I am blown away that I don’t think I have talked about Michael yet.

Michael was my next door neighbor growing up.  We were supposed to get married.  He passed away when we were 6 (ish) from heart problems.  I did not understand what was happening at the time.  The main thing I remember from him passing away is I told myself on repeat that it wasn’t my Michael that died.  There was a robot Michael, and the real Michael was going to pop out any day and say the whole thing was a joke.  I told myself this every night for years.  I even wrote about this in 6th grade English class.  Maybe i’m supposed to die sooner rather than later to be back with him.

My parents didn’t let me go to the funeral (so they say – I don’t remember that part).  I had to stay at Michael’s house with our babysitter to make sure people didn’t rob the house.  At some point later his mom came over and brought me a stuffed bunny.  I remember her saying not sure if bunnies are still your favorite animal  – and gave me bunny.  Bunny doesn’t leave my side or my bed or my heart.  So last summer I got a tattoo of a rose (per his gravestone which is viewable online) and put his birthday in roman numerals on my left forearm.  It sounds crazy, but I remember playing trains with him, and I remember fighting our neighbor across the street over who would marry him.  Well she’s married now – so I think it’s pretty clear I was supposed to spend forever with Michael.  I realize this sounds insane but also believe it is true.  He was my one.

At least wine is always there for me.

As of Aug 1 I do not have a place to live.  No matter what I do, I don’t get information submitted in time to be first for these apartments.  I spent today in a mad race with some couple for a place that is a total SHITHOLE and still fucking lost.  Did EVERYTHING.  Called EVERYONE.  Uploaded EVERYTHING.  But apparently the docs didn’t upload for them because their website is a complete piece of shit.  I mean it auto filled my cell phone number for my employer, my emergency contact, my LAST employer etc.  This is fucking bullshit –  I was first.  Whatever.  Doesn’t matter – didn’t get it.  They claim I will get all my money back, but I don’t even believe that.  I can’t even begin to talk about the sequence of events for today because I will just break down crying.

My alcohol counselor once said to me “one reason drinkers drink is because it’s always there for you.  no matter what”  Right – So how the fuck am I supposed to give it up?  He gave up on me, too.  He’s not always there for me.  But no surprise … we met for 4 months, and I just kept saying I’m not going to stop drinking.  I said “I will listen to what you have to say and be mindful and more thoughtful about my drinking.”  He had me join a group meeting, and when I did both women said their children are the reason they finally started to try and get their shit together.  Well I don’t have any children, so what’s supposed to motivate me??  Then the last time I was supposed to meet him I fucked up the time, typical me, and haven’t heard from him since to reschedule… at the beginning he was very attentive, and I was responsive, but I guess after a few months he gave up on me, which brings me back to the point that alcohol is always there for me.  Never gives up on me.

Also – I’m fascinated by the celeb suicides by hanging.  Why is that so popular?  It sounds like a terrible way to die??? Well, in case you’re curious, theres a wiki how on how to make a noose and was able to do it, which is shocking because I’m a moron.  But I think I get it.  I tested – only out of curiosity I swear… swear-ish… I think it might be fast.

Anyways in a bad mood.  Ciao for now.


I feel like this topic deserves its own entry instead of piggybacking on the last post.

It literally eats me alive that I feel like I have disappointed my parents.  I’ve let them down.  I’m actually going backwards in life.  I was young and killing it career-wise and the anxiety, depression, and addiction just took over.  So while my parents could be proud of my before, I’m an embarrassment now.  I went to college and used to manage millions of dollars and now just answering the phone at my new job at a retail store makes my mouth go dry from anxiety.  It gets worse as I get older and I don’t understand why.  It seems like if this happens I would learn how to deal with it and it would get better with age.  But that is not the case.  It just keeps getting worse and harder, and I am a prisoner to my anxiety.

I used to be proud of myself, and I know my parents were proud of me.  Sadly, I think they are disappointed at my downhill progress in life.  I am, too, so I can’t blame them.  It hurts the most that my dad is disappointed in me.  I’m a mini version of him – take after him in so many ways.  I know that he’s upset that I still might need financial help.  I’m declining as much as possible, but I can tell he’s upset.

