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The intelligent wounded.

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the right mood [14 Feb 2009|10:09am]

For the last year I have had suicidal thoughts every day, every waking hour. In my intellect it is clear that I need to do it. I have a painful disability in every limb of my body and torso. I am 34 and forced to live with my mom in a redneck town, having been forced to give up the work that I love. I am no longer able to contribute to this world in the way I would like.

But emotionally I am not able to do it. I don't hate myself. I do not self harm. For some reason I am not even depressed, clinically speaking. I laugh when I hear funny things, have an appetite, and am able to sleep when I am not waking up in pain.

All the people I want to talk with are dead. I want to ask them how they had the courage to pull the trigger. Besides owning a handgun, what else can I do to increase my chances? Drink alcohol to loosen up my inhibitions?

For a long time I have considered myself a prisoner. But now I also see myself as a prison guard.
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Thought maybe this would help... [25 Oct 2008|12:51am]

[ mood | depressed ]

I've been depressed and suicidal for months, and recently have decided I need to do something to try and get out of it.  So, i made a livejournal to hopefully get my feelings out of me, and maybe find some people going through the same stuff.  I'm not even sure why I'm so depressed, on the surface my life isn't that bad.  I have a good job, I like the place I live in.  I moved out to the Seattle area a little over a year ago.  Maybe I'm just having trouble adjusting and making friends.  I dunno...everyone I care about is back in the midwest, my friends and my family.  But I hated it there, so I moved out here, thinking it would change my life.  Then, a little over a month ago, my sister tried to kill herself back in Iowa.  And I was out here.  There wasn't much I could do to help her, and I couldn't afford to fly home to see her.  I'm an alcoholic, and had been sober for over three years, and I started drinking again.  I thought I had finally scraped together a few friends...but I was wrong.  I have nice coworkers...but they're all at least 20 years older than me.  I just feel really alone I guess, and don't really see the point of anything.  (This makes me sound so whiny...maybe I am...)  Anyways, I'll put myself out there here and see what happens.  Take care everyone.

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I imagine Death as Family Guy might. Maybe that's my problem. [25 Oct 2008|02:17am]

[ mood | blah ]

I joined this community because I think I just plain need to. I slit my wrist open with a knife in front of my parents about a year ago. I'm currently seeing a doc who thinks I'm normal but was under pressure at the time and the living sitch was "hostile." She thinks I was just acting out of anger (anger and rage tend to run in my family). I had other stuff that was bugging me, but in that situation, I felt more than ever that I could do nothing right and to show I was sorry. I hate the scar I have and hide it with bracelets. Eventually I will disguise it in a tattoo.

Things are much different now, I'm no longer living with my parents and I'm in a more peaceful environment. But I still feel overly ornery. I get like that towards the people that I really love and that matter to me. I'm sad and frustrated but I'm not sure if anyone really "gets" that those feelings are often mixed with extreme highs and happiness too. I can make most people laugh and I know people love me. I don't think I can really love myself. I think I'm bi-polar and I'm the only one who knows it. After a year of therapy, I feel like I don't talk enough to my therapist and I downgrade my problems to her. I generally do that with everyone and faking the happy face is something I'm awesome at.

See, I've always been sensitive. I used to be more of a crier but I was yelled at as a child not to cry and stifled it.

Also, I tried killing myself when I was 8. My mom found me hiding the note and a knife. I was just unhappy because my cousins were mean to me. See, death doesn't scare me. I don't romanticize it, but I'm just sort of like, "Oh. Fade to Black. Sounds cool."

Does anybody else find that they're just not afraid of dying and that's the problem? To me, death feels like the reset button on a video game console. I know, it's not, but I guess I'm just apathetic towards life?

2 comments|post comment

A newcomer! [19 Aug 2008|03:21pm]

[ mood | content ]

Hi there, I'm Ge.  I'm 30 and from Australia.  I have Bipolar Disorder, unfortunately with a very strong leaning to the depressive side.  I look forward to getting to know other members of this community!

2 comments|post comment

a reluctant "wazzzup" [02 Dec 2007|08:25pm]

[ mood | curious ]


I hope it's okay that I joined this community. I have had LJ for a few months, but only recently have decided to try to start writing in it more often.

