Dear diary,

If I could stick myself inside a concealed container and shut out the world, I would. Wouldn’t you stick the bad people in containers, people could walk by them and laugh at their endeavors, and make fun of their cowardly actions? Even though I’m not a criminal or a bad person, I still should be stuck in there. A humming buzzing sound has been in my ears for a few weeks now. When people talk, it feels and sounds stuffy and muffled. Maybe because what they are saying doesn’t matter or I refuse to listen to people who have to create problems to complain about. Then you give them a seemingly obvious solution, but they turn around and continue their deprecating ways of life. 

After speaking the bare minimum of muttering four words, I feel exhausted and out of breath. I’ve been feeling heavier lately, but I haven’t gained any weight. I drag my feet through the hallways to get from one class to the next. For those times when I’m not my best self, my words are cold, and they pierce hard. It leaves marks on people who don’t deserve it. Those marks are a visible representation and reminder of the worst parts of myself. My sadness is an infection. I do what I can to treat it and live with it. But, it stings and takes a toll. That seems to take over any moral consciousness and do shameful actions. 

These dark and shameful thoughts arrive from a dark and shameful place. A place that is deep and heavy. I’m considered a good person who takes care of others, is dedicated to my hopes and dreams, and wants to make a change in the world. So why would I want to be kept in a cage? An innocent and happy child, burdened by nothing in life, is in me still. But I’m having trouble finding her. I need to find her and pull her out. A tidepool versus the Mariana trench. Living with my fun, sunny, bright side of me for so long I haven’t ventured far into the deeper parts. I didn’t expect I’d have to. Every day has been the same but somehow felt worse. I don’t know how much worse it can get. Everyday is the same and I ache for something, anything that’s different. Prolonged suffering is the worst. I pray that’s not what dying is like. I’ve cozied up in my bed and listened to the silence. It’s simple. But, as the days of winter are freezing and my lips are cracked, it never feels easy. My Christmas wish,  New Years wish, and birthday wish have all been for easy. Just a little time without chaos in my mind. Please.

Dear diary,

My therapist says to journal so I oblige. I’m trying to write down my thoughts and some don’t make much sense but it unlocks and releases the pain in me. A pile of pain on these pages compiled into words. I didn’t expect to feel such relief but I have. Too many thoughts can get confusing, and writing helps decipher them. I imagine drawing, working out, and crying has similar effects. As hard as it might be, getting out of bed puts you ahead a lot. If you just get up, you will feel better. Wallowing in your sadness wont. The mind and the body are connected. Physical pain can result in mental pain and vise versa. Putting work into one because the other seems impossible is the key. Doing activities that are beneficial for you and surrounding yourself with people who are beneficial for you will have a positive effect. Take time alone to learn what’s best for you, and how to take care of yourself. After all this time, that’s what I have to remind myself. So I’m writing this down to hold myself accountable as well as anyone who’s reading this.