I took the boyfriend home with me for the 4th of July (I wanted to see a life long friend who moved to New Zealand a few years ago).  I never mailed my dad’s father’s day card so I hand carried it.  The card made a joke that I can never repay him for a billion dollars.  His response was ” UM more like a billion and one.”  Full disclosure at this point my parents pay for therapy and cell phone… I’ve always been on the cell phone family plan but paid for my own therapy until I left NYC.  Anyways he was cold to my boyfriend and me the entire time which was honestly devastating.  I love my dad more than anything in the world, and I know I take after his side of the family.  I have always looked up to him and know his mom and I would have been best friends if she hadn’t passed away when I was like 2    And I’m proud to take after him, even though some of those traits are harder to deal with than others.  But based on the comments and coldness, I feel like he’s beyond disappointed with me, and I would do anything to change that but I’m already doing the best I can.  Even my boyfriend noticed he was not friendly, which really sucked because I always rave about how awesome my family is.  BUT then we go back to the fact that I can’t blame him.  He can’t possibly be more disappointed in me than I am myself.

Of course anytime my brother and his wife are around my dad is ecstatic.  They’re pretty great, so I can’t blame him.  I just hate feeling like I’ve let him down.  He spent a lifetime and a shit-ton of money on me, and here I am at 33 doing the same job as my very first when I was 15 –  retail.

GOT fans?  shame.  shame.   shame.  shame…


I’m going to write a very sober entry right now in order to make a point.  The drinking doesn’t make me depressed.  I was very depressed long before I started drinking.  And I am fully aware of the fact that my depression feeds my drinking and my drinking feeds my depression (it’s a vicious cycle, thanks Fat Bastard).  The reality is that I don’t care.  I hate life whether I am drunk or sober.  It doesn’t matter.  Nothing matters.

The cuts are obvious at this point.  Time to buy more bracelets.


I don’t re-read what I write because I want this to all be 100% authentic as to how someone feels when dealing with these issues.  So if I repeat…sorry about your luck.  At this point, I think about suicide every day.  I’m not going to do it.  But I certainly think about it.  This world doesn’t make sense to me.  Even if I become happy and rich and successful, I will always know there are people and animals being abused and starving to death in this world.  It makes me sick.  The entire American way disgusts me.  I hope Donald Trump rots in hell.  And I want out, but I can’t even figure out how to do that.  My priorities – along with most people I know – are out of whack.  It’s sickening and confusing and overwhelming because I want to do something good and meaningful, but I don’t even know where or how to start.

My very sweet boyfriend, who I love to death, is also on a different page from me and that is really becoming a challenge.  I’m certainly no hero, but I volunteer and work hard.  He is a bit more laissez faire … unemployed for almost a year … which is ok if you have the means but then I don’t understand how you are not using your free time to volunteer.  Even once a week.  You have done well enough that you don’t need to get the first job you find, congrats, but then use some of that time to volunteer?  Fuck off.

If we have these major differences, how do I know if we have a future?  He’s worried about my skin on my face aging, and I’m worried about literally anything and everything else in the world.  I want kids and he doesn’t.  Am I just delaying the inevitable?


Sorry but I’m back for like the 10th time today.  I think one of the hardest parts of depression is feeling isolated.  I understand being “depressed” and “having anxiety” are cool now, but I still don’t feel like there is anyone I can reach out to and talk with honestly without being sent to the looney bin.  Everyone says let’s talk about this more because everyone is struggling, but if I were to talk openly everyone would spaz the fuck out.   And when I I’m already upset – that isn’t helpful.  Sometimes I just need someone to listen to me say I hate life and want to die.  So I can share my feelings.  Because I think if that doesn’t happen I will just commit suicide sooner rather than later.



Celeb City

I would like to express some of my opinions about the sudden trend of mental illness.

Something I have been ashamed of is suddenly cool?  I’m sorry but these celebs coming forward as experiencing depression can KISS MY FUCKING ASS.  I don’t know how this became a trend, and I am grateful it’s getting the attention it deserves, but I do NOT appreciate any of these people who suddenly “have anxiety” or “depression”.

They are mitigating the fucking disease.  Don’t tell me you were depressed because you got a silver medal.  FUCK YOU.  Have you cut yourself?  Swallowed a bottle of pills?  Thought about suicide daily?  No.