I usually go at everything in my life alone. I moved to England all alone. I traveled through Europe alone. I land on my feet. It's what I do. Now I am struggling in a horrendous situation, and my knee-jerk reaction is to go at it alone. I don't intend to go through an entire discourse in a brief introduction. I found this community as I stumbled through other communities looking for a potential place to possibly vent. I am not used to venting. My writing (poetry, novellas, etc...) is how I vent. I don't talk to people. I am happy and energetic to everyone. My family, and even my husband, sees me as a bit of a pretentious pseudo-intellectual, yet I am far from that. I laugh at all the things I shouldn't have laugh at, and have the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy. Yet, I also appreciate dry wit and British humor. I happen to enjoy quirky, odd, think-outside-of-the-box cinema, literature, music, and culture. I am different, but it's not something I make an effort to cultivate. I just am. 

With that said, my compulsion for joining this group was that it seemed to consist of people who largely think in non-one dimensional terms,  and perhaps I would be able to engage in a conversation that goes beyond the superficial words I force myself to share with others. I don't know what else to say.


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Hello... [19 Oct 2007|01:06am]

[ mood | tired ]

I'll keep this short and sweet - as it's late and I'm pretty tired!

I'm diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder, Clinical Depression and Panic Disorder. I'm currently seeing a CB therapist to tackle these issues. This is only the beginning of my therapy but I'm willing to put the effort in. I have to say, getting the right therapist really is a mixed bag, and you have to know what you're looking for otherwise you'll get dumped on any old person.

I don't know if this helps anyone:

Counsellors : good for chatting to about problems, but that's as far as it goes.
Psychotherapist : they are supposed to ask you questions to do with your thought proccesses, then rephrazing your answers back to you. This promotes self-reflection and can help a person see flaws in their thought proccesses that may be causing unpleasant feelings/thoughts.
Cognitive Behavioral Therapist : deals with the cognitive side of psychology, particuarly conditioning and is useful for a range of disorders as well as phobias.
Psychiatrist : likes to give people pills, generally evaluate people before referring them over to someone who specializes in a particular field who will be able to help them with their problems.

One thing I do have to say about Personality Disorders is it's good to be willing to put the effort in to change, but that's only part of the equation. We need to know the right 'tools' and 'methods' in order to change, after all, we're not all psychic! I've found that by first identifying coping methods, it then allows me to centrate my focus on healing and change.

I'm saying all this stuff because I believe when I find something useful or informative to me, it may be useful to others as well. I'm currently studying Psychology, Biology and Sociology A-Levels because not only does it help me to understand myself and other's better, but one day I would like to use these skills to help people.

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click to insert [15 Apr 2007|01:37am]

I'm known to be somewhat of an intellectual snob myself.

...which is why this group appealed to me...

Recently, I finally gave in and 'checked in' to a partial hospitalization program. So, okay, everybody gets sad, but this was getting to be ridiculous. Not ending. And, well, I've played this up-and-down game for a long time, suspecting bipolar, self medicating on heavy things before pulling myself (somewhat) together. Strictly regimented my diet, exercise, sleeping habits, and daily routine to try to live without doctors and meds (because I'm not fond of either).

But I never could quite give that nasty little razor-blade habit up. Everybody has a vice, right?

A few suicide attempts in the past, but dammit! I'm BETTER! Can't you TELL? I know everyone gets sad, I do. But then it wouldn't break...and wouldn't break...I'm used to rapid cycling and mood that shift in four days or so, not three weeks of depression so heavy I found it difficult to move from bed, hours spent staring at the ceiling because consciousness is so *heavy* but I can't sleep for the life of me.

So I started drinking to get to sleep, and cutting again because, well, it helped, and I could feel another *suicide* attempt welling up. Not death, you know? I don't and never did think in terms of eternal and demise, rather rest and silence and relief. I didn't sit and think "I want to kill myself," instead "I don't want to be conscious anymore."

It seems so incongruous with the person I am now that nobody believed me, not really. There was a corporate meeting at my work...I almost passed out. I had these cuts that wouldn't stop bleeding. I mean, seriously...i've been doing this for years. I know how deep to go, I know what kind of bleeding to expect where, I know how to take care of them. But this was unreal.

How do you explain to your boss that you need to go to the med center because you're losing blood at an alarming rate? You don't.

I have no 'support system,' no 'peer group' because I was an alcoholic opiate junky lil' goth girl, and when I tried to clean up everyone I knew had to go, because they were in some way unhealthy for me. And then there was the best friend, who happened to be the love of my life while engaged to another woman. There was an affair which grew into unending jealousy because he was so far away, and since he was cheating on someone, so must I be. Everyone - everyone I talked to caused a jealous explosion of a fight, so I didn't bother.

