Stories. Not a blog.

“Do not be so open-minded that your brains fall out.”

(sorry about my absence; it's been a strange and busy month)

i'm officially in therapy.

i had my first session yesterday afternoon and it was wonderful.

j. was great; she was engaging and attentive. (and although i was terrified i didn't feel like i was talking to a teacher that had forced me to spill the beans because i'd done something wrong. i didn't vanish when she asked me (deeply) personal stuff. i didn't lie—because i didn't feel like a wounded deer in an open field. i didn't do so many of the things i am used to doing in order to protect myself from people.


it felt good.

it felt the way therapy is supposed to feel like, even though i've never been in therapy (that one time doesn't count) and have no idea of what it's supposed to feel like. (if that makes any sense at all!)

i'm excited. i'm hopeful.

she's kind. the price of it is worth it.

i'm really happy i didn't give up. (on myself on my healing on my search on my future)


c. w.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where I am going—and where I want to be. Part of me wants to be gone from this world forever, but the other part of me desperately wants to succeed—and then some.

I feel that time is flying by (even by my standards it’s going fast) and that is terrifying; but until I finish my endeavor (which is going, going!) it will continue to swoop on by…until what? I achieve my greatest dream or end up dead?

Time will tell.

(gah, sorry for this, I’ve been feeling a bit blue lately)


C. W.

Let's talk about this therapy stuff I mentioned in my last post.

Plain and simple: I found the experience humiliating and heartbreaking.

I felt no connection or genuine sympathy from my therapist and I hate and despise that I forced myself to get my money's worth out of her by telling her stuff that is so deeply personal and private. Stuff that made me feel vulnerable and crappy in the worst way possible.

I felt like a fraud. A phony. A fake. I questioned my decision, but not out of nerves or general excitement at the prospect of something new; something unknown yet healing (like going to the doctor's office when you're sick)—but out of frustration and fear. Fear that I was spilling the beans to someone I didn't like; someone who was judging me and also wanted our session to end as quickly as possible. I could see it in her face. In the way she talked. In the way she sat. In the way she looked around the room. Geez, what a shame.

I hate that she was late and that her half-assed apology felt as genuine as basically every single YouTuber apology video ever made.

I hate that instead of feeling safe and comfortable I resorted to doing what I always do when people ask me about me; or when I feel trapped or cornered: I lied. And that made me feel terrible inside. I wanted her to be one of the few people I didn't lie to; someone I could be completely honest with, even if it fucked me over. But alas, it was not meant to be.

I had so many hopes for “this”. I desperately hoped we would click and that I would feel safe and comfortable; that I would feel like she was someone I could talk to and not feel judged by. Someone who would be able to help me stop—or at least lessen—my destructive and intrusive thinking and suicidal thoughts.

And now I'm back at square one.

And I'm out of $250.

Aw shit, man...

I'll have to keep looking.


C. W.

...and I felt disappointed. confused unsafe

She was late.

I felt uncomfortable (not vulnerable, which is OK)

She made inappropriate assumptions. (so) I lied to her.

I'll keep looking (or maybe not)


C. W.

What a horrible month February has been! I was physically sick, mentally unwell, spiritually and emotionally heartbroken (in the worst way possible), and financially drained.

Awful. Awful. Awful.

What an awful, stressful, heartbreaking, expensive month it was!

But it is over.

A new page is upon us (upon me, thankfully!) and I feel hopeful.

I feel good. I feel calm.

All shall be well.

And if it is not, then there is always April. May. June. July. August. September. October. November. January... February... March... April...

On and on, the months shall pass, until I find one where things will be just that.


not bad. not sad. not terrible. not heartbreaking. not anything except OK. (or maybe even happy, if only for just a little.)

(and if not in this life then perhaps in another.

someplace, somewhere, (good) things are going to come; and they're going to chose to stay every single time.)


C. W.

I am lucky and I have good fortune.

Flowers. I like flowers. But I have never enjoyed receiving them. I find it to be a selfish and heartbreaking process.

R. gave me a glorious pink rose for Valentine's day and although I was over the moon at having received something so beautiful, I am now watching it die—and it sucks.

Flowers look so much more beautiful on the ground, or in a pot; someplace safe and fresh and kind—a place where they can live and thrive. Like us, flowers need a home.

My flower does not have that.


I have struggled with insomnia since I was a child, and after a few hellish months (most recently) where I “slept” an average of 2-4 hours a night or would sometimes go a day or two without sleeping, I decided to make an appointment (in December of last year) to see my primary care doctor. We met in late January and she prescribed sleeping pills to help with my insomnia/anxiety—and they have not helped—at all. All they do is make me feel angry (not because they don't work, but because they “just do”) when I wake up and that's no way to live. I am usually pretty chipper in the morning—even if I don't manage to sleep a wink—and feeling cranky right off the bat is, simply put, disgusting. It ruins my day and makes me feel bitter and resentful for no particular reason.

I called her nurse today to see if something could be done (med change, etc.), and I am expecting a callback on Monday or Tuesday of next week. I hope something stronger is prescribed and that it is non-habit forming. I do not want to be dependent on sleeping pills for the rest of my life, but I suppose if it comes to that then it comes to that (although the idea is heartbreaking, to be honest).

We'll see what she says (and what she prescribes).


C. W.

a few days ago i had a really beautiful dream, it was simple yet perfect, and one my heart's greatest desires was fulfilled.

but when i woke up i felt empty. i felt like something had been taken away from me, and the rest of my day felt hollow and empty.

beautiful dreams are awful. but when they're there they are perfect. perfect. perfect. perfect.


c. w.

i feel lonely for the first time in a long time. i have a horrendous hole in my chest (and i feel alone alone and i am alone; but at least i am feeling) mentally. spiritually. psychologically. hollow; i feel hollow and i can physically feel a non-existent wind rushing in and out of my chest. but as i write this i am beginning to feel better. just a bit. and soon it shall pass. zip. zap. in the flick of a hat. and i will still feel alone, but i won't be sad about it. the endless cycle continues.

(i hope. i hope all is well with you.)


c. w.

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