Medicated Zombie

Some days I find myself spacing out a lot, or not laughing at things that I usually find funny. People often ask me if I’m okay, and I don’t know what to say to them. I walk around without a smile on my face, but I feel fine inside.

These are the moments that make me feel like a medicated zombie.

It’s true, I don’t have suicidal thoughts anymore. Gone are the gloomy days and the painful nights I’d grown accustomed to. Gone is the need to use coping skill after coping skill just to stay afloat. I no longer feel everything on the spectrum, from manically happy to extremely depressed.

I’m really thankful for that, but the drawback is that those emotions have been replaced with a dull lingering boredom.

I feel colorblind.

I feel like everyone else can see the reds and blues and yellows and greens of the world and all I see is gray.


I miss the colors. I wonder if I’m missing out on those beautiful magentas and marigolds.

Even if I have to see the dark colors sometimes, isn’t it worth it to get to see the bright ones?

I feel like part of my brain has access to all of those things, but the other part refuses to react. That’s what the medication does to me.

Part of me wants to laugh or cry, but a much stronger part refuses to. Part of me wants to explode, but I don’t have the will to do it anymore.

I do, however, have the will to get things done and be responsible.

It’s so boring.

At least the Jess I was before medication had a personality.

I feel like mine is completely gone. Like I’ve lost my originality. My creativity. Like I’ve been stripped of everything that made me, me.

It seems devastating, but to tell you the truth, all I’m feeling about it right now is indifference. That’s how I feel about most things lately.

So where do I go from here? I’m not sure, honestly.

I could keep living my medicated life without fear of losing my job, losing my friends, hurting my husband, feeling so low that I can’t function.

Or I could go back to all of that and feel like myself again.

Is Bipolar who I am though? Or is that a lie that it’s telling me to lure me back into its arms?

All I know is that I don’t have to have all the answers today. Today I can relax and let go of my worries. I’m off from work for the rest of the evening and I plan on spending some quality time with my wonderful husband.



I’m Scared.

Here’s the thing… I don’t think anyone ever really knows how they’ll react to any given situation. It isn’t until the moment you experience it that you find out. And even then the reaction is fleeting, because it adapts to new situations as they happen.

116 days ago when I boarded a Megabus back to Chicago, I could hear Austin, Texas calling my name. Shouting it, even. As my bus left the outskirts of the city, could not bear having to be apart from it for any amount of time. This would be my home. This would be my future. I was sure of it.

46 days ago, as I sat in a tiny cubicle making dreaded sales calls and realizing that I couldn’t possibly do this for the rest of my life, I wished deeply to be in the warm Austin sun. Hidden in my snack box under my cubicle was 46 post its, stuck to the side with a push pin, waiting for me to pull them off each day.

18 days ago, I started feeling panicked. Is this the right move? Am I batshit crazy for doing this? What am I supposed to do after the project? Will I let everyone down? Suddenly it all seemed so serious. It was real. It was scary.

Today marks 9 days until my move. 9. A chill ran down my spine just writing the previous sentence. Suddenly something that once felt like the answer to all of my “what ifs” feels ridiculous, stupid, and completely farfetched.

Suddenly I desperately want to hold onto anything comfortable, stable, and familiar to ease my anxiety.

Suddenly I am no match for my own plans.

Suddenly all of the inspirational quotes I’ve used to soothe my anxiety feels like bullshit.

Suddenly I feel like that girl I used to be. The one who had no faith in herself. The one who drowned in her past traumas. The one who couldn’t even walk past her front door without depression setting in.

I am not depressed, but I’m scared. On the outside I am calm, collected, brave, ready.

On the inside I feel afraid. I feel weak, I feel alone.

I suppose anyone would feel this way right before a big life altering moment like moving.

A combination of my own personal anxiety and other people trying to scare me into playing it safe have settled in.

But damnit, I’m going.

Yes. I’m scared. And I have my reasons to be. But what is the alternative? Living a life that clearly wasn’t working for me? Staying in a pot that is too small for my roots? Being unhappy and unsatisfied?

I’ve been through a lot in my life, and I’m going to go through this. The good and bad, the amazing and tragic, the temporary and permanent.

I simply can’t sit here anymore. I’m doing this and that is that.

If It doesn’t work out, I know I always have a home. I just hope I never have to come back to it for that reason.

