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I’m just waiting for my daughter to grow up so I can diminish until I die. It’s the only real change I can envision. I am just taking up space and resources waiting to die. It’s the only change worth hoping for. That I don’t think my thinking is distorted is probably a sign that it is, but it doesn’t matter – the effect is the same, in that I am just sitting here quietly, with nothing to say and no energy and no vision and no hope, and no sense that it’s worth talking about or writing about. I don’t recognize myself anymore. I haven’t for a long time. Nobody can change anything but me. And I can’t. I have failed spectacularly at trying and I don’t  have anything left. People hint every once in a while that this self-pity is useless, but they’re wrong. It isn’t self-pity. I can’t care enough to feel pity. Every once in a while I’m dimly sorry for that person I used to be, because I seem to recall that she had some potential. But I can’t feel deeply enough to really grieve anymore either. And as for me – I don’t know who I am, but I am pretty sure I have no power to do anything but tread water, and I know I will eventually wear out and just slip below the surface.



I would shatter, except the pieces are already too small. There’s nothing left to break. The only form left, I guess, is powder. I could just turn into powder, a fine ashy dust maybe. That crunches a little under your feet, and leaks the tiniest drop of blood. How long can a human being live saying “it has to get better eventually”?

This year, the lesson seems to be something along the lines of “the more effort and thought you put into it, the more spectacularly you will fail.” It’s as true now in my love life as it is in my career this year. I didn’t see it coming with work. I’d like to say I didn’t see it coming with you either… but that’s not really true. It was pretty vexed from the beginning and it’s been dying like a small quiet pet that people keep forgetting to feed for a long time now. Or like someone who says “it’s just a scratch” and doesn’t know their blood isn’t going to clot and bleeds to death so incredibly slowly that you might not even notice if you’re not really paying attention.

And you stopped paying attention a long time ago.


Evernote Camera Roll 20140526 224107

I pulled the plug because it’s too late now — too much resentment built up and I realized I was keeping score, spending more time in fact keeping score than I was actually interacting with you, and then of course any interaction is clouded by the film of that resentment, and there wasn’t enough of it to ever actually clear that film away. But I’m sorry for it. I think I would have been kinder to us both had I not kept waiting for you to do or be something or someone that you consistently made clear, through your action (or non-action), that you could not or would not do or be right now. It’s all been rather heartbreaking , the errors and misjudgments and realizations, and most of all I think because I really had no inkling at all that ending up here was even a possibility when I initially decided to take the gamble.

In fact, earlier this year I hit a point where I thought I could see how it would ultimately go – how we would eventually part ways – and I wasn’t even all that sad thinking about it, because it seemed we would leave each other better off than where we found each other, and when other things came along that meant one of us had to pull up stakes, the other just wouldn’t follow, and that would be that, and there wouldn’t be any hard feelings. I was so sure that the one thing that wouldn’t go wrong was our ability to communicate. So one of the underlying or original failures was simple misapprehension; I could not have been more wrong about what would be our undoing. Ultimately I gave you way too much credit and I didn’t give myself nearly enough, because I would never have predicted that you’d have so utterly failed to hear and understand me or that I would try so many times, in so many ways, to communicate with you.  I put up with being taken for granted for so long in part because I couldn’t believe that for you, of all people, taking me for granted would end up being your default. I suppose it had to end like it did because it began like it did. So I suppose it was doomed at the outset.

And I suppose you still don’t really understand why I’m angry, or where the sadness and frustration that that anger is a symptom of even come from. It has been so astonishingly painful because it seemed like, at first, you really did get me, in a way that nobody had for a very long time. And I don’t suppose I”ll ever really understand what happened for you, what happened in your head or what got you where you went.

But now, at least, instead of a relationship made up of grieving that is punctuated by sporadic bursts of hope, it will be all grieving and no hope, and that might be the only option I have for ever seeing the end of the grief.



nothing much to see here

Things aren’t good. They are a little better than last time I had anything to say here, in that I don’t spend at least 30 minutes a day crying and I am no longer even trying to pay any of my bills except the utility and insurance, but they are not good and I am really not ok. Thing is, I’ve been saying that for over a year now I guess. I don’t remember what it’s like to feel like I have a future. But I am so incredibly fucking tired of hearing my own self whine that I just don’t see the point in talking about it. I’m such a broken record. And that seems like all I can talk about when anybody asks what’s going on or when I sit down to write anything.

