lonely.

8. If it looks like I am doing something I probably am, leave me alone. This is a big one for people who interrupt my reading, eating, or working time.

9. I am not lonely. Alone does not equal lonely please don’t assume it does.

10. I am not in the market for a husband, boyfriend, partner, or lover. I do not need someone to complete me I am complete all on my own.

These are all things about me that people have mentioned or done. Some of them drive me crazy (like I am not there already). Society tries to dictate what I should feel when I am not with someone and it makes me cringe because it is just not me. Just because I happen to be alone it does not make me lonely.

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The Glass is Definitely….

ImageOptimist – The glass is half full

Pessimist – The glass is half empty

Opportunist – Look there is more room for vodka

Fatalist – Your are not going to throw that glass at me are you

Absolutist – I know there is a glass and some liquid

Accompanist – The glass and the liquid go well together.

Ufologist – That liquid was brought by aliens, they want us to fill the other half of the glass

Numismatist – Let’s play quarters

Nutritionist – That’s half the daily allowance of blue liquid in the glass

Occultist – Half the liquid was sacrificed to raise a demon.

Futurist – I will drink the rest of the water in that glass at a later date

Eristist – I am going to throw that glass at you!

Absurdist – Flip the glass over and the liquid will stay in

Geneticist – I can clone that liquid and fill the glass


I expect sand as my eyes slide open and am surprised when the storm from the night before has not covered me. I wonder if that is how I got buried in the first place oh so long ago. Slowly I sit up and contemplate the bars of my prison, they were alive and moving only yesterday. Dead and cold is somewhat better than the chitinous clicking and scraping of large insects moving around. I run my hand over them feeling the spines and tiny hairs scratch against my skin. Hair embeds itself deep into my flesh instantly causing it to itch underneath my calloused palm. The hair seems to burrow deep twisting and turning worming its way into the muscle where scratching the skin will bring no relief from the writhing. Only an torturous insatiable itch.

Shuddering I try not to think about the endless hours of torture ahead while I dig at my own flesh, tearing it to make a feeling stop, a feeling that might only be a phantom but still feels just as real. I know that later I will scratch it until it bleeds onto the harsh white sand beneath me. In a way I miss the pain of real life but not enough to live it.

Trying to ignore the squirming in my hand I reach up to brush the hair out of my face only then realizing the world looks different. What I first thought was sand sticking to my skin is smooth instead of the grainy rush I came to expect from the tiny shards of glass that make up the sand in this place. It takes me a minute to notice that the skin is too smooth, to cool against my fingertips. My hands slide forward chasing my cheekbones they are there but too smooth too cool and too unmoving. My fingertips caress the smooth surface covering my cheeks tracing slowly back to my ears which amazingly are free of the enclosure. The pads of my fingers brush backward through my hair almost panicking at the lack of buckles or straps.

My heart pounds in my chest as I trace the lines at the edge of my hair. The cool metal blends with my flesh curling into it. The itch is momentarily forgotten as I realize that this might be folded into my skull wrapped up in with flesh and bone. It is only now that I feel the weight of it. My fingers skate back across the cool metal marveling that it is not being warmed by my flesh and body heat only to realize that I have no heat of my own anymore. I have been here too long and it seems that this place is turning me into it. I lean back hard wondering if the mask is metal at all. Maybe it is like the bars of the cage, not metal but alive and slowly taking over.


Perfection in Madness

Have you ever seen something so horrible that at first your mind refuses to recognize that what you are staring at used to be human. A live and breathing thing with laughter, love, and hope. Your mind hesitates but it is there to work out what it is, even then you realize that you probably don’t want to make sense of it. It takes a minute for your mind to adjust and believe what it is being shown through your eyes. Things start to look like they make sense but are in the wrong places, mangled. There is a fleeting moment when you realize that somethings are just not to be seen and recognized. This is when you realize that you cannot unsee the image. It imprints itself into your head waiting for you to close your eyes.

There is no way to cleanse that memory from your brain. Some things are just not meant to be seen.