This isn’t meant to inspire, or make others question their decisions. It isn’t meant to spark doubt in my readers. It isn’t meant to uplift.

This post is for me and anyone else who has ever doubted themselves. It is meant to be real.

9 days.


Catching up on my promises: When depression gets the best of you.

I promised I’d post about a lot of things, but I’m wondering if it even matters?

I did slip up on my mental stability at one point, and it was very disheartening, but alcohol was involved and I hadn’t taken my medication in two or three days. What did I expect to happen?

I will say this… when your gut tells you not to do something, I truly believe that you should listen to it.

I think that in your heart of hearts you really know what’s best for you.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone out that night. I knew that for the first time in months I was going out to forget. Never do that.

“Why, Jess?”

Because the truth is you won’t forget.

If anything it’ll be all you can think about and you’ll be even more miserable. And decisions that you’d never make in a million years are decisions that you can’t help but make when you’re drunk.

I suppose everyone has to make mistakes, but this is definitely one that will never lead to any good. My advice is if you need to forget about something then take a day for yourself. It’s the absolute best thing to do. Take a bubble bath, cook yourself a lovely dinner, listen to music that sits well with your heart. all of these things are ten times better and more helpful than drinking your sorrows away.

I wonder why people drink to forget.

It’s an odd concept. Whenever I used to do it, the things I wanted to forget about most just became so much more clear to me and hurt so much more. Does drinking ever actually help anyone forget?

That night was only two days after my father went to prison. It was a really difficult night. I should not have gone out. My father’s fate was just setting in, and on top of that all of my roommates were gone and Khaleesi was a my mom’s. Theresa was on vacation and had left a number for another therapist that I had only met with once in case of an emergency. It just wasn’t the same. I was all alone. I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that my life as I knew it was changing. Everything was changing.

Everyone was changing. Including me.

I had no control over the things that were happening around me, but I could control my blood alcohol level. So that’s what I did.

I threw on some jean shorts and my favorite top and hopped on a bus, three whiskey shots in. Blasted Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now”, determined to be young, reckless, and hopefully in the arms of a one night stand later in the night.



Didn’t exactly go as planned. I got really drunk, ran into an old one night stand, decided to go for a second night because he lived close to me, (free cab ride home), decided to hit up a local bar with him even though I was already way past my 3 drinks in one sitting limit. I punched a guy in the face because as I was crying outside the bar with my friend/one night stand, this man decides to try to flirt with me. I almost got arrested for punching him in the face, but I put on the drunk charm and just barely got out of it.

My one night stand walked me home and asked me if I wanted to smoke weed, so I invited him up and grabbed the whiskey upon walking into my apartment. As he loaded up the bowl, I made my way to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find.

I unforgivingly gave my arms a few slices, too drunk to cut as deep as my inebriated heart desired, and cried my eyes out. My one-nighter walked in and told me he can see that I have depression and that he’s been through it. He proceeded to take me to my room. He tucked me in and I told him to leave. He didn’t want to (for obvious life-and-death reasons), and I ruthlessly slapped him in the face multiple times until he left.

drunk as all hell, I grabbed the knife again and mercilessly stabbed my walls repeatedly.

I awoke to the sight of a knife stuck to the wall right above my face.

And with that I sauntered out of my room and into the shower. I stood under the head and let the warm water fall over me, in a trance as last night washed off with every drop.

I finished bathing and wrapped myself up in a towel. I deliberately avoided any mirrors in fear of seeing the person I was last night. I began to feel normal again with every knot I combed out of my hair. The bristles from my hairbrush massaged my scalp, and it angered me that I was comforting myself with it. I felt like I didn’t deserve any self-compassion.

But I really, really did.

I was under so much pressure, and I had the legitimate belief that being stable meant this would never happen to me. So long as I stayed on my medication and went to therapy I’d never deal with depression again.


Now I realize that I deserve every bit of compassion, and if anyone was going to give it, it should be me. I’m the only person who really knows me. I’m the only one who truly knows what I had been through this year, this decade, since the day I was born.

Others remember when I was in the Lakeshore Psychiatric hospital, but I’m the only one who can close her eyes and remember the fear in my heart the night I was admitted. I remember walking about the first morning in scrubs, drugged out of my mind on klonopin that a nurse gave me because I was so anxious. I remember being on the third floor with the schizophrenic patients because they hadn’t found a doctor to evaluate me yet. I remember crying in Joseph’s arms and barely being able to find my words in a haze of medication. I remember the desperation shake within me when visiting hours were over and Joseph had to leave. I remember the fear and sadness in his eyes that can never and will never be erased from my mind.

