This is just strange. I can’t sleep nor think. And whatever thoughts I do have are about my book characters. Is this a way to help cope with the true emotions I have been trying to avoid?

I finally am going to see a therapist, in Oregon. But as I spoke during my assessment it brought to light things, I was trying so hard to avoid. I admitted to someone how deeply I was hurting inside. To put into words what I have been suppressing. I finally told someone that I was thinking of killing myself. No matter how hard I try to not speak or think those words, it is what I feel.

As the weather gets warmer, things that I have been trying to deal with have come to the forefront. I was briefly woken from my depressive sleep to realize what I have been doing. From avoiding people to disregarding my self-care. I could say all I want that I been doing my best, but I know I could do better.

Waking up and feeding myself isn’t enough. They just become white noise to my pain. I can’t focus on my passions without hardship. The minor highs only last for so long. I have managed to write a chapter for the 3^rd book in my series. I was able to write more fan-fictions and even drew the way I always wanted. But at last, the manic episode as aside itself, and I am left wondering what to do.

How long will this period of awake will last? I am writing this while I still have the chance. There are so many things that are on my mind. Such as why am I thinking so hard over my fictional male gay couple to the point I feel as if I am them? Or the fact that I can not think of anything else besides pain?

Recently I went on a stroll with the couple I live with, and they had commented about my heavy breathing. Even jokily conversing about types of exercise they might have me try. At the moment I had tried to not let it show that it upset me. But deep down it felt like a sharp pain in my chest. And as I write this I feel as if I’m back with my family while constantly being shamed at every turn. I already know I suffer from weight problems; both losing and gaining. So, to hear a new group of people make such remarks sends me back to questioning if healing was a good idea.

I know of the things I must do to get physically healthy. Along with the understanding concept of what it takes to get mentally well. Yet, it is hard to motivate myself to do so when being in an environment that makes me want to just run away. These people are so good to me and give me the space to start my healing journey, but they also make it hard. I should try better to communicate these types of things with them, but I simply can’t. It might not seem like it as I write this but I struggle immensely with speaking to people.

Not just because of my suspected neurodivergence (undiagnosed autism), but also due to the constant abuse that forced me to develop to shut down. In a sense, my brain has come to link certain phasis and behaviors of things I need to avoid. The fact I will be trying harder to openly speak with my new therapist is a huge step for me. Since I am no longer in New York, the risk of my family ever learning what goes on in therapy becomes zero.

Since childhood, I have witnessed my therapist speaking, in my face, to my parents about what happened during our sessions. Even as I grew and saw therapy into my teen years, and being an “adult,” my therapist still made comments to my family members. It does not help to be in the system for so long that I know how to answer a therapist to avoid truly being myself. At that, it was how I was able to get medication for my plan to commit suicide in 2018. And to be fair, I’m currently trying to fight the urge to overdose on over-the-counter pain killers. It not like anyone would even notice if I did.

I get quite upset with my friend whenever she comes over to speak with her mother. One would say it was jealousy, and I would agree. I am jealous of how a mother genuinely gives her daughter emotional support without it being conditional. I am jealous that I have no one to trust to be there when I am emotionally done and would like some support. You would think I can easily do so with these people but it feels so awkward and forced.

Back in New York, it was like nobody ever wanted me. Everyone made it seem like I was infected with something. Nobody wanted to hug me. Siblings told their kids to not touch anything I had my hands on. All I ever felt around them was as if I was dirty and worthless.

I have been made to believe I don’t deserve a hug. Or to be held. Or to be randomly told I was love, without it being followed with being made to feel like an absolute burden. And now, in a new state and new home, I feel like I still am not enough. In my small moment of waking up, I see that I am doing it again. I am trying so hard to get these people to like me. Or to at least show I have some value.

I have signed up for streaming services to give them something to watch. I can’t sit still long enough to get through watching anything. I can’t even focus enough. The times I do sit and watch are so far in between that it’s laughable. Not to mention, I have associated watching anything I have to be accompanied by someone.

I know and understand that I need to learn to do things on my own. It’s just hard to do so when I’m constantly surrounded. And when I do have the moment to appreciate my own company it’s either at night, when people are asleep. Or when I am asleep. This place has many things that get me worked up and I am trying to handle this along with trying to find some comfort in myself. Things I wish I can do and be is currently on hold.

All I want to do is just cry. There’s no helping it. Maybe if I woke stuff that’s more about myself and the things I am, maybe it’ll help. The same goes for my art.