You know there is no such thing as monsters

I want to know why my heart beats faster. What causes the tightness in my chest when I see certain things. They aren’t the things that you would ordinarily have this feeling for. I want to live in a dream. Not a particularly pleasant dream but a dream none the less. I know this is not normal and I know that I like the wrong things and it is not healthy, the constant desire to escape into something that is both infinitely worse and infinitely better. You see, the things in my dreams make grown men scream and these are not even the nightmares. I want to feel them, touch them break through the boundary, the thin veil that separates this reality from the next. No I am not talking about death I am talking about the feeling you get when you walk into a dark room and are reaching for the light switch… You know that feeling like there is something standing just inside the door waiting for you to touch your hand to its cold dead one because its hand is on the switch too. The sigh of relief you let out suddenly realizing you are holding your breath as your fingers flip that switch and light floods the room scaring all of the things that live in the dark back into the shadows. Secretly you are grateful as you admonish yourself for being uneasy because you know there is no such thing as monsters. I do the same thing only I would rather touch that cold hand covering the switch than have light flood the room. I would rather be invited across that veil just to see what is real.


Just Don’t

There are so many things that are so wrong. Broken promises, shattered dreams, things laid bare until all there is, is a fractured mind and fragmented soul. How is it that it is that easy for you to break a promise? How is it that easy for you to forget what was done and what was asked of you, what you offered? It wouldn’t matter but you offered and then decided that it wasn’t worth keeping the promise. Then you ask why I am upset and you say that you love me. Does love feel like this? I have done everything you have ever asked of me and you haven’t done anything that you offered to do for me. It is rapidly coming undone, unraveling like an old sweater worn to long, and all you have to say is why?

Bound and Broken
Bound and Broken

Can’t Sleep the Clowns Will Eat Me

No seriously they will…

This is for everyone out there suffering from depression, in a depressing situation, or who is just tired of living. Unfortunately there really isn’t anything that I can say to change this but it would be nice.

Now seems as good of a time as any to start writing this. I am not sure why I have the urge or what it will accomplish but well here it is. Tonight was a good night. I finished what I needed to do (kind of there is always more). I took my medication and then some –

Med list –

  • 1 100mg anti-depressant     check
  • 1 100mg anti-depressant     check (yes it is a different one)
  • 1 1 milligram antianxiety     check (as I have said it has been a good night and I don’t need more)
  • 2 OTC sleeping pills               check

Now the fact that I wash this all down with a cup of coffee might seem a bit counterproductive to some but hey I like the taste of coffee.

It is amazing to me that there are not many people who  understand or could understand what your average depressive person goes through. I think I might be writing this to explain a bit of what it is like to those who have no clue.

If you are not depressive imagine this:

A wasteland tortured twisted buildings long since rotted away. Sand and rot along with structures that no insane architect would come up with in his wildest schizophrenic dreams. In the center of this lovely world sits a black pit. Not a big pit just big enough for one. Inside this pit is me. The walls of the pit are a thousand glass shards, tiny bits of sand like glass that push into already open wounds. Looking up all that can be seen is a tiny hole where light should be. Instead there is only swirling oil slicked darkness.   And remember this is a good day.

No I am not goth nor do I enjoy being unhappy. I don’t read maudlin poetry or listen to singers whining about how horrible the world is. Actually I think the rest of the world is quite nice but I just don’t live there. No I am not suicidal, although I have been. Yes I wouldn’t particularly mind being hit by the 4:10 bus filled with school children as long as it hit hard enough to kill me and scar the small children for life (no I don’t like small children). Death wish yes suicidal no.

I should probably make the point that if you know someone who is depressive these ramblings might help you understand a bit of what they are going through. If you are depressive you might realize that you are not alone. I am writing this for those two reasons. The further a depressive is away from distraction the further they are away from remaining alive. There is so much that most people don’t understand about the illness. There are so many people who say incredibly stupid things like “cheer up” and “it will get better.” I can almost guarantee that those truly depressed people you say these things to really want to slap the person saying it.

The point is you can’t cheer up. It does sometimes get better for a little while but in the back of your mind you always know it comes back.

I understand no one will read this and I understand that those that do read it will most likely not make sense of it but it is worth try.

Ok so today was a restless day. You know one of those days that you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. One of those days when you realize that your friends are not really your friends, your boyfriend is a matter of convenience, and if you could you would scream. You know I don’t scream. I don’t start screaming because I might never stop. I know in my heart and in my mind that my depression will eventually kill me. When I take my medication in the morning, afternoon, or night I think about taking all of it all at once. I don’t and I probably never will but the thought dances at the corners of my dark mind.