So this last....meltdown I'm trying to tackle on my own because I have *no one* to turn to, and a coworker checks himself in after a nasty breakup sets a secret into overdrive - severe OCD. He knew I was falling apart and encouraged me to tag along, but no, that's not for me, I can do this. But in the back of my head I know perfectly well this is going bad places, and fast.

I break down and tell another coworker I'm afraid of myself, etc etc. The response nearly pushed me over...he didn't believe me. I *never* ask for help, I'm proud to a fault, but I did and that cry was ignored?

The next day I made the call.

It was so, so hard on my autonomous spirit that prizes my intelligence above all else. Why can't I be smart enough to defeat this? Why is it that people who aren't as smart as me aren't having this problem? Why...why...why...ad nauseum.

Bipolar (not otherwise specified), major depressive disorder (possible psychotic outbreaks) and compulsive behavioral patterns are what the attending psychiatrist wrote down. Depakote ER is what went on the prescription pad.

I hate to admit it, but it's all helping. It was so hard to drop my facade and get help, so humbling to admit I couldn't hold the fraying edges together anymore. But there's been a sense of liberation, too. The medication is working far better than I thought it would, subtle and non-intrusive to my life. It's like I'm actively exploring this part of my persona now, instead of trying so desperately to hide it. I've been really open about it....it feels like I've covered things and and hidden for so long. I don't want to anymore.

And this is part of it. Me, so chronically (initially) shy that even the comfortable anonymity of an internet post will terrify me....look at me! I'm doing this thing, trying to connect with others who understand what all of this is, but who aren't willing to let it *define* them.

this is definitely too long
thanks for listening
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take no offense [01 Mar 2007|09:33am]

I need to vent.

I have a couple of acquainances ( i am reluctant to use friends... I never met one in person) who are on oposite ends of a love tirangle of sorts... hella drama.

THey are completely differnet ages but both rather similar. They are bother permanent victims. They cultivate drama and raise it in herb gardens from every windowsill in their minds.

Young one has "chronic fatigue" and she is always talking about how she can't do things becuase they will make her to exhausted to function. also she is constantly goign on about how the otherone is tormenting her for being the other woman. Despite all the advice in the world this one cannot get over the drama she inflicted in her own life.

Old one has "aggoraphobia" and needs all kinds of happy pills just to go to the corner store. She also makes a hobby out of surrounding herself with other looney's and together they seem to influence and stimulate each others psychosis.

I remmeber a time when I was seeing a girl who was BiPolar and on soem heavy meds, one of my best friends was too, and that firend was dating a guy who was, and another of my firends kept trying to kill herself and another was always batshit insane... suddenly I felt crazy too. I seriously think crazy people make each other crazier.

It seems that at the root of many of these psychosis is not the popularly beleived sexual assault. It is attention, lonliness and a feeling of commaradere with fellow sad and crazy people. The drugs and the therapists harbor and create a sense of community with common ground for them to discuss.

THat is the problem. In that lifestyle suddenly the disorder becomes the central focus of your life. Rather than daily tasks, rather than relationships. Suddenly you become your disease. THis doesn't seem to be just mental illness becuase chronic fatigue has a biological process...

These people seem to be permanent victims, victims of their disorder, victims of their past, victims of the cruel world that doesn't understand them.

I don't suffer at all... I have schitzotypla personality disorder and Turrette's syndrome. Tlak about the unknown.... and socially akward.. when suddnely you start twitching or laughing for no fucking reason and everyone stares at you and asks if your ok... then you have to explain its turrette's and then you have to explain that only 1% of the peopel with turrettes actually spout profanities with their tics. Then you have to explain the triggers because they all wan tto know more suddenly.

It happens when I am too cold, too happy, too sad, too stressed, too bored and too tired. SO any extreme pretty much.

Yet I acheive, this is the first time in a long time I have bothered to detail my disorder. I don't want to use my turrete's to make me feel special... Im not special im fucking defective. I just got fed up when I got attacked by a bunch of aggoraphobic females who chastise me for my beleif that therapy works. It cured my social anxiety and my situational depression... cause the situation is still there.. I just rose above the challenge.