I remember what it was like to pass out from the bottle of tylenol I took. Imagining I was seconds away from death. Seconds away from silence.

I remember what it was like being back in the hospital again. Alive. I remember crying in despair upon waking and finding that the silence was only temporary.

I remember the moment I couldn’t handle depression on my own anymore and I called Theresa with tears in my eyes to set up an appointment.

I remember how much it hurt to see Joseph walk out of my life. To feel the emptiness that I could never find the words to explain.

I remember taking Wellbutrin for the first time. I also remember the first time I felt normal-sad. I remember the first time I felt like a normal person. I remember how proud I was the day I started making plans for my future again.

I remember the day I began to feel like myself.

I always empathize with people and tell them that everyone makes mistakes. I comfort them and feel for them when they struggle. Why in the world don’t I show myself that much love?

No, sir. That’s just not right.

So I proceeded to do what I should’ve done the night before. I took a day for myself.

And on some level… I’m extremely grateful for that night. It showed me that therapy can never be perfected. Stability is nothing but a word no matter how hard you try to make it a 24/7 reality. I am human and I am prone to making mistakes. It’s in my nature to respond to tragedy any way I see fit.

So next time you make a mistake, please please please forgive yourself.

People judge others enough as it is. Stop judging yourself.

And I’ll leave you with that.

115 days. 5 hours, 5 minutes, 5 seconds.



I’m Ready to talk about my dad.


The day I graduated high school was a happy one. I was excited to move out of my house – it wasn’t exactly a happy home – and try to start anew. Though that day marked the start of my adulthood, it was also the day I gave up on my dreams of having a normal childhood.

Those years were behind me. There was no way to go back and do it over again. However, as we all know, just because our past wasn’t great doesn’t mean we can’t make our future better.

I was never going to be 5 again. I’d never be able to rewrite my past and erase all the physical abuse that my older brother faced at the hand of my father.


I was never going to be 8 again. Never going to be able to wish hard enough that my parents didn’t get divorced.

I’d never be 10 again. I’d never be able to go back and lock my door before my stepfather could abuse me for the first time.

I’d never be a child again. Those memories that haunt my dreams and make my spine tingle will always be entangled in my childhood.

If I could rewrite it, I’d make myself a happy little family. I’d write my dad as a brave, talented, and loving man. A man that would never strike a child. A man that would protect his children till the day he died. A man that would never leave.

My mom would be the woman I faintly remember somewhere between the ages of 4 and 6. The sweet, soft spoken, and caring ray of sunshine that used to be a mom. The one that put me in a frilly dress and lipstick almost every night and let me sing into a microphone while she filmed me on our little home video camera. The one that came to my elementary school play and beamed in the front row. The one that I solemnly watched as she gazed out the window with tears in her eyes as my father walked out the door for the fifth time.

That may have been the last time I ever felt bad for her.

If I could rewrite this whole life, I’d make sure that my parents never got divorced. If they hadn’t gotten divorced my mom wouldn’t have remarried what I can only describe as the devil dressed in an unflattering human costume.

I wouldn’t have been abused.

I would’ve had a father.


My brothers and I all faced years of abuse at some point or another. Sometimes I go back to that time and picture myself as a child. It’s like I’m watching myself.

And I can’t help but think, “Why won’t anyone help this little girl?”

“Why won’t someone help these children?”

On the day of my graduation my mother, brothers, and grandmother were present. My estranged father was not. I expected that, but it still hurt. He’d broken my heart so many times over the years that I had lost faith in him. No matter how many times he let me down it still hurt.

Now I can’t tell you if he had any intention on coming to my graduation, all I can say is that that night I got a call from one of his close friends. He had been arrested the day before and was still in jail waiting on bail.

He had been charged with sexual assault.

My dad was going to go to jail. I knew it. My mom knew it. The victim knew it. (As well as all the other silent victims out there that I don’t know about) And while I knew he deserved it, I can’t describe how much it tore me up inside.

Over the next four years he was in between jobs, in and out of court, and I was making peace with the fact that I knew he’d be convicted and sent to prison.

