Voices.

Yesterday and this morning I was flooded by the feeling of hopelessness, fatigue, and fear.

The words of my mother rang in my ears "there is no rest for the weary"

This means to me that if i don't feel ok, then I'll never feel ok again.

I can't handle being not ok for very long, I panic and end up crying loudly in public settings.

I don't know what to do so that one day I can be proud of myself for doing something great.

I can't be a teacher. I can't speak to people and have them listen.

I can't be in a band. I'm not good enough for people to feel the feelings I do when I hear a song that I love.

I can't write a book. I'll never finish it.

And I don't even know what happens when people die anymore.

I can't even blog about certain things anymore because it'll make my mom sad.

All I want to do is just lay there. I haven't gone to the park on my own in months.

All I wanted to do yesterday when Clare came over was just sit in my basement and sleep.

I haven't gone outside to go for a walk in months either.

I can't even finish this blog post without forcing myself to.


"My life has been too happy; so something bad is going to happen to me or someone I love when I'm older and it is going to be devastating, because that's how God and the world works."


That has been in my mind since I was thirteen.

I know it's just paranoia but this thought still comes back sometimes.


 And then there's the thought that this can and will all be dismissed because i'm making a big deal out of nothing because I am. So f*** everything.


I'm sick of being ashamed of my age. I'm tired of feeling small.