I wonder what it would be like to be normal and I wonder what it would be like to be somewhat sane but that wouldn’t be any fun would it. Normal and sane people don’t get to experience what it is like to want to die, to crave it, to think about what it would be like to just slide into oncoming traffic.

Some people wonder why a child is killed or why a horrible car accident killed a mother forever depriving her children of her love. I wonder why can’t that be me. I wonder why people who are killed every day are picked to die instead of me. The mother of the two children in the car who dies is needed in this life.  The mother with the husband waiting at home did not want to die right then. I do. So why not?

This gets into the question of why do bad things happen to some people and not to others. Truth is I don’t know. If someone wants these things to happen to them then why not pick the people who want to die and kill them. I guess that is just because most people don’t want to die. You can debate this point on so many levels of religion and philosophy. It is just like why isn’t there a secret society matching up rapists with those who want a rape fantasy. You would think it would work out for both parties but life doesn’t work that way. Not in this moral everyone be nice everyone be happy society we live in.

Anti-depressants    check

Sleeping pills      4 today insomnia is a bitch

Antianxiety         3 today life is really a bitch.

Today nothing much happened, nothing much changed. The fear inside me is just creeps around my body making me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I live in fear and today was worse than most. It is funny how people judge worth. Is it what someone else says, what you do in life, what you say. Who you hurt or who you try not to hurt.

Despite the drugs sleep is just not going to come. I got half of what I set out to accomplish done today but who cares. No one sees what I do or what happens to me.

I reach out for help and get told that it is all my fault. It just makes things worse when someone screams at you for feeling bad. Need to find a decent paying job for student teaching… gods what ever made me think I could teach.

There is only so much more of this that I can stand. Even with the medication sleep does not come easily and tonight the fear I won’t wake up on time is paramount

The hole is closing around me the tightness is almost more than I can bear. Thank god I am not claustrophobic. The shards of glass cut deep but the pain on the outside is nothing compared to what is inside.  I think that is why people cut themselves and why I used to. It is something controllable something that I can feel and know its real and there.

I am gonna get locked up sooner or later.  On a positive note I think I can finally get some sleep now.

Ok today was exceptionally good and bad. Took my friend to the doctor which is a good thing. Not sure how I feel right now. Drugs are starting to take affect…or is that effect I never know the difference. I briefly pulled myself up out of the hole to take a look around.

Suicide is not chosen; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.

Some people will react badly to thoughts of suicide, either because they are frightened, or angry; they may actually increase your pain instead of helping you, despite their intentions, by saying or doing thoughtless things. You have to understand that their bad reactions are about their fears, not about you.

These people do much more harm than good.

No one outside of us, nor we ourselves, can accurately determine our risk for dying by suicide. It cannot be determined on the basis of attempts we have or have not made, and it cannot be determined by totaling up the number of our warning sign conditions. The longer it lasts and the worse it gets, the greater the likelihood that we will die.

Now that that has been said this is what I have found for all of you who are reading this to possibly try to understand someone who is clinically depressed and does the ever horrible thing of calling you.

If you feel you have to call someone in to “help” chances are you are making this person’s life worse. If you don’t call someone and the person commits suicide it is not your fault. A person who is suicidal will kill themselves regardless of what you do. By not making things worse for them by calling the wrong person, you have just possibly extended this person’s life. Calling the wrong person at the wrong time only puts more pressure on the person who is suicidal. This might not make sense but I am not a big believer in the “it’s for your own good philosophy.” It’s not for my own good it is for your good. It is so you don’t feel the guilt of not calling someone.

This brings the question can a truly suicidal person be saved by medical personnel. The answer to that is no. If someone really wants to kill themselves they will. The fact that they called you is a good sign but not the sign that you need to seek medical attention for them. Now I am not saying if a person calls you and tells you that they have just taken 100 sleeping pills and a bottle of tequila not to call an ambulance. First make sure that that is indeed what they did. If they did then call the ambulance.  Make sure that they did. If they didn’t and you call an ambulance then you have just made things worse.