I’m struggling for words.

It’s been so long since I’ve been able to push out anything remotely coherent. I’ve started therapy to try and work out some issues, maybe she can fix this writers block I’ve seemed to carry for years. Why would anyone ever want to be a writer? The imaginative and creative process is such a fickle thing. It’s quite destructive. I feel like shit when I don’t write and I write like shit when I do write. It’s so turbulent in my head. I wish I could explain. Although, I’m not some special flower, there is someone out there who knows exactly what I feel. So anyway, I guess the point is that I wrote a tiny little blurb. It’s about love or something stupid like that. Enjoy. Or don’t.
Your kisses, they taste different. They no longer breathe a world of life into my soul. They no longer set fire upon my skin. I don’t feel it anymore. That spark, the ignite. This may not be a bad thing. They taste like a fresh morning, a new start. They taste like sunshine after a rain storm, clean and lovely. The fever is gone, the rush, the vivid flames. Now it’s replaced with a safeness, a comfort. Oh how I love the flavor of 2 am conversations, of waking up slowly to find each other under the sheets. It’s a new feeling, a new journey that I’m finding to be a delight. Please, kiss me more often, I crave that new sensation. Your kisses, they taste different.


Anxiety medication with the threat of a therapist.

Wow. It’s been quite some time since I have actually written something on this blog, and for that I am sorry. I do know that there are a few people who actually enjoy what I do write so maybe I will give you something to read tonight.

Let me tell you a story. Since I was about 15 years old I have been a depressed kid. My mother will argue with you and tell you it begin much sooner than that, but we will stick with 15. I can’t really remember anything before that age anyway. The depression got out of hand for my parents so eventually I was made to see a Doctor who then prescribed a medication that made me ill. That didn’t work out for me. I wasn’t going to wake up every morning feeling like dog shit because they wanted some chemically engineered medicine to fix the chemicals that were fucked up in my body. No siree. So I stopped taking them. I worked through my shit like everyone should. I had my outlets. I would write, or colour, or sleep copious amounts of time. Mostly sleep. I was just your normal, average kid battling what most ordinary kids go through.

My parents had filed bankruptcy. I was uprooted from my childhood home and moved to a strange place where I didn’t know anyone. For the entire year that I was 15 I was homeschooled so that I could take care of my dad who had major surgery and couldn’t help himself. That could cause depression, right? I was isolated. I don’t blame my parents at all. I am sure at the time I was a rebellious asshole who thought they knew everything but I don’t blame them now. I can see why they did it and I am thankful. I met some wonderful people and ended up being a pretty ok teenager.

I am 25 now. For some odd reason, after highschool, I became a nervous wreck. Now I don’t really discuss any of this so I really don’t know why I am telling you now. Oh wait…it’s because I work better telling my feelings to blank page rather than a person. That’s says a lot about my personality. My anxiety skyrocketed. It hurt to go out sometimes. It would make me physically ill to meet someone somewhere and if I did, they had to meet me outside. I couldn’t just walk into a crowd of people I didn’t know by myself. At night it got worse. My mind would overflow with irrational fears. Stuff I had never worried about before. It came to the point where my sleeping was deprived because I couldn’t get my mind t ever slow down.

Work could be a disaster. I would get a sudden tightness in my chest, break out into a sweat and I would just want to cry for no justifiable reason. People would ask me what was wrong and I never had an answer. After it passed, I would be exhausted and when I was able to, I would sleep for hours just to regain strength to do it all over again.

People told me to see a Doctor. My mom suggested it multiple times but I was determined to not fog my mind or body with drugs that altered my mood. Alcohol was one thing, drugs were another. Alcohol never really helped anyway, unless I got so drunk that I just passed out. If anything, it made it worse.

So a month ago, I decided to see a Doctor. I decided to tell her how I felt. A Doctor that I trust and adore. I have never had that kind of feeling for a person in the medical field. I am terrified of Doctors so it took a lot for me to even talk to her. She put me on a medication that makes me so sleepy. I can’t take it at work, I can only really take it at night or on my days off. I have peaceful dreamless sleep and it actually has helped me tremendously. I go back for a follow up on Friday. She told me if she doesn’t really hear any progress that she is going to put me on a SSRI and send me to a therapist. I don’t want that, but I kinda do. Maybe I just need someone with an outside perspective. Maybe I need to stop whining.

Maybe I should just keep writing. It’s the best therapist I’ve ever had.

Sometimes I have to find my way back

Often times I lose myself. This usually occurs when I am hanging out with people constantly or focused on certain friends. I began to question what I am doing. How I am feeling. I start to feel everything they feel, not to their extent, but feelings none the less. It begins to slowly break me down, destroying my sanity piece by piece. This is a normal occurrence for me because I want to be there for everyone, every second that I can. It’s also very detrimental for me. My moods become a spectrum of emotions. I get angrier more quickly, sadness washes over me more frequently, I get happy, crazy, more outgoing. It’s so weird and random. Then after a while I realize it’s happening and it’s time to rebuild.

I start to pull away. I may switch who I’m hanging out with. I’ll stay holed up in my room. My sleeping patterns will go haywire. I’ll either go to bed super early, or I won’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning. I spend hours playing video games, reading or fucking around on the internet. I become reclusive, avoiding social interaction. My anxiety usually peaks at this time, a sign that I need to relax and just breathe. Because though I need time to myself, I wonder if anyone misses me at all.

