I have no bed sheets on my mattress. Clean and dirty clothes are scattered throughout my bedroom. It feels like I haven’t slept in days. After ten minutes of cleaning, I had to stop. The mental exhaustion was setting in. It was 9:50AM when I finished the three fingers of pinot Grigio. Not even a cigarette helped to soothe me. Even the thought of taking a shower makes my body ache. The numbness is becoming all consuming. I feel like a scared, lonely child, sinking deeper into the darkness. All I want to do a sleep, but that’s only a quick fix. Now I just want to leave my house and disappear with nothing but the tank top on my back. This is my depression talking, it’s on full display. It thrives in turning me into this weak, little bitch, wallowing in random sorrow. I’ll fight it again, but for now I’ll take the L. I need to sleep. Even if it’s for an hour. I need some kind of relief.
The blue skies abruptly changed to a sorrowful gray, mirroring the darkness that’s consuming me in this moment*. I’m fighting back the hot tears that are determined to escape me; I don’t want to show weakness in front of strangers on this train. Bad enough I can’t stand when eyes are on me at any time, if I start the waterworks there will definitely be some concerned glances or people who just want to pry to see what’s making me upset.
It’s frustrating because I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Life isn’t perfect and can be problematic at times,
but it isn’t as awful as it could be. There have been incidents in my life that have been awful and I’m not experiencing those things now. That is something I should be thankful for, always. In my logical thoughts I know it’s only the stress and the depression that’s making things appear to be darker in my world, it’s just so hard to ignore such a dark cloud hovering above that doesn’t seem to be passing by anytime soon.
I’m not sure what else to say in this post. All I want to put out there are these feelings that come and go. I have my good days/weeks and my bad. My depression comes and goes whenever it wants. I truthfully don’t see a permanent fix, but there are ways to manage it. I just wish I could better manage it when it hits me out of no where. Depression is serious and unpredictable. It doesn’t matter where you are, what you’re doing or who you’re with. It creeps up when it wants.
* This happened at the end of the week last week. I’m just now finding the time to post it.
I have a feeling I found something that will help me so much with my writing process. You have no idea how excited I am in this moment. It feels like Christmas morning! How have I not heard about this before?! Thank you, Marcia!
We’ve talked about this in the past, but as I avail myself of the process more and more, I now wonder how I wrote anything without stopping to hear my words now and then. At the very least, how did I dare submit my revised document to an editor, never having done so? And yet it’s SO easy.
Like many of you, I have a regular writing routine, even though it got a bit lost in the post-hurricane shuffle. I’m getting back to it again. I write every morning, immediately after taking care of any emails that won’t wait. I always plan to write at least two or three hours, but more often end up writing for longer periods of time. (Thank you, Fitbit, for reminding me to get up every hour and walk for a few minutes.)
We were both fairly buzzed as we lied in bed with our legs intertwined beneath the covers. We held hands and talked for a while, simply being happy, laughing and present with one another. Somehow we reached the topic of former lovers and past relationships. Paddy named off some of the females he was with, where it went wrong and he never shied away from his own mistakes that caused issues. (Another reason why I love that dork. He doesn’t make himself look like some perfect person. He knows he’s flawed and doesn’t hide it.) Some stories that were being shared were either hilarious or completely mind fucked me because I wasn’t expecting to hear how some situations unfolded.
(I wish I could share them here, but I didn’t ask him if I could discuss the encounters and/or horror stories on my site. I’ll ask him later and, if given permission, post the stories on a future post.)
That being said, after our discussion, I began to think of something and I would like some opinions. Because we were both buzzed, him more so than me, should I have stopped him from telling me such personal stories? It may not be a big deal to some, but what if there was a reason why those stories weren’t shared when he was completely sober? I may be overthinking it too much because overthinking/analyzing is what I do regularly, but I’m genuinely curious to know what others would have done or not done.
This morning I stared at my cigarette in disgust. I could already smell the scent that was going to be stained on my fingers. Barely half of it was gone before I tossed it away. I stopped to ask myself why I was smoking, again. I guess my brain just wanted to play stupid.
It was around thirteen that I had my first cigarette. It was gross, yet still I continued. After finishing the first one I had no intention of doing it again. Then a few weeks passed. It was a rough week and when I smoked that gross chemical stick I noticed that it had made me feel better.
I smoked on and off throughout high school and college. I would stop for a few years in between because it gets expensive and the smell becomes a problem.
Lately things have been rough again and I found myself back at it. Buying packs and feeling like a fiend for another. People say, “go workout” or “find something else to do”. I have, and yet it still doesn’t feel like it helps that much.
Now it’s not just something to do when things are rough, it’s also a fucking addiction. I find myself smoking when I don’t even want one.
Truthfully, I have no idea on how I should end this post. All I want to say is that I feel like such an asshole for even picking the habit back up and now I’m kicking myself because I regret it. I’ll stop again, eventually. But how long until I go back? A year? Three? Five? Fuck.
