Masked Lover

Do you have that one person you text or want to text when things get bad? 

Maybe they have been part of the bad in life but they’re the only one who understands. 

I do. I swear I’ll never talk to them again and then something will remind me of them and I feel the need to say something. It’s someone I need to cut from my life but they’re apart of the live I used to have… the part of my life where I was carefree and lived each day without anxiety or stress. 

They helped me find a part of me I didn’t know about. They showed me what love is. 

Maybe next time I’ll quit messaging this person, but today I need them. I’m not sure in what way I need them but something inside of me I yelling at me to talk to them. 

Will they message me back or ignore me like I’ve done to them in the past?

Will I feel emotions I haven’t felt in two years?

Will you remember me? Will you remember what we had?

Will it help with healing or will it ruin the progress I’ve made? 

Will you sill be my dark angel? 

My masked lover.


Our Time

To You 

Wherever you are

I doubt You will ever find my blog

But if You do

Just know You’re on my mind 


Unsuccessful Therapy

I just finished up talking to my therapist which is something I look forward to because I get to actually talk to someone about my problems and they’re licensed to help me fix them. Unfortunately, today’s session had me more frustrated walking out of it than when I walked in. We didn’t cover much, if anything. It was kind of a check in of what we talked about last week. She did let me know that she was a little off today because she had a rough morning, which I don’t blame her for. She’s human too so it’s natural. I just wanted to get some stuff done. I’ve only recently started seeing her again, so I know that getting into the gist of things will take a while. I’m just bummed that it feels like we didn’t accomplish anything. 

Bullying and Social Anxiety

When I was in grade school I was bullied quite a bit. None of it was physical. They just made fun of me, asked me why I was talking to them or would get mad if I laughed at their jokes, and sometimes they would just flat out ignore me and pretend I wasn’t there. I’m not sure why the bullying started. I was a pretty child who was very kind to others. Maybe it was because I was too nice? Maybe it was because I was poor? I don’t remember having any real friends (at school) until the 6th grade. I remember I was hanging out with the popular girls once when I was in the 2nd grade and I thought they liked me, but when I look back at the memory and see them all laughing at me because there was no room for me on top of the monkey bars, I realized they were just using me. I was always alone and usually sat by myself at lunch. I just didn’t understand why they were doing that to me. I was being nice like my mom told me. And when my mom started getting abusive and neglecting me at home, things just got worse. Starting in the 6th grade, I had to wear clothes that were too small because my mom quit caring about getting me new clothes that fit. I probably didn’t smell great because I hadn’t quite understand how the washing machine worked and I knew that if I broke it that would be the end for me. I was never invited to go to birthdays until I was in the 7th grade. 

I remember there was one girl, Sammie, who didn’t like me at first. We had to work on a project together in the 5th grade but she didn’t even include me in it at all. She said she would just do it herself and turn it in for the both of us. Then in the 8th grade, we were forced to sit together in science even though I preferred to work alone at that point. We slowly started talking with one of us asking the other for help on a problem. Then one day, when we were doing a project where we looked into a microscope and identifying specimens, we began to talk. She realized that I wasn’t all that bad and she later became one of my closest friends. She stood up for me at times, asking them why they pick on me for no reason. She was great. 

Some of the people I thought were friends were just using me or making fun of me without me realizing it. 

I think that is the root of my social anxiety. If I start to talk to make a friend a little voice in the back of my head reminds me not to care for them because I’ll just get hurt anyways. Most of the time it’s right, but it’s kept me from becoming friends with a couple of great people. I’m always afraid someone is making fun of me behind my back or that I might do something wrong and they will do what the kids did to me in grade school. 

I stutter sometimes when I talk because I’m so nervous. Sometimes I can’t even think of the words I need to say something and I just stand there or say sorry and walk away. When I do talk to others, it makes me uncomfortable to make eye contact with them, even if I’m talking to my sister. 