The day I got that phone call after graduation I cried for hours. I knew right then and there that my relationship with my father would never be what I wanted. These past four years he’s been a little bit more present in my life. I’d see him once every two months or so as opposed to once a year. I’d get monthly phone calls as opposed to one every half a year. It was nice, but it still didn’t feel like I wanted it to. I still don’t know him. I don’t know who he is. As a child I loved him with all my heart, and seeing him walk out that door time and time again until one day he didn’t come back changed my life forever. His absence changed so much around me. It changed so much that I had no control over as a child. Every time I see him I’m reminded of that.

Which brings me to the present.

My father has been convicted and will be serving six to fifteen years in prison for Sexual assault on a minor. Intake is on August 14th.  My father is a free man for exactly 9 more days.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s good that he’s going. He deserves it. I agree with you. He really does. But I can’t explain being in my shoes right now. He is a monster, a liar, a man incapable of loving anything or anyone but himself. But he is also my father.

As much as I want to pretend that I’m okay with this situation I’m really not.

Luckily I found out about the verdict three weeks into Wellbutrin. I was able to process the information and be rational. Yes, I did cry. But I didn’t have suicidal thoughts or blow things out of proportion.

I saw him for the last time on Sunday. My younger brother and I went to lunch and a movie with him. We didn’t talk about the obvious, and we didn’t cry. When he dropped me off and we all said goodbye, I hugged him a little longer than I usually would and I let him drive away. Every time he does it still burns on some level. This time I was so glad to have Wellbutrin on my side. I was able to go on about my day and avoid a meltdown. Part of me wants to cry out to him and take away the pain and anxiety he must feel over being convicted. Part of me wishes I could do or say something. It’s a small part. I’m not sure it’ll ever go away. It used to be bigger and it used to run my life when I was younger, but now it feels unfamiliar and uncalled for.

My father will not see me graduate from college.

My father will not walk me down the aisle.

My father will not share a dance with me.

My father will not be there for the birth of my first child.


My father never got to see me graduate from high school, or send me off on my first date, or hug me when I got my heart broken for the first time, or help balance the parenting dynamics. He did not dance with me at my quinceanera, my brother did. He did not give a heartfelt speech about how he’s so proud of the young woman I’ve become.

That’s why I don’t think prison is even the reason he’ll be missing out on the rest of my 20’s. He made it pretty clear that he doesn’t care about big moments in my life whether or not he’s behind bars. Now he just has a more concrete excuse to miss things. Just two months ago he missed my younger brother’s high school graduation. Free man or not, he’ll never be the person we want him to be.

Even if he got off early, it’ll never work.

He was a free man all of these years and though we saw each other more often during my college years it still didn’t feel like he was truly my dad.

And it never will.


Sometimes I watch my old family videos and reminisce. There’s one tape that has footage of me at a park with my family. I was three. I’m running up and down the play equipment and going down the slide with a smile on my face. My dad is filming me and laughing with me. He says, “Be careful baby!” And I- too focused on climbing back up to the slide – fall. We laugh and I get up and brush myself off.

But see, if my dad hadn’t been there I still would’ve gotten up and brushed myself off. It’s what I have done all my life without him.

I know I don’t need him now.

I know I got through his absence then, and that I’ll get through it now.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want things to be different.

I wanted to have a father. Every girl deserves one. I guess it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

But you better believe that I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that my kids have a damn good father. And if that doesn’t work out, then I know they’ll at least have a good mother, because I’m breaking that cycle. The physical, mental, sexual, and verbal abuse stops with me.





The Jessmeister

That’s me.

I’m just always growing and finding out more about myself.

Day 30 on wellbutrin. Never looking back.

I’m stable. I’m officially stable.

No suicidal thoughts since June 28th.

No meltdowns since July 6th.

Life is good.

On a side note I did meet someone. I’m excited to see where it leads. Could be nowhere, or it could be somewhere great.  Still nowhere near ready for anything serious, but as I’ve said before about my past dates, I believe in taking the leap and seeing what comes of it. More on him later.

Just a heads up, don’t expect Joseph’s name to come up much anymore. That chapter has been closed. Thank goodness.

As I’ve always said I wish him the best and forgive him for everything. I’m just done being sad over something that’s long gone.

Rational thinking rules.

I just re read all of my old posts. It’s pretty cool to be able to go back and reflect on how far I’ve come in such a short time.