The key in life it seems is to stop playing victim. Whatever the past was... it is over. Could you be assaulted, harrassed, fleeced or neglected again? Yes... should it rule you? no. Should you learn to defend yourself from predators? YES! peoplel are so willing to roll over in the face of adversity and then martyr themselves with it later. THis perpetuates the cycle. They find a new club of people with topics to complain about and their sens eof belonging through constant victimization continues.

I am sick of victims. Dope doesn't make peopel strong. Their ability to master their own life and deal with the shit they can't maste ris what makes them strong. Sometimes the Alcoholics Serenity prayer is what works the best...

"Grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change"

No matte rwho your higher power is... God, Allah, Buddah, The earth mother, yourself, or barney the purple fucking dinosaur... The important part is you grant yourslef the strength to change the things you must and accept that which you have no influence over.

Drama and victimization seem to be as addictive today as Alcohol and cocaine. If we don't have any in our life we spend all day tlaiking about it in other peoples life.

Sorry for hurting any feelings... if they were hurt, think about why... perhaps it touched close to home and soemthing can be done about it.

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[27 Jul 2006|10:53am]

There's just some shit you have to laugh at. It's the only way to react to some things. I've been doing a lot of that lately, some people might say at inappropriate times. I can't really help it, though.

I haven't been around. A month ago, I got taken to the hospital. Apparently, I have Leukemia. I make fun of my cancer. It's the only response that makes sense. I'm in the best mood I've been in for years.
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[26 Jul 2006|04:10pm]

I reccommend the book Optimum Nutrition for the Mind, by Patrick Holford

It seems like it should be obvious that what you put into your body effects you. brain and all.
but it seems like most people in modern society simply do not get that.

seriously... take a look at that book.
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My ex is getting married. [13 Jul 2006|09:57pm]

[ mood | blah ]

This is my first post here. I was happy to find a place where I wasn't the only sad person or the only one over 30.

My 16 year old son dates the niece of my ex-fiance. Today he told me that he was invited, as his girlfriend's date, to my ex's wedding. I smiled and told him to do what he felt comfortable with, kissed him good-bye and watched him head off to work.

It's been almost five years since, we'll call him Dan, and I broke up and for whatever reason. Time is not healing these wounds. He was by no means my first love, nor do I think that he'll be my last love, but does it sound melodramatic to say that I think he will be my only love?

My friends thought that we had a fairytale romance. His friends said that
they had never seen him happier. My kids loved him, and his mother loved me. And then one day, seven weeks before our wedding, the wedding he wanted, he said that he couldn't do it, and just left. In the middle of my bliss and happiness, his cold feet walked him right out the door.

Since then I have put on 60 pounds that for whatever reason I can't lose without the help of drugs. I find it difficult to have a conversation with any man, without thinking that he's probably a liar, a crack-head or just a plain out asshole. I trust no one, not that I did before, but that's part of the horror of it all, Dan was the one who taught me to trust, he helped me open up and share my secrets. He helped me turn gaping seeping haunting wounds into old scars, and then made the deepest cut of all.

I can't seem to feel anything for anyone else. I try to muster emotions that I am no longer acquainted with; excitement, anxiousness, butterflies... none of this happens for me anymore.

I've been on meds and off of meds. Some nights I sleep, some nights I don't. Some days I think "I might be happy" and other days it hurts to get out of bed.

If you were going to marry someone, and without notice or reason, they decide to move on, how long does that feeling stay with you?

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"Another day and you've had your fill of sinking..." [30 May 2006|12:18am]

[ mood | melancholy ]

I feel pretty much like I'm stuck out of time.  I got involved in a relationship that was beyond awesome (and still is), but it required so much attention that I let everything go.  I'm not regretting the path that I chose, I would do it again.  I'm just having a hard time....  moving on with other aspects of my life.  Any advice for a "mid-life" crisis at 24?

2 comments|post comment

[27 Mar 2006|11:12pm]


I'm sorry if this isn't allowed. I checked the userinfo page and didn't see advertising of communities being banned. I created a community back in November which helps people who have survived a suicide attempt. The community is called </a>attemptfailed</span>
and there are probably people in this community who have attempted to take their own lives, so I hope this community will continue to help other people as well.

Please delete this post if it isn't allowed and again, I am sorry if this causes any sort of inconvenience. Take care.
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The Demon in me [26 Mar 2006|06:58pm]

[ mood | blank ]

For anyone ghosting my blog for the occasional bit of posting I ahve done lately...

