beautifully unbalanced.

Or maybe innapropriately crazy. Or downright absurd. I don't know. My life, though, as I've come to accept that I'll never accept - is sort of a wreck sometimes. As I come to terms with the "highly moderate to severe depression" (as my doctor calls it) and figure out what my medicine means for me, I still suffer bouts of horrendous saddness, where I think I'm going to die. Many situations and circumstances will bring this on. Most of them are arbitary or obscure and make no sense. Like television commericals, or finishing a book. Some are real. Like feeling insecure. Or unworthy. Or not close to God. Or thinking about my Dad. I want to take this chance to open up to anyone who reads this thing (anyone?) a look into what depression is like. I want to be open about it. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

Here is something rare that I more than likely will never do again. These are journal entries.

December 6th
Why is it me who is sad? During Christmas time? Why aren't I laughing with my roommates? Decorating the tree? Why am I empty? Lonely. Unlike anything else that exists on this planet?

I check the inside of my bible to see the words are still inside and that I am not in hell.

They are.

But I don't read them. Instead, I imagine what a relief it would feel to slice open m veins and watch the blood pour out. It is itching to come out, I am certain. It needs air.

Christmas time. While I hope every year it is the other way around, the lonely just feel more lonely. The lights are beautiful, the snow is magic. Yet, I still manage to be dying.

They don't understand. "Follow Him" they say. "Life is what you make it." "YOU choose to feel this way."

Oh, if it were only that simple.

Oh, if I could stich my life back together, transform the texture of my heart, and feel God again, I would. They don't understand.

So they keep their distance. Afraid of me. I could snap at any moment, right? Fuck. What do they think I'm going to do?

I just need to be held like any other child. Like any other little thing who has fallen down on the pavement is and is just certain they have ruined their whole life.

It feels like falling apart.

But don't take my word for it, I am dramatic. Delusional. Selfish.

I. JUST. DON'T. CARE.

Now, to be honest. I am a little embarassed by this. But it was SO real. It was the realest thing I have ever felt. I freak out like this, sometimes. I lose it. I get very, very sad. But there was some redemption. My roommate Katie prayed for me, and told me she had a feeling I'd feel better soon. And she was right.

December 7th
Things get better. (A letter to me.)

Remember the night after the night you lost your shit. You ate starbursts and wrote a letter to Kate. You loved a Christmas tree and you are about to read the bible. You had genuine laughs at your lifegroup's Christmas party. You got a Rugrat's pillowcase. You did your homework. Please remember this. Remember that you don't want to kill your self and that you love your bed and your room is warm and that you are warm.