Thank you, WordPress. You have given me more than I can ever explain.


Dat tiki, doe

I feel like myself now.


The way I feel on the inside is now how I look on the outside.

It all started when I decided to shave the right side of my head.

That first step made me feel more like me.

Then I finally got my septum pierced. Something I’ve wanted forever but was too afraid to get because other people said I shouldn’t. But that’s the thing about getting to a place where you don’t care what others think of you. You start doing the things you want and stop people pleasing.


Then a few days ago I finally colored my hair the way I wanted to. I got reddish blonde highlights.


The day I got my piercing I came across a karaoke bar. I- being the spontaneous person that I am decided to go in and rock the place. I sang three covers, made new friends, and even met a really cute guy. I had great conversations with the doorman and the bartender and they’ve all invited me to come back tonight to sing again. I have requests for duets and song requests for me to sing solo. I am over the moon. I’m too happy to even understand. Singing does something to me that I can’t describe.

This haircut, this piercing, those highlights, this voice…

These are all things that I was too afraid to do when I was with Joseph. Turns out I was too afraid to be myself. Now that I’ve made these changes I feel like me. The person I’ve always been. Now people can actually just see it on the outside.

It’s not just about the looks.

I was afraid to be spontaneous.

I was afraid to be creative.

I was afraid to be anything other than cookie cutter, because that’s what that relationship called for. And suddenly it all made sense.

Joseph and I didn’t work out, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t good enough or that his new girlfriend is better than me. It’s because I’m not meant for him. And he wasn’t meant for me. Just changing these things about myself made that crystal clear. I’m spontaneous, adventurous a party girl, a passionate person, a kinky woman, and a true performer. He is more color inside the lines, stay home on the weekends, plan everything meticulously, don’t take chances, never be in the spotlight kind of person. Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s just not what I want in a man. I was kept in a metaphorical cage all this time without realizing it. There were signs that I deliberately ignored. Now that I’m here, though, I’m so excited to keep learning about myself and loving myself for who I am. And someday someone else is going to love everything about me and wonder why anyone wouldn’t. 🙂

And my next guy is going to be a badass. Not because he’s “cool” or a “bad boy” or whatever. It’ll be because he gives me everything I need. I won’t be the only one trying in the relationship. I’m really excited!

But for now I’m going to enjoy my life. Enjoy going on impromptu trips to the bars, kissing random strangers, discovering who I am, getting closure, making memories with my friends, and having as many first dates as I want.

I will never settle again.

I’m too much of a catch for that.



Feeling better

I’ve realized that when I focus on things that I love, things that I used to love don’t really matter anymore.
I love singing and performing.


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I love being a server.


I love drinking wine with my roommate.

I love meeting cute strangers in bars. I love bar-tending.


I love my cat.


I love being silly.



I love editing.


I love DJ-ing and making mashups.


Listen to I Feel So Shady Mashup by DJ Shocknee

I love creating elaborate song covers with 3+ part harmonies and multiple instruments.

I love latin dancing.


I love my friends.

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I love my brothers.

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I love me.


These are the things I live for every day.

These things also remind me that I’m kind of a badass. I know how to do a lot of things, and I know how to do them well. Plus how lucky am I to love to do them?

Yes, there are moments where I feel really sad. The Wellbutrin keeps me from being overwhelmed, but riding the sadness like a functional person still isn’t fun.

I just have to shift my focus. Stop focusing on the minuscule bad things and start focusing on the inconceivable amount of good things.

Today is perfect for that. Why? Because I’m ready to let go of the past.

I may not have let go 100%, but I’m so close. And now I have hope. Hope that things will pass. My sadness is temporary. My contentment is the goal.

Anyone that doesn’t want to come along for the ride is irrelevant.

These are all things I know I believe in. Deep down I’m finding myself. Deep down I love myself. Sometimes a tiny bit of depressed Jess gets through, but healthy Jess is so much more dominant now.

You know who else joined the party? Mindful Jess. My irrational thoughts are attacked by my rational thoughts almost every time.

I see things in a clear and concise way. The Wellbutrin has cleared the fog that was depressive thoughts and symptoms.

Once again, thank you Wellbutrin.



Feeling a bit lower than usual…

Not scary low. Not even worrisome low. But inside I really don’t feel great.

Inside I’m in pain.

Something feels off.

