I Guess I Gotta Go On, Don't I?

Get to Know your Hostess

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          11/20/17
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          10:16pm
     For privacy, you can call me Sool. I dunno I think that name suits me pretty well. Rolls of the tongue, Sool. And it reminds me of Sous from Gravity Falls, whom I love and respect very much.

    What should you know about me? I have four friends that I hang out with a majority of the time (who I'm obviously gonna give fake names): Goldie, Lila, Marlie, and Heather. I'm queer, my favorite color is purple, I really like sweaters, I am, in fact, a minor, and my favorite food is eggrolls.

     I think it's important to address mental health and the stigma surrounding it, and I think everyone should be raised to be comfortable with it. Unfortunatly, for me, I wasn't raised that way. I was raised with a dad with a lot of wounds in his head and a mom who couldn't deal with it. So, what was my mother to do? Divorce him. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother and she loves me. I understand how it was too much for her to deal with; she never went through what my dad and I have. Thoughts that scratch the inside of your skull, trying so desparately to escape, you almost feel bad for them. You almost feel their sorrow. She's never felt that unearthly numbness that I bet you've felt. That I've felt. That no one should feel. She's never felt that feeling like you have a whole ocean inside your brain, drowning all logical reasoning. Until you're only left with the awful thoughts that can dwell in the deep, cold, darkness in the trenches of that ocean. The feeling of wanting to run until your legs give out and your lungs feel raw, but also wanting to never get out of bed.

     I do think it's important to address mental health. But I find it hard to use words like, "depression, " and, "anxiety." They make me feel like a freak. An attention whore that wants, no - needs - to say to everyone: "Hey, did you know I have all these mental disorders? Are you falling in love with the idea of me yet? If not, do you want to see my diary full of poetry that I may or may not have plagiarized? That'll make you feel sorry for me."

     My mother will sometimes ask me, "Sool, did you feel increased anxiety or depression today?" And, God, when she says shit like that, I just wanna go home and take a razor to my wrists to give her an answer to what she's really asking. Who says that to their kid? "Did you feel increased anxiety or depression today?" What the hell do you think? My phychiatrist wants to raise my meds for a reason. But, I also won't let her for a reason. With my meds, the more the anxiety decreases, the more the depression increases. So what am I to do? Pretend it isn't happening. Like a metaphorical tumor isn't spreading across my frontal lobe. Cool. Sounds like the right choice.

     Maybe I should see my counsler more. You didn't really get to know much about me besides what goes on in my head there. Sorry for the tangent. Jesus Christ, I'm sorry. I'll fill you in more in my next entry. Maybe some stuff about school. Have a nice day and please don't die.

Sool