After everything that happened with Ruby, and the dark path that she influenced him to go on, Sam was glad he was able to achieve some sort of redemption. Years had passed and he was finally beginning to feel semi-normal again. He knew, and came to accept, society’s version of normal would never be something that would pertain to him, but he finally reached a point where he was nearing his normal.
The path to redemption was not easy for the hunter, especially when it came to his brother, Dean. After everything with Ruby and the demon blood, his relationship with his brother was strained. It took a lot of time and trust building to get to a good place. There were times when Dean would piss Sam off like never before and make him inch on the border of hating his brother, but in the end they always came through for each other. He was thankful that despite the corrupt path he had taken, the person who mattered most was by his side again and they were doing what they did best.
Dean pulled the impala up to a large mansion in a suburb of Detroit. They caught wind of a case as they were driving through. It seemed like people were being possessed and not remembering the crimes they were committing. Those that were affected reported black smoke and that being the last thing they recall before ‘waking up’ to whatever it was they had done. The brothers decided to check out the mansion, which is where the last reported case was. Once they parked and geared up, they entered the house to see if they could find anything that wasn’t in the police reports.
“Alright, Sammy. Let’s split up. We got ‘lota ground to cover.”
Sam nodded before making his way up the half spiral staircase, while Dean headed into the main living room. Things were quiet, almost too quiet, as the younger Winchester walked down the hall and into a massive bedroom. Sam came to a brief pause when we caught a whiff of a scent he knew all too well.
“Sulfer…” Sam muttered quietly to himself.
Suddenly he felt himself being thrown up against the wall, a strong arm pinning against his chest and black eyes staring him down.
“We were wondering when you wonder twins were gonna poke your heads in here.” the demon declared with a smug grin.
Due to the impact, Sam dropped his gun and was winded for a moment, but he forced a smug grin of his own. “Well, here we are.” He suddenly waved his flask of holy water, causing it to sizzle and smoke against the demon’s skin.
There were three more of them that came from the next room, rushing at Sam. He was able to put the holy water to use and got some good hits in, but they over powered him and Dean was the one with Ruby’s knife. Things would have gone such a different way if Sam still had his abilities like he did when he was consuming demon blood.
They beat Sam down to the ground and didn’t hold back. This was not the way he wanted things to end for him, but at this point, it was looking like it. In the midst of all this, he was hoping that his brother was okay and wasn’t going to experience the same fate.
Suddenly the demons stopped and Sam could hear one of them shout out, “What the hell are you doing here?!”
He didn’t bother to focus on what they were referring to just yet. Sam took the opportunity to scramble over toward his gun that remained on the floor. When his gun was in hand, he sat and leaned up against the wall. With his weapon pointed, and his other hand protecting his potentially broken ribs, he felt his heart sink into his gut.
All the demons were down, all except one…
“You.” The sudden look of shock was quickly replaced with disgust.
(Maybe I’ll make this into a thing, I don’t know yet. This was a starter for a roleplay I was doing a few months back.)
My boyfriend Paddy* and I have been complaining for a while about how we want to drop some pounds. We’re both overweight, me more than him, and we’re sick of living unhealthily. I’ve been doing what I can to be better, but if I’m being honest with myself I haven’t been putting in 100 percent. After some serious discussions, we have finally decided to put our words into action, together. To make it more of a fun experience and an interesting way to adopt healthier habits, and help make them stick, we opted to have a wager.
After three months, the one who is closest to their personal goals first wins a cash prize and gets to choose the destination of our vacation. We still have to do our ‘before’ photos, take our measurements, have a weigh-in, then write out our goals. Once that’s all situated its game on.
All of my life I’ve been overweight. Sure I’ve had my moments where I would lose a significant amount of weight, but before I knew it the weight would pile back on. I was doing the work, yet I wasn’t being consistent with living a healthier lifestyle. I was only treating it as a temporary thing.
“I’ll do what I have to do now and eventually be able to incorporate x,y,z back into my diet.” Yes, I know, mistakes were made…
Sometimes people can incorporate things back into their lives and have the ability to control it. Due to having depression and anxiety, I am an emotional eater. I’m just someone that cannot incorporate junk back into my diet. It’s like an addiction, but with food. I need to keep the crap away.
I just love the fact I can do this lifestyle overhaul with my boyfriend and feel like I can stay consistent this time around. When we put our minds to something, we push each other to keep going. Living a healthier life is not only something we want, but something we need. It’s nice to have that non-judgmental support beside you blended with some playful competition. It feels so cliché to say, but he really is one of my best friends. I’m glad this is something else we can do to have fun together while improving ourselves in the process.
Side note: Making this post is something that will help us both remain accountable. If I don’t post an update about this in a while, someone please give me a swift kick to the butt to remind me to update you guys haha
* Paddy is not his actual name, it’s a nickname. He’s a fairly private guy, so I’m not going to put his name out there unless he wants me to.