The Demon thought he had a chance to escape, she admitted everything, first woman ever to admit her infidelity. Her fear of commitment and stop wasting my time. The demon made me look at the loaded .38 on my desk. I was still talking to her. The demon made me pick up the gun and feel its comfortable grip, its reassuring weight. The demon made me hold it to the light, while she admitted to all the people she has slept with since last I saw her. The demon made me look down the barrel and admire the fact that when the light hits it you can see every detail of the Hollow point inside it. I was still talking to her. Telling her I would not be a cuckold. The demon told me If I squeezed back on the hammer it would make a horrible noise and shock her for the rest of her life. Perhaps the lesson I could not teach her as a lover or a master I could teach her as a victim. Perhaps she wasn't taking her meds and the shock of the realization would bring ehr with me. I could confront her in hell. Betrayal wrote Dante is the worst of all sins. I could be looking down on the 9th pit and smile at her.

I am merely God's pawn in some war, I wonder (or did the demon wonder) if I would go to hell. Is it possible that I would still fidn heaven as reward for my years of suffering with this burden inside me? Sadly I know my mission is to remain whole until my alotted time. No quick way out when it all seems hoepless. I heft the gun a few more times, imagined pistol whiping someone (I doubt the demon was behind this, I just want to bust someones face) then set it down. Said goodbye and hung up. The demon screamed and hissed, denied its escape it rages still in my mind. I sit here surounded by guns, knives and booze. It wants out and I can stare the key in the face and still remain a living prison for evil in the serivce to my lord.

How much of this do I believe now? Is it fancy or is it delusion? Am I slipping away or just becomming aware? Or am I just playing games? I don't knwo anymore. I made up a reason for my existance that seems so plausible.

3 comments|post comment

Who Knows What Tomorrow Brings In A World Where Few Hearts Survive [26 Mar 2006|12:44am]

So, I got nothing better to do...well, of course, I got something better to do...I just can't make myself do it...so I'll post here, so I don't look like an attention whore in my own journal.

I'm not depressed anymore. No more crying at work. Went to the doctor and got some Zoloft, but I decided not to take it. I was feeling better just out of sheer necessity because I'd run out of places to run, and crying all the time was drawing too much unwanted attention, which makes no sense because I think I wanted attention until I got it and then I realized that I'm not allowed to have it because of...well...stuff.

The Return Of The Big Rambly!Collapse )
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[25 Mar 2006|11:30pm]

And here I thought I was doing ok.

I'm still technically "together" with my ex-fiancee-turned-girlfriend, but it may as well be over. You can't lie with a kiss.

I got transferred at work, leaving all my friends newly made and working out in the sticks.

I feel like shit. I feel dead already. I'm caught in a corner, with fire, steel, and alcohol my only options. Hell, I'll take all three tonight.

The worst part is that I'll be ok in the morning, dead again and trudging through the daily grind. The only times I feel truly alive, I want to destroy myself for what I've become. I work, I sleep, I eat. I'm dead already. But you can't go back to where you've been, I have to find a new way. No one can help me; I have to do it on my own this time.

This is most definitely one of those pointless "cry for help" posts. I apologize for wasting everyone's time.
4 comments|post comment

Rage [04 Mar 2006|04:20pm]
I'm so full of rage, and I don't even know why. I feel it simmering just below my facade, the "plastic smile." I know that it comes from self-loathing. Some rational part of me knows that I should not be alone tonight, that I should call a friend, or go to a movie, or out to dinner, anything to not be home alone inside my head. But I cannot bring myself to call anyone. That would be tantamount to asking for help. Can't do that. Tonight will be a bathtub night; cutting over a towel is not going do it. I feel like if I open my mouth to talk to someone about this I will start screaming and I'll never be able to stop. Does this shit ever end?

And then there's the part of my brain that just gets on with life...I have a Spring/Easter promo coming up for the store and my busy brain is working out the logistics of direct mailers, design challenges, inventory, displays, signage, advertising, etc. It's all kind of funny, actually. This store is my one thing, the one place, where I feel good. I love it that everything that happens here succeeds or fails based only on me. I started it from scratch and when I write myself a salary check at the end of the month...it's just the greatest feeling in the world. My husband has no say here, although I bounce ideas off him when I'm brainstorming. He rarely sets foot inside unless I need something done with power tools. My body, my home, even my mind--he messes with them, hurts me, intimidates, manipulates...but my store is MINE. And I love it. I've discovered that I have a knack for this, and it's always a good feeling to discover a previously unknown talent within yourself.