I slowly begin to rebuild my sanity back to normal. I become more relaxed after a long period of time and I start the cycle all over again. It’s a process. One, that I know I should break, but I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t even know how to go about quitting. I’m addicted to this life cycle and it really is quite sad.

I need to make a new life. Don’t ya think?

Rain, a poem of sorts.

When I kiss you, I taste the rain.
A thunderstorm rolling through the city.
There is lightning and the thunder.
There is the torrential downpour that accompanies the lights and sounds.
It’s a force of nature, sending those of us fleeing to the safety of indoors.
The trees drink of the rain.
The flowers sway in the wind.
Nature relishes in her own fury.
When I kiss you, I taste the rain.
Of gentle drizzles lightly covering the grass.
Of hail and wind. Of tornados, of hurricanes.
The flooding of rivers and creeks.
The puddles left on the side of the road.
When I kiss you, I taste the rain.

If you don’t have the time, I don’t have the patience.

Today is Christmas. Normally a fun filled Holiday with lots of laughter and quality time. Today just felt like it was filled with soul crushing loneliness. My father wasn’t able to have Christmas with us due to being in the hospital, so that made everything really hard. My mom is feeling it to. It just felt so lifeless this year. Uninspiring at all. This last month has just been a storm of shit.

At this point, I would usually be wishing for the New Year to quickly wipe this slate clean, but not this time. It’s taking me twenty-four years to realize that this is as good as it gets. People die, people break up, fights happen, money gets tight, work sucks, holidays are no longer the best thing ever. If anyone told me this is what growing up would be like, I would’ve stayed young forever. Peter Pan would’ve been my best friend.

I’m not sure I want another year of this lack luster life. I want to change. I NEED to change. I don’t want to make resolutions, those never stick. I want to make life changes. Travel has definitely got to be in this new plan. Maybe even a new state to live in and explore. Weight loss is always on my list for any major life changing plans. I want to write my book. I’ve started but haven’t picked it up since. That is something I need to actually sit down and do. I want to be a writer? Well then I need to write, no matter what.

So many things. So many questions I keep asking myself. I have no idea how to answer them. I don’t have patience for any of this. I like instant results, as I’ve been raised in a “give me it right now” society. If I could just stay focused and get one thing done at a time, that would be great.

I suppose we shall see.


Finding Neverland

There is one movie that I have watched over and over and that, without fail, has me weeping like a sad child. It’s like clockwork. I put on the movie and I’m fine, and then towards the end the tears begin to flow. I turn into this big, emotional ball of sadness when I watch it. I don’t understand it. No wait, I do.

The movie is Finding Neverland and I think the reason I always cry is because I feel like I will never find my own Neverland. I am being chased by ticking crocodiles and I’m not even close to being a part of one of the Lost Boys. The movie is fascinating for me, as a writer and just as an imaginative person. I can imagine that we all have our own version of Neverland. I am sure mine is filled with magic and fairies, mermaids and unicorns. Silly, I know, but full of wonder. A much better place than I live now.

I feel in this day and age that we, as people, have lost the magic we so desperately need. We’ve become so involved in social drama, gossip and unimportant bullshit that we rarely have the time to stop and smell the flowers. We should be exploring the forest, picnicking in the park, reading books and drawing pictures. We should be painting, speaking with strangers until they are no longer strangers, find new hobbies, meeting new people. There should be more love, less violence and hate. More movie nights, more building pillow and sheet forts in your bedrooms, and definitely more late night conversations.

I am guilty of falling into the human trap. The social media, the technology. I don’t go anywhere without my phone. I find myself too wrapped up in the digital world than in the real world. I am living my life through Tumblr, facebook and twitter. Conversations become broken because I must check my phone to check the latest bullshit someone has posted. I’m guilty. We all are. I am not sure about the rest of you, but I want to find my own Neverland. I want to travel, I want to write more. Less facebook, more actual books. I am so desperate with this need to find something more. To detach myself from certain things. I want more freedom. More exploration.

I am going to find Neverland. On my own.


So I am sure this is most likely a common problem for a lot of people, but my Wanderlust gets so bad sometimes that it makes me feel physically ill. I have massive panic attacks and I feel anxious and very trapped in one place. I am scared I am going to be stuck here. This isn’t where I want to be, but I am terrified of leaving everything I know behind. Packing up all my shit and leaving sounds wonderful but terribly frightening. The amount of fear I experience when I think about leaving the state just leaves me in a state of disarray.

What if I can’t find a job? What if I am stuck in some dead end job like the one I am in now? What if it’s the same shit, different place? Will I ever be satisfied? What if I can only afford some shitty apartment? The questions are endless. How do I even go about moving to another state?

This isn’t supposed to be this hard, right? Fuck that. It is. This is life. Everything is hard. That’s alright though, I am willing to work for it, if I can just get passed all of these damn insecurities. I will eventually surpass them. I have faith in myself. If I didn’t have faith in myself, I don’t think anyone else would.


Anyone in Denver, Colorado looking for a roommate? Any jobs available? I have years of retail and customer service experience.