The ONLY good thing coming from this is I finally feel better about sharing my problems with even my best friends.  Because it was not ok until now.  But it doesn’t change how I feel inside.  I appreciate that people care and are trying to be sympathetic, but as far as I can tell at the moment, something that is life or death for me since I was born is suddenly cool.  Cool until when?  Those of us who are truly suffering kill ourselves?

It’s coming either way.

Here’s What You Missed

I’m a bit out of order now but I guess I should explain.

My behaviour at work changed suddenly.  I didn’t go to dinners and if I did, I didn’t drink.  I can’t say much else, but as of May I no longer work at my job.  This revelation has been beyond enlightening because it gave me a chance to learn about myself.

The boyfriend and I aren’t ready to live together so I’m looking for a cheap place.  A shitty studio like my 20s.  Loving life.

Also started cutting again.  Trying to hide from everyone including the boyfriend, but it’s hard.  Kinda fucked up one of the cuts too, and it’s really obvious.  Still deciding how to explain it.

What’s Next?

I’m not even sure where I left off, but I feel like my life is going backwards.  Salary wise and apartment wise and life wise.  I am 33 and should be planning a family or at the very least I should be happy with who I am, but I’m not.  And considering the recent celebrity suicides, I’m pretty sure I will never be happy.  At this point I owe a lot of money on a credit card, so I’m trying to figure out what happens to that debt if I die.  Leaving that to my family would kill me even though I would already be dead.

I don’t want to be here.  I don’t want to live.  I am embarrassed of myself, things I have said, and things I have done.  I hate life.  I don’t understand people that think this is fun.

At the end of the day it’s all pointless.  We are all born and we all die, including people, animals, and plants.  It’s all the same.  It’s all luck.  Here I am upset that I have to move out of an apartment with granite counter tops when there are people that literally don’t have clean water to drink.  I feel selfish and disgusted.  How can I like myself when I am such a materialistic snob??? Every dollar I spend could go to something meaningful and yet I selfishly want nice things and travel.

Today is the first day that I’m realizing why I hate myself.  Sounds dumb but I’m finally realizing why I feel this way.  The fact that I’m absurdly materialistic is why I hate myself.  I have always hated myself, but this is the first time I feel like I am really connecting the dots.  But I don’t know how to fix it.  Do I live in an apartment with bugs because I can’t afford anything better but I’m helping kids or animals?  I always knew this but something in my gut hit me today as I pack up my apartment to move to a shitty studio.  I won’t like life there either – so why do I keep trying?

I love my family – they are amazing which makes me feel worse about hating life.  All they do is support me.  How am I so lucky yet still so miserable??  It’s exhausting.  I’m not sure how much longer I can do it.

As usual I am a bit scatter brained and this entry might not be cohesive.

Here’s what you missed

Took a hiatus.  Missed some work and got in trouble.  Dr increased the prozac but still not happy.  I think I will never be happy.  Heading to Florida with mom on Thursday hoping some sunshine helps.  Even if it does, it will be temporary.  I’m a sad human it’s that simple.  I feel bad because all my mom wants is for me to be happy but she doesn’t understand that there is nothing in the world that can make that happen.  I’m not fixable.  It is what it is.  I’ve brought up dying before, and I will bring it up again.  My boyfriend hates when I am negative.  He’s a health freak so if I drink a Diet Coke it’s like I’m doing meth.  We’re all going to die anyways.  Everything gives you cancer.  So fuck off.  If I want to have my cell phone close to me then leave me alone.  He wants to live long and look young forever.  I found a modern century Dorian Grey.  Which is hilarious because I don’t give a shit about either one of those points.

After the last day I missed work, which was a couple of weeks ago, I told my mom I think I need to stop drinking but I am not sure if I can.  I went to a benefit for animals and ended up out until at least 2 am and waking up late and flat out not going to work.   That was a Friday.  I had already overslept Tuesday because I was out drinking Monday night with my abusive ex-boyfriend because…what could go wrong there???   That’s when my boss said we need to talk about my future at our company and I mentioned maybe I need to stop to my mom.  Well fast forward like 2 weeks and my parents have found some social worker psycho-therepist who specializes in depression, anxiety, and addiction.  At this point I feel so sad and so defeated that I agreed to go.  I’m tired.  I’m tired of feeling this way and I’m tired of life in general.  It’s funny because we try to teach kids that being different is a good thing and we should embrace those characteristics but that’s a bunch of fucking bullshit because I have finally accepted I’m different and it fucking sucks.  Even the craziest bitches from high school and college are married with babies right now.  I can’t even get to work some days.  I can barely take care of myself.