So...I guess I'll just stay busy until I'm too exhausted to go through the ordeal of cutting...
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Introduction [01 Mar 2006|04:32pm]
I was browsing today and found this community. I've been journaling on this site for a while now, but never mustered up the motivation to research all the "extras" available like communities of like-minded individuals. It was rather refreshing to read the welcoming message and guidelines...there are intelligent people with thoughts, feelings, and behaviors like mine? I've been to pro-ana sites and chat rooms, self-injury boards, and suicide/depression forums, but was always turned off by the teeny boppers with their abbreviations and immature rantings (hey, we all have problems, right?...even people whose main obstacle in life is NOT that mommy and daddy don't stock their favorite oven pizza).

Anyway, on with an introduction. I am 30 yrs old, married with kids, and a business owner. I've been battling depression, suicidal thoughts, self-injury, and anorexia for many years. At times it seems it's a losing battle and I wonder why I'm fighting so hard. But then there are those "moments of clarity" when I look at my sleeping child or see a beautiful sunset and realize that there is a huge, grand world out there outside of my screwed up head, and there is so much more to see, and feel, and learn, and experience. Alas, it seems those moments are getting fewer and farther between.

Today has been a particularly horrible day and I am acutely aware that my safety-net bottle of pills is right under the counter at my feet, along with razor blades and diet pills. It's really pathetic actually...that grocery bag with those contents is basically the definition of my life of late; overdosers, blades, diet pills.

I'm going to post this now (assuming I can figure out how to do so) and spend a bit more time perusing other entries. I hope that I will get to know some of you soon...
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Random Flashes Of Memories... [17 Feb 2006|10:19pm]

I have only one memory of my parents kissing.

My dad came home in the middle of the night after they had separated. He stood just inside the doorway, and my mom delivered several quick smacks to his lips, between tears of happiness and turning to look at me as if to say He's home!

To this day, I can remember the exact look on my dad's face, but I can't comprehend it. Perhaps, it was a mixture of worry and embarrassment. He wasn't home to stay, and maybe in that moment, he was wondering if he had made a mistake by coming there.

He always worked out of town on construction jobs, and sometimes we would "rendezvous" at the truckstop half an hour from our house. It was smoky and dimly lit, and I was always happy to get a hamburger and possibly a prize from the gumball machine, but it always felt...like it was missing something.

Sometimes, my mom and I would go stay in a motel room in the town that he was working in, and he would take us out to Pizza Hut, but it just wasn't the same as when he lived with us.

Saturdays spent fishing or working in the shop. Sundays spent watching football or racing. I was always happy to go anywhere my dad was willing to take me, whether it was the liquor store on the way to the spillway, where I sat in the truck while he ran in and got a six-pack, or just hanging out at one of his buddies' houses, watching them smoke and drink and cuss. I always felt safe.

I've had dreams lately with white sand in random places. The only time I ever remember seeing white sand is when we were on vacation, and we went to visit my aunt and uncle in Alabama. One day, we went to the beach in Pensacola, Florida. There was white sand. My dad helped me build an odd-looking sandcastle, and then he buried me in it.

My mom was good to my dad. She took care of the cooking, cleaning, shopping, paying the bills... She took care of his boys from his first marriage. She looked after his parents. She didn't deserve what he did to her. She didn't deserve to be cast aside like she didn't matter.

I watched her fall apart, and I didn't understand. I watched her cry. I watched her suffer. I saw her pain and embarrassment. I saw her anxieties. I saw her try so hard and fail again and again.

My dad would come back to visit his parents with his new wife. My mom would put on her makeup and her perfume and her best clothes. She would try to be friendly, only to have my dad and his wife respond so coldly. I felt horrible when I would leave with my dad to go over to my brother's house. I felt so torn. If I went, I felt like I was hurting my mother, and if I didn't, I felt like I was disappointing my dad. I still feel the same way.

I don't know that I could ever talk to either of them about it. I don't know if I'll ever get over it. There are so many worse things that people have to go through, and I always feel alone because no one understands how hard this was. No one understands why I don't just "get over it". It shouldn't be that big a deal. And so, I've separated myself from anyone who ever meant anything to me. I can't figure out how to get from Point A to Point B. There's just an empty space separating me from salvation. No fire to walk through. No mountain to climb. No river to cross. Just a deep void.

Eh. Who needs salvation?
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