I  know that I’m going to still have days that don’t feel great. I also know that I’ve come extremely far these past few months and that it can only get better if I keep doing the things I’m doing.

But tonight just feels really low.


When he doesn’t call…

When he doesn’t call…

Who cares?

As my best friend, Roxy says. “On to the next one.”

There are so many people out there, why do we always get so worked up over one?

My wish for us (not just women but anyone who falls for people easily) is that we save ourselves the grief of waiting around for someone who won’t even give you the time of day.

Roxy has many wonderful life lessons. I still don’t know how she is so wise at 22, but she’s like my single life guru. She’s been single by choice since the day I met her and she never accepts anything less than what she deserves.

Why do other people (including myself) always settle?

Why do we think that another person’s actions define us as people?

We have to stop thinking these irrational thoughts and get real.

He won’t call you? On to the next one.

He never responds? On to the next one.

He doesn’t appreciate anything you do? On to the next one.

He doesn’t put you first in any situation? On to the next one.

I could go on forever, but I think you get the point.

Don’t sweat guys that don’t sweat you.



New Chapter (Goodbye)

We collided

There’s no easy way to say it.

couldn’t survive it

But I’m happy I didn’t break you.

And if I did I hope she fixes you.

My wish for you is to mesh with someone

like we never could.

My blessing isn’t empty

and I don’t know if I should

it’s incredibly hard to give.

You were always my best friend.

But as they always do

things will work out in the end.

Still, what we had is not easily erased

All that time I thought I had been replaced.

But that wasn’t the case

And our love will always matter

So I finally decided that I can’t be mad at her.

You’ll always have a place in this recovering heart.

I remember all the good times in this time we’ve had apart

autumn days

rainy nights

a guitar and a mic

infinite moments

a beautiful life.

That life is over now

and it’s time to stay strong

let go of you

and try to move on

I’m going at it alone for now

because I feel I must

but sometimes it still hurts

that you let go of us.

Every day my goal gets nearer

I see the finish line is clearer

I’ll always remember the scar

above your left eye

and how you held me

when I used to cry.

And now it’s time

for this chapter to end

Goodbye my once loved, my beautiful friend.

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The Ledge

I got talked off the ledge today.
As has happened many times before.
Each time makes me feel more hopeless.
Each time I get off the ledge makes me feel stronger.

One day the pain will subside.
One day I’ll fall in love again.
One day I’ll have a family.
One day I’ll be happy.

But I can’t have any of that if I’m not here anymore.
Suicide isn’t the way to feel better. It’s the end.
You don’t feel anything.

People will miss you… but eventually they’ll move on with their lives.
You’re the only one who gets the short end of the stick.

There’s a huge part of me that wants to live,
but sometimes suicide feels like the only option.

If you don’t want to live for you… If you can’t live for anyone else.

Live for future you.

Give that person a chance to be happy. Give them a chance to be alive.

One day the ledge will disappear, and I won’t see it as a way out.
One day things will be different.
Curiosity keeps me alive.


Photo on 7-4-14 at 4.13 AM #2

“Not in this beautiful apartment.

Not in this beautiful city.

Not while people still love you.

Not while people are still hiring.

Not while you’ve still got so many people to meet.

Not in this life you’ve been given.

What’s one more day?”

Now I’m ready to start

I feel like myself today for whatever reason.

I’m really ready to start being me, being single, making memories with my best friends, and working hard to save up.

I just got some devastating family news and it’s rocked my world to say the least.
But if I get caught up in it then I’m headed for a bout of deep depression, so this is my way of saying, “You’re not going to get to me.”

Day 5 of Wellbutrin and I’m the most anxious I’ve ever been. It’s hard getting to sleep, and I don’t have much of an appetite. But It’s a small price to pay for what’s next.

I’m really ready to move on with my life. I think I actually have already. It feels good. What feels even better is that I haven’t needed a guy to do it. I didn’t need a boyfriend by my side to take care of me. I woke up every day alone and ready to face the world.

I can’t say how or when, but one day I just decided to stop dwelling on things that I can’t control, and start doing something about the things that I could. I realized there was nothing in my way except me. Everyone else had moved on, the abuse was over, the relationship ended, a new relationship blossomed, and I was still stuck in the past.

I’m happy to say that that’s not the case anymore.

I am Jessica and I approve this message.


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As of March 1st, 2014 at about 2am, I am a single woman. (I remember times and dates like no one else).

