Many times I've thought to myself that all of my problems could be attributed to being pretty.
If someone took away my sex appeal now, I would have nothing, and if someone were to have taken it away years ago, not a bit of my life would be the same. No girls. No self-image discrepancies.
Worst of all, no Amelia.
I learned last night that on my second attempt two weekends ago I was brought to my parents house. My friend didn't know what else to do but she assumed my parents would want to know at least. Nope.
Wrong. There I was, completely unconscious in her car and all they had to say was that, "I wasn't supposed to be there," and, "There's a no contact order."
That solves the mystery of how I moved from the downtown area to a hospital in West Des Moines. Here's a tip to everyone who is thinking of becoming a parent: future reference, don't disown your children or cut them out of your life or write them off, or even treat them, like an expense. I've been depressed my whole life but the fact remains I never put forth so much effort into killing myself until my parents cut me out.
"If your own parent's didn't want you, why would I want you?" This was said to me by Adam as a joke before I tried the first time in Easter. No matter how much I've hated my parents it still stung like salt in an open wound.
I still remember calling them from my jail cell the night I was arrested.
I'll never forget how calm they were when they told me they wouldn't help me get out, that I was on my own, and that they wanted me to stop calling.
I kept calling until they finally gave me other phone numbers. After that I never heard from them, except for my dad texting me to say that he was sick of getting my mail or to come pick up my belongings.
The only other time I saw him was when he came to the mall to remove my phone number from his bill so I could have access to my phone number after my phone had been broken. I yelled, "I love you!" at him as he left, half joking.
He never said anything back.
I sat outside of the restaurant waiting for an interview, worrying whether my friends would take me to their church group or not. My mind wandered back to therapy.
"A time you didn't feel important."
"A time you didn't feel good enough, or bad."
"A time you felt spiritual or religious."
Right now I feel all three. I wanted to go back to my therapist and talk about the present moment, but she also mentioned we needed to talk more about traumatic experiences from my past rather than the present.
I agreed, because I'm supposed to be finding another therapist to talk about the present with.
Stefany told me she doesn't want me being alone with Amelia until I have proof that I'm being treated for my depression.
If someone took away my sex appeal now, I would have nothing, and if someone were to have taken it away years ago, not a bit of my life would be the same. No girls. No self-image discrepancies.
Worst of all, no Amelia.
I learned last night that on my second attempt two weekends ago I was brought to my parents house. My friend didn't know what else to do but she assumed my parents would want to know at least. Nope.
Wrong. There I was, completely unconscious in her car and all they had to say was that, "I wasn't supposed to be there," and, "There's a no contact order."
That solves the mystery of how I moved from the downtown area to a hospital in West Des Moines. Here's a tip to everyone who is thinking of becoming a parent: future reference, don't disown your children or cut them out of your life or write them off, or even treat them, like an expense. I've been depressed my whole life but the fact remains I never put forth so much effort into killing myself until my parents cut me out.
"If your own parent's didn't want you, why would I want you?" This was said to me by Adam as a joke before I tried the first time in Easter. No matter how much I've hated my parents it still stung like salt in an open wound.
I still remember calling them from my jail cell the night I was arrested.
I'll never forget how calm they were when they told me they wouldn't help me get out, that I was on my own, and that they wanted me to stop calling.
I kept calling until they finally gave me other phone numbers. After that I never heard from them, except for my dad texting me to say that he was sick of getting my mail or to come pick up my belongings.
The only other time I saw him was when he came to the mall to remove my phone number from his bill so I could have access to my phone number after my phone had been broken. I yelled, "I love you!" at him as he left, half joking.
He never said anything back.
I sat outside of the restaurant waiting for an interview, worrying whether my friends would take me to their church group or not. My mind wandered back to therapy.
"A time you didn't feel important."
"A time you didn't feel good enough, or bad."
"A time you felt spiritual or religious."
Right now I feel all three. I wanted to go back to my therapist and talk about the present moment, but she also mentioned we needed to talk more about traumatic experiences from my past rather than the present.
I agreed, because I'm supposed to be finding another therapist to talk about the present with.
Stefany told me she doesn't want me being alone with Amelia until I have proof that I'm being treated for my depression.
The problem is going to be finding somewhere that would work around my schedule.
I really, really miss my daughter.
I want to pray. I want to 'let go and let God'. I want God to take all my worries and insecurities and make me feel safe. I want to read the bible.
I want to not feel so cold. They always say God is with you but you definitely can’t hug him or let him keep you warm.
Want, want, want. It's no wonder I feel so empty. I feel frozen in time, space, heart, and soul.
The world around me moves painstakingly slow.
“Please, Dear God, make this all stop,” I actually managed to mistakenly say it out loud, alone, by myself.
I hope He can hear me.
Next>>>
I want to not feel so cold. They always say God is with you but you definitely can’t hug him or let him keep you warm.
Want, want, want. It's no wonder I feel so empty. I feel frozen in time, space, heart, and soul.
The world around me moves painstakingly slow.
“Please, Dear God, make this all stop,” I actually managed to mistakenly say it out loud, alone, by myself.
I hope He can hear me.
Next>>>
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