August 10, 2011


When Pandora opened the box and let all the evil and death out into the world, the only thing left in the box was hope.

I keep telling myself things will be better one day. It's so hard thinking things will get better through a haze of tears. Vision is blurry thoughts are clouded, and the amount of snot that you keep blowing into the tissue can be quite a distraction.

The first thought is lashing out at the ones close to you. Does it make you feel better, no but you want someone to join you in your misery. You don't want to be alone. Its human nature. Oh, the lashing out I could do. The secrets I keep, the things I know. I don't do it. I refrain, because I don't think that people should feel like this. There is no point making others feel like you do. So what do I do. I sit in my room crying alone. This isn't healthy either, but sometimes you don't know what else to do.

Sure you could talk to someone, it doesn't make the issue go away. I could go into therapy. Therapy is messed up. Here is my thing about therapy, it only deals with you. What you tell them, from your point of view which we have to admit right off the bat is pretty self centered. Our perceptions aren't always the correct one. Sure we can tell the therapist about people in our lives, but only as we perceive them. This is not always the clearest view of the issues at hand. Also the way a person perceives themselves is also not the clearest picture either, often skewed by our own thoughts about who we are.  Who we think we are, and how other people see us is often two very different things. Someone might see them selves as a very organized, detail oriented, clean person, who likes to be a part of things, others might see this person as an overbearing , controlling, obsessive compulsive clean freak, who has to have everything their way. So see reality is not always the way we see it. So no I don't like therapists. Therapist only get half the book and try and tell people what the end of the story should be without all the details. Psychologists on the other hand are trained to pick up on things, more so than a therapist, trained to pick up on words that someone might say when talking about their lives that can possibly give a clue as to whats really going on.

What have they done for me, told me I have GAD (generalized anxiety disorder), mild depression with severe episodes (considering the state I am in right now, ya think?), and possibly be rapid cycle bi polar.
End result, I need more therapy and drugs. I am scared of this. Why you may ask, because what if I am not me in the end. What if in the process of making me better they also take away who I am. On the other hand this me is often a nervous crying wreck in between my periods of what I can only describe as mania. So would change be that bad, do I really have anything to loose. Will this way of thinking change, as it often does. Its only when I am depressed that I want help, but by the time I get around to getting it, I feel better, and think I no longer need it.

So here I sit in my room wondering what my reality is,  I am sure others see my reality different from me. I guess in the end though we are stuck with it either way, and we can either deal with it or not, its the only one we have. This thought doesn't make me happy, but maybe I will get help, maybe one day I can see that there is Hope left in my box. 

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