Tuesday, 13 August 2013 18:18

"Sam, I don't know what to say"

Everyone would rather I keep my pain a secret; hold it inside of myself like some rotting fetus I'm supposed to push out and bury. They'd rather I forgot and smile and laugh and engage like nothing is happening inside of my brain, inside my soul.

People don't know what to say when they've never seen a hole as deep as mine. They don't know how to save me, or even know that they should.

 Then again, maybe I'm just being dramatic.

Published in Diary
Tuesday, 07 May 2013 00:27

Day One of the Forum

 

Day One of the Forum

 

My Background:

Episode 1: As a teenager I was a professional singer. I was raised to be a rock star, basically. I wasn't famous or anything but made pretty good money. My father was a brilliant guitarist who was in the band with me. I had the best music equipment and was able to work with brilliant musicians (all much older than me). After I graduated high school I went to Berklee College of Music in Boston. When I came home for my first summer break (Lincoln, NE) my father was arrested for embezzlement. It seems that's how he was funding my music career and college. The first panic attacked I had was in 1999, shortly before my 21st birthday. My father was just sentenced to prison I did not have the money to continue school in Boston. I was quite the pot head and suddenly I had panic attacks anytime I smoked. So I did the rational thing and quit smoking weed. It worked. No more panic attacks. I lived my life as normal, working, writing, hanging out with friends. When I was 24 I decided to go back to college for something entirely different. (Before it was music, now it was ancient literature and religion). One semester in my apartment burned down and I lost everything. I had a difficult time, but in general I was fine.

Published in Diary
Friday, 26 April 2013 17:22

Meds.

The medicine I'm taking right now is the worst of them all. I feel really bad, light headed and my hands are shaking constantly.

Socialising is even harder than before: I can't concentrate nor look a person in the eyes. I constantly feel the need to detach myself from everything.

All in all, I'm afraid that if I tell my therapist everything I'm going to be hospitalised again, which isn't an option because she said that next is going to be a sanatorium.

I am scared.

I wish I could just snap my fingers and disappear. 

Published in Diary
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