Two and a half years of my life were spent with the same person and then suddenly it was gone and I had to figure out a way to be myself again.

This post isn’t about him. Or the other young men I’ve been in relationships with. This is about my confusion with dating.

But of course, a little backstory doesn’t hurt.

I started dating when I was in the seventh grade. I had always been pretty boy crazy. I liked the idea of being in love with someone. Of course a seventh grader doesn’t really know how to love someone, and my first serious boyfriend didn’t come till I was fifteen. I wouldn’t actually be single again for five years.

I’ve had three big defining relationships in my life. The first when I was fifteen. The second when I was seventeen. The Third when I was eighteen going on nineteen.

The first was passionate, but short-lived. We lasted 8 months. But those eight months were a roller coaster ride of infatuation, desire, and drama.

The second was one-sided. I loved him and he used me. We lasted a little under two years. We lived together when I was eighteen and I worked full time and paid for everything. He promised we’d go to college together, and when the time came, he backed out. So I stopped being a doormat and got the hell out of there.

The third is the most difficult and bittersweet, perhaps because it’s the most recent one, or maybe because we filled our heads with ideas of marriage, family, and future endeavors together. We met freshman year of college and within two months we were an item. Now, here I am about to begin my senior year and I’ve never wanted to be single more.

I may elaborate on past relationships at a later time.

“I would rather be alone than pretend I feel alright.” -Ready to start by Arcade Fire

I feel like that’s me right now. I’m still not completely alright. It still hurts some days. But I know in my heart that I’m done. I’m “ready to start”. I’m ready to move on to the next chapter in my life. Being single and finding happiness within myself. I haven’t been single for more than five months since I was fifteen. It’s about time I get real. I need to be happy with myself before I’m happy with anyone else.

But dating…

Dating sounds fun. Having someone to casually see here and there. Someone that you don’t need but want around every once in a while. I just don’t really know where the line is. I don’t know how to date. Like I said… being single is very new to me.

Someone suggested Okcupid. I was on it all but one month and then asked myself “What am I doing?”

I’m not an online dater. That’s just not me. I like the idea of meeting a cute stranger on the train, or on a walk, or at a bar. That’s just who I am.

Okcupid, Stop trying to make dating happen. It’s not going to happen.

At least not your way.

After my break up I rushed into dating quickly to lick my wounds. Didn’t work. The first guy I dated, Ben, was a pretty great distraction. He was punny (puns always get to me), handsome, and didn’t mind paying for things. He liked that most of the time I had the decency to pay for myself, though. I don’t believe in the woman just not paying ever. We spent most days talking, laughing, watching movies, and moving way too quickly. I met his friends, went out with them on weekends, we told each other that there were feelings there. At one point he even asked that I don’t see anyone else. After about a month things fizzled out because neither of us were ready for anything more, and it seemed to be headed in that direction. Plus, I was nowhere near over my ex.

The most important thing about Ben, though, is that he’s a grad student at a psych school, so he was there to help me on some nights that I couldn’t handle my depression. He’s the one that pushed me to go to therapy and see a psychiatrist about medication. I’ll always be grateful to him for that. We are still friends, and speak every once in a while, but if things kept going the way they were, we might have gotten into a relationship and ended badly.

No thank you.

After Ben I tried just hooking up with people. I thought to myself, “Is that what single people do?” But I still wasn’t ready. And I still don’t think I am. It’s just not me. I always feel the need to genuinely care about someone I’m seeing in any form of the word. So I gave up on that as well. It has now been about two months since then, and I think now, if anything, I’m ready to try casual dating again. I’m not going to push for it, I’m just going to let it happen.

Sometimes being alone makes me feel lonely. But I find solace in the fact that I’m choosing to be single. I’m not a desperate teenager latching onto the first guy that shows interest in me. Overlooking all the flaws between us and in the relationship just to try to keep it afloat. I’m going to be picky now. I’m not settling in any way.

One of the last things my ex said to me was this:

“You’re just not the one. You’re an amazing woman, but not for me. I just know there is someone out there for you, and I hope you don’t close your heart and pass him up because of me. Open up your heart.”

Nice words, but they burned. I remember for a long time I just kept saying it in my head.

Not the one.

Not the one. Not the one. Not the one. Not the one. Not the one. Not the one. Not the one.