I’m fine with it now. I’ve learned to cope with it. But it makes working an actual job very difficult. I’m already nervous when I speak to people I know, so when it comes to talking to complete strangers, I stutter a lot or jumble up my words to a point where I make no sense. 

So I don’t work.

(I might add more to this blog post later)

Even comments make me uncomfortable but for those reading this and relating, please let me know! Comment your story if you want. Sometimes I take a while to reply because I don’t know what to say but I’m glad my blog is being read and hopefully helping others. 


Today I had a moment where I felt the way I was in high school. I was happy and carefree with no stress to worry about. I think the closest thing to stress was either when our band was going to a contest or when my crush was near me. I didn’t have a worry in the world, and today I felt that. 

“What? How do you know a certain feeling?”

It was like a weight was lifted off of my chest and I was able to breathe again. I felt confident and happy. 

But it was only for a moment. It was saddening to feel that pressure come back but it also gives me hope that the old me is still in there. 

Tears of hope cloud my vision as I’m writing this post because hope is what keeps us going. 

Hope for a better life. Hope for a better job. Hope to find that one true love. Hope that things can change for the best (or is it better?).

Mental Health and Me

I personally suffer from severe depression and severe anxiety (mostly with socializing) and for the longest I just thought nobody could understand me. In high school, I had a few friends but I still felt like they didn’t understand what was going on in my head or the way I acted. I wore a mask of sorts in high school to hide who I really was. 

I’m extremely introverted so I would rather stay home and read a good book or play a game rather than go to parties. Honestly, I’m still that way.

I didn’t even find out about my depression and anxiety until I was 24. My whole life I thought something was wrong with me and that I was too different to just “fit in.” 

When I actually found out that there was a reason behind the way I acted, it was bittersweet. I was glad I finally knew what was going on but at the same time I felt like I was broken. 

In my family, when someone has a mental disorder like depression, they are shunned in a way. They see them as unstable and “sick in the head.” Growing up my mother had bipolar depression that she didn’t manage well at all so she is the original origin of the negative thoughts surrounding mental illness in my family. Because of that, my mom was never able to get help. She just saw herself as broken and unfixable. Family stopped visiting and reunions were magically canceled at the last minute. 

I don’t know if it was because nobody knew how to understand someone with mental health issues or if they were just stupid. 

When we actually went to reunions, they treated her like a child or a breakable glass figurine. They talked to her slow and always found a way to bring up her depression. She finally couldn’t take it anymore and she just locked herself in her room for days on end. Our family treating her like that broke her spirit in a way. Then things got bad. She thought we (my sister and I) were against her like the rest of the family and she took her anger out toward them on us. I won’t go into specifics in this post. That’s a story for another day. 

The last day my mother told me she loved me was when I was 9 years old. 

Things got so bad, the only meals I had were at school or neighbors houses (during the summer) and eventually the school got involved. 

On January 17, 2006 around 4pm, my sister and I were taken from our house and put into the foster care system. Eventually, my maternal grandparents took us in and my aunt became my main caregiver. I was finally free to be a kid, but the damage had been done. 

My point behind this post is not to make you feel sorry for me or anyone with mental illness. It’s so people see that the way they treat those with mental illnesses makes a difference. By someone calling my mom sick all of the time she eventually began to believe she was sick. Depression makes us see the worst in everything (mostly ourselves and our life) and overthink everything. Don’t treat people with mental illnesses differently in any way. That’s how I want it. When I’m talking to others I want to feel “normal” for once.

I hate talking to my doctor about my mental illness. I feel ashamed and child-like. There are things I want to tell them but my anxiety says, “That’s so bizarre that they won’t even believe it.” There are things that nobody knows about me because I still wear the happy mask every day. I am a stay-at-home mom and the heartbeat of this household. Without me, things won’t get done. I can’t have a “sick day” every once in a while. I have to be on top of everything. And it exhausting. My only me time is at the end of the day when I go to bed and I’m able to listen to music and not be here for those few hours. 

Nobody knows how bad my anxiety and depression are. Nobody except those who read this and my other blog posts.