So some of my meds give me massive constipation.  It’s something I’ve been dealing with for a while, but it just recently got bad last year.  I was trying to use fiber products like Metamucil to go, but it didn’t work.  All it did was give me rotten egg farts and embarrass the shit out of me in front of my new boyfriend.  So I went to a Gastro who ordered a colonoscopy and ARM which stands for anal rectum something…?  Basically arm is when they stick a balloon up your asshole and then inflate it with water.  Then, to test your butt hole muscles, you have to try to “poop” out the fucking water balloon.  So I went and had these humiliating tests done and of course I fucked up the colonoscopy prep because it’s me.  So as a result, I didn’t start going to the bathroom early enough.  If you don’t know, the day before you can’t eat anything that isn’t transparent etc.  Then you start drinking a liquid that makes you poop because in order to perform the colonoscopy they literally stick a camera up your asshole and look for polyps/irregularities.  My dr ordered this to make sure there wasn’t something blocking my poop.  Anyways I had the water balloon test first which was humiliating and then the colonoscopy.  But I messed up so whatever holds my poop wasn’t empty enough.  You are supposed to be shitting water by the time you have the test and I wasn’t.  At any rate I could not poop out the balloon and while there was a polyp, there was no blockage (so not the cause of the constipation).  Apparently the polyp was fine and my inability to poop out a water balloon indicated that my sphincter muscles are weak.  The solution is physical therapy.  I literally have to start physical therapy for my asshole.  Once a week.  For 2-3 months.  WHAT?  That exists!?  So there was a waiting list for the most recommended therapist so last week I was finally worthy.  My first appointment is Mar 20 and she said it’s about an hour and 15 minutes.  excuse me!?!?!? how the fuck do I have physical therapy for my butt hole for an hour and 15 minutes???? Not to mention the doctors notes this will require for work.  Sorry boss.  Have to do kegels for my asshole.

Shoot Me.


I’m doing this for me not you.

Ah yes.  Here we are.  Cleaning my apartment is much better while drinking.  So I feel satisfied with my cleaning and feel the need to word vomit about things I have not touched yet.

I swear I’m not an existentialist, but maybe I am.  I don’t understand the point of life.  I’ve lived a close enough life to money to know it doesn’t make you happy, yet I constantly feel the need to have more money.  Keep up with the Joneses / Ms Edith Wharton. It’s hard to decipher where my feelings and idealisms come from … was it my brilliantly happy baby boomer parents?!  Did they set the bar too high??  My generation was over promised… “you can do anything if you try.”  LIE.  But not their fault, they thought they were doing the right thing.  The boomers grew up with the war, so they protected their kids promising everything they wanted but didn’t get.  And they succeeded in many ways.

Back to the existentialism … I’m not a writer and have never considered myself even thoughtful.  But a lot of thoughts go through my brain.  As much as I wanted, I’ve never been able to see the world like others.


I guess I will go on…

The sadness is all encompassing as we approach the anniversary of the death of basically my second mother.  Cathy lived across the street with me and had a daughter 2 years younger.  Then another daughter.  There was a terrible divorce because they no longer loved each other but she had breast cancer and stayed together for the benefits.  As a child, I didn’t understand.  The fighting in front of the girls and me was confusing.  I was maybe 7 or 8 so, the girls were younger??? What I remember was her making it fun to pick out which wig she would wear … what would the look be each season??  She always made me feel like I was one of her daughters.  I will never forget in elementary school when we were told to write a profile on a personal hero in our life.  I did not choose my mom or dad (like every single other kid).  For some reason, I knew she was the strongest woman I’d ever met, and she was personal hero.  And she always will be.

And I will always remember her passing when I was in 6th grade.  And the sadness never goes away.  You just learn how to live with it in some sick way.