It was only when I decided he also wasn’t the one for me that I was free. I am choosing to close that door. I’m choosing to accept someone else’s presence in my life. Maybe not a one night stand, or a friend with benefits. Definitely not a boyfriend. But someone in between. Someone who I enjoy spending time with. Someone who cares and actually likes me, but knows where we stand.

There may actually be someone that fits that description in my life right now. I’ll let you know how it goes!

Sometimes I wish I could be Khaleesi. Being a cat sounds a lot easier than being a twenty-one year old single chick.


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This moment is perfect

Some days are more difficult than others. I think we’ve all learned that.

It’s a little bit trickier with depression, mostly because it’s more difficult to be anything but depressed on the sad days.

Today is not great for me.

But last night reminded me that I still know how to have fun. I still know how to distract myself.

Last night my friends and I had a chill get together. We drank rum, talked, listened to music, played a few games. As the night went on, I was finding myself being sad all over again. Sad over the same things that I swore didn’t hurt anymore. That’s depression for you.

It got worse with every hour. Luckily, my best friend from home was visiting and he’s also dealing with similar things.

By 1 am I was trashing my room and cursing everything.

And of course, crying like a child.

After a little talk and a long hug, we went back out to the living room and my friend Woody asked what I wanted to do at that very moment.

And I so prudently stated “I want to smash bottles outside.”



10 minutes later we were out on the street with a bag full of empties. We smashed them on the floor, against brick walls, and then in a deliberate manner, I smashed a bottle right in the middle of Ashland street.

I’ve never really been a rebel in the sense of breaking the law, but last night I just wanted to distract myself. I wanted to stop hurting. And I wanted to have a good time with my friends who were more than willing to participate in our little misdemeanor adventure.

We broke into a construction site and ran around. After Woody and Ray hopped a fence to get out, I almost hopped the fence, but then fell instead. Classic Jess.

Then we did the one thing I said I’d never do. Not because it’s against the law, but because it’s freakin’ creepy.

We broke into a cemetery.

I never thought I’d say this but… It was awesome.

We played this game where “the Russians” were attacking us from the north end of the perimeter and we used the gravestones as bases and even did a few cool running summersault things like they do in spy movies. We called each other Lieutenants and addressed each other by last name. We made different plans of action. and ran southeast to the whole other end of the cemetery.

The only real world thought in my mind was that if everything in my past hadn’t happened exaclty how it did, I’d never have this very moment. This perfect and “infinite” moment in time.

And for the first time in my life, I was genuinely grateful for who I am and what I’ve been through.

So yes, it’s true that at times I feel like I’m on top of the world, and then an hour later I’m the scum of the earth. But this has taught me that even when I’m having a low day, I’m strong. I’m incredibly strong. And you are too. If you’re living right now, you’re strong. I know from experience that if a person with chronic depression is still alive at the end of the day, then they worked their ass off to make sure of that. Whoever you are, I just want to tell you that I am proud of you.

We hopped the fence and walked the block and a half back home. I did cartwheels at all the green lights and roundhouses in each patch of grass. And then when I got home I got in the shower and almost instantly started crying and broke down again.

That is just how it works sometimes.

But it’s okay. I truly believe that I’ve accepted the fact that sometimes my life is going to be like that.

I will never forget last night.


Do I?

Do I bum you out?

Does every word that come out of my mouth make you worry?

Did it feel any different when I said them six months ago?

Do I scare you?

Do I deserve to be here?

Do I want to be here?

At the end of the day, is my life worth all of the pain and suffering?

Do I sound crazy?

Do I?

I might.

I might even be crazy to think I fit into this perfect little puzzle.

I’m not like everyone else.

I’m not meant to be like everyone else.

Maybe I’m meant to die young.

Maybe that’s all this was for.

Or maybe I’ll do something great.

Something so great i’ll be remembered for it forever.

But tonight I’m just a sick little existential flea.

Tonight I’m just me.

Just Jess.

And I may be really messed up.

And I may use “and” at the beginning of every other sentence.

And I may eat my cup o’ noodles like a freak.

And I may be extremely depressed.

And I may have lived through a shithole of a childhood.

And I may never know what it’s like to be normal.

And I may only be good at lots of things, but never great at one thing.

But that’s me.

That’s Jess.

And I accept that this is who I am right now.

I accept that a thousand different decisions and mistakes and accomplishments and sacrifices and memories made me this way.

Do you?