Not that I”ve been writing anything. I don’t even know who I am anymore (except this person that doesn’t seem like me has been me for so long now that I guess that’s who I am). I don’t know what I”m doing here. I have completely lost the plot. The VA helped with some but not all of my meds and the wellbutrin lets me fake it, but does nothing for anxiety, so my coping mechanisms are perhaps not the healthiest, but the point is that I can fake it reasonably well. I can get up in the mornings and get through the day and hold it together and work (or at least I thought I could – it’s come to my attention that perhaps I haven’t been faking it as well as thought). But in general I can hold it together all day until I’m alone in the kitchen at night, crying with the water running (that’s where all of the best drama, the most poignant conversations, the most memorable confrontations, and the most epic breakdowns have always happened – in the kitchen. I suspect it’s family tradition, on my mom’s side, the miniature postprandial kitchen breakdown). I get it together enough to get back to work for the second shift, so to speak, and I have such severe sleep deprivation that insomnia is not generally a problem – I fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow, and I think I’m too exhausted to dream. If I do, I don’t remember anything (though I’ve been told I’ve reverted to some sleeping issues that make me at best annoying and sometimes even a little dangerous to sleep *near* – issues that don’t bode well for my mental health if what I’m hearing is accurate). But overall, I am several good, solid steps further away from the precipice than I was in, say, January, by nearly any available metrics. I”m not sure that’s much of a standard, though.

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second verse

And just like clockwork, evening hits and the bottom falls out. I seem to be having a repeat of the confidence-shattering patterns of 2010 where every single night for nearly a year was sheer unadulterated hell. Awesome. This is a great time to change my meds up, assholes, just great.

I try to trust people and I try not to isolate myself but it doesn’t work. I can’t really do it. Nobody is going to have my back but me, not really. We really are all on our own; if we ever aren’t for a little while, it’s a happy accident but not something we can rely on or expect. That’s a simple fact and I have absolutely no evidence to the contrary. So, no, when I feel bad, I will not respond in a level headed way.

overrated, undermedicated

I finally went to the VA myself (because I can’t afford to pay my gas bill never mind my employee insurance, so I have to take what I can get). And while I did get some free allergy medicine, I also got a three-day ride on the Crazy Merry Go Round because my pdoc is apparently asleep or incompetent and wrote orders for my brain cootie meds that didn’t make any sense, leaving me dangerously overmedicated for half the day and dangerously unmedicated for the other half, though with the buildup in my system of this drug over nearly a year, who knows. But the crazy? Boy can I attest to that. Instant Rage, just add bupropion overdose.

There is never a good time, but this is really, really bad timing. I am about to get my gas cut off for the second month in a row, it’s not even the 15th and I’m completely broke (I only get paid once a month), and I’ve dealing with a lot of emotional flashback shit all while trying to be the sane one in a relationship that is dying a very slow death from long periods of benign neglect punctuated by the occasional burst of angsty energy and then drunken weakness. I have nobody to blame but myself because I don’t seem to be attracted to people who don’t have serious fucking baggage. To top it all off, the pdoc won’t write one of my scripts ’til I pee in a cup, the clinic is walk in only, and I *have a fucking job* so I probably wont’ get my script ’til the semester is over and I can spend a whole day sitting in the goddamned VA clinic waiting. Joy. This is a great time to not have anxiety meds.

in the news

The Female Face of PTSD: Women Veterans Bring Home Invisible Scars Too

Why Should We Make Vet Mental Health a Priority? Because One Dies by Suicide Every 65 Minutes


I can’t for the life of me figure out how I keep getting myself into emotional flashback land. These situations do not look or feel the same at the outset, but they invariably take me to the same places. And then hindsight, of course, is keen and clear. I guess that could speak less to the situations having that much in common at the start and more to the fact that I am very, very practiced at unconsciously steering things in that direction. Which is really sad… and I guess that’s why therapy… but honestly, this time I don’t think it was me, I really don’t. I really, really felt good about having avoided the old trap. So it’s been an unpleasant surprise to find myself wrong after all. Actually, unpleasant doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s been devastating. It’s been like getting kicked in the gut.


Duran Duran – Before the Rain


My brain is so broken. It has been so long since I’ve functioned properly that I am beginning to be truly convinced that it has always been like this and everything else was an illusion. I keep thinking I can’t survive this but I keep on surviving it. I keep thinking it has to give, things have to change, because they always have before, at least long enough. But this seems to have some distinct character or quality that is different from before, and the time before that, and the time before that… I’m tired of being this person who is such a bummer all the time. I am tired of not having anything positive to say. I am tired of my own company. I am tired of feeling like this. And since I don’t really have any faith it will ever change, I am really pretty much done – with waking up tasting of nightmares, with crying over the kitchen sink, with living.

This cannot be what living is supposed to feel like. How long can this possibly last?


Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah

student veterans

Half of Student Veterans Have Contemplated Suicide – the Chronicle of Higher Education