Tuesday, May 26, 2015


It's one of those days where the thoughts of everything I have to go through for the next 12 months are bothering me. I don't know how I'm gonna make it, honestly. It's a fucking miracle that I've made it this far.

My mental health isn't getting any better. The good days were enough to trick me into thinking so, but y'know what? I was wrong. I'm not getting better. And that's really scary for me, because I know how far I'm capable of going when I relapse. Sometimes there's no coming back from that place.

I'm sitting here on Twitter while I write this blog post, trying to find someone to interact with and distract myself. I'm trying to think of funny jokes I could make. Maybe throw in some TWSS jokes somewhere. Get someone to talk to me so I can stop dwelling on all the bullshit in my life right now.

I'm hurting and I'm scared.

Monday, May 25, 2015

This is Where I'm Honest

What better way to start off a blog post than with a lame, awkward introduction? Cause lame and awkward is what I do!

Hi, world. I'm Kelley. I'm a 17 year old with depression and anxiety. I've wanted to kill myself before, and I can't tell you how often I've wanted to hurt myself. I'm your stereotypical loner girl who doesn't really have any close friends, except those she's met over the internet.

I've tried writing this blog post more times than I can count. There's drafts of this on my Drive, uncompleted and shared only with my partner. Most of it starts now nice and concise, like this blog post has so far, then dissolves into a rambly, emotional mess. I never have the energy to finish them, much less clean them up and make them less...broken. I write the way I think. To try and edit that into a concise form removes the meaning of my words. Sterilizes them.

It's 1 in the morning and I don't even know if what I've written so far makes any sense. I've been talking on Twitter tonight to some lovely ladies about depression and anxiety. It's a conversation that, while relieving to finally have so openly, has left me a little frustrated. Because the stuff I tweeted about in that conversation is stuff I've been trying to put into a blog post for ages. Or, at least, convey to my mother face-to-face. That never happens, obviously. She still doesn't know why I'm so depressed and anxious sometimes.

And honestly, I don't even know why a lot of the time. I have no explanation for the gray clouds and the odd, awkward bouts of omg too much energy got to do something why won't everyone leave me alone why can't I do anything. It's a fucking roller coaster. I can go from wanting to cut myself and die in a hole to I have to do all the things otherwise I'm a shitty human being.

It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes any fucking sense anymore. Not the paranoia, the depression, the anxiety, the strange tendencies that I think are obsessive-compulsive disorder. It's scary to have none of it make sense, because if it doesn't make sense, how do I fix it? Is there any fixing it? Or do I just have to deal with this for the rest of my life and just cope to the best of my abilities?

I don't know what to do.