I am numb.

Standing in the rain, letting it fall on my face… cold.  The wind blows, whips my hair around.  I am alone.

Thunder is crashing around me… I’m half-wishing the lightning will hit me.

Maybe more than half-wishing.

Cold, shivering, shaking… but is it really from the cold?  I don’t know.

Every night is hard.  When will this end?  I don’t know what I want, what I need…  I keep trying, but sometimes I feel like I’m not getting anywhere.  For a while, I was making so much progress so fast… maybe it’s just leveling out to a more slow and steady pace.  But it is hard.

I wish it would hail.

I want to feel pain.  I want to feel something.  Let loose the tension inside me.

Maybe things will change.  I hope they get better soon.


I want to die.

I want to cut.

I want to purge every awful thing I’ve eaten.

I want to curl up in a corner and hide from the world.

I want to give up, I want to give in.

I want to just stop.

But I won’t.  I won’t kill myself, or cut, or purge, or hide, or give up, give in, or stop.

I will keep on.

Because I have to.  I have to keep trying.

For the hope that someday, things will be better.

I’m a sucker for those personality quizzes on facebook.  Well really, any personality quizzes.  But those are the most convenient to take.  Anyway, over the past couple years, I’ve noticed a change in my strengths.  I used to be mainly compliant and helpful and caring, the kind of person who’s known for her sweetness.  People were so proud of me because I was responsible… I was good at taking care of people, mainly kids.

But I always felt trapped when that was all that showed.  I felt like a part of me was being held back, like it wasn’t acceptable.  I guess I was afraid to show it because I was afraid I’d be rejected for it.  Of course it came out in some ways… but those were all the results of pushing it down, so they were in big bursts.  And usually the big bursts did get rejected.  I’d fight with my siblings a lot… I think most of the fighting in my family when I was young revolved around me and one of my older sisters, or me and one of my brothers.  I got mad when someone crossed me and what I believed I deserved.  Then I’d get in trouble and feel guilty for being so passionate… so I repressed that part of me even more.

But lately, that part of me has come out again.  I am a fighter.  I fight for myself, for what I believe I deserve.  I fight for what I know is right.  I fight for recovery.  Every day in my head is a series of intense battles, and I’m constantly fighting against the darkness on the other side.  It’s funny… it comes out in all the personality tests.  I used to get the helper role all the time… but now I always get the fighter.

See, I am quiet and sweet and kind and helpful.  I care deeply about people, and I love taking care of them.  But there’s more to me than that.  I am also a fighter, passionate and fierce.  I am stubborn and proud, sure of what I want and what I don’t want.  I am learning who I am, and what I learn, I embrace.  It’s so weird, because it’s so different.  But those other parts of me that I grew up with… they weren’t wrong.  They don’t disappear now.  It’s just that now I not only care about people, I’m passionate about people.  I will fight for them.  I will fight against them, if they need it.  God knows I need people to fight against me sometimes to straighten me out when I’m all caught up in the darkness.  I still love to help out, and now I feel like I can help even more.  But I also am able to give myself the freedom to hang back and not help, if I think it might be too much for me.

I am a fighter, fierce and resilient.  The world may turn against me, but I will fight until there’s nothing left to fight.  I have to learn to replenish my reserves before I’m running on empty, but I am a fighter.

That’s why I’m still alive.

I’ve been without my antidepressants for three weeks.  They were supposed to come yesterday.  It’s somewhat amazing I’m still alive.

At least I know these ones work, because there’s such a huge difference without them.

My mind is crazy.  So many thoughts, so much darkness, all at once.  I had forgotten it could be this bad.  Bad days seem a lot worse when they continue into bad nights and bad weeks and maybe even a bad month.  And my mind goes so very quickly to assume the worst now, whereas before, it was a little easier to fight that.  A month ago, I was struggling.  I was struggling a lot.  I don’t know… maybe it was getting to be this bad then.  But that was more because I had stopped talking and being vulnerable with people.  I wasn’t letting anyone in, aside from my counselor.  And she could only do so much.

Now I am starting to talk to people again, but things are still bad.  Last night, it was all I could do to make myself care enough to not cut on my wrists.  That has been my limit… I’ve been cutting, but I won’t let myself do it there because it’s so dangerous, and because of the job I have.  But last night I almost didn’t care.  I was rationalizing it, thinking up excuses, thinking up ways I could cover it.  I got really close.

And I’m so lonely.  So needy.  I find myself assuming that people don’t care… everyone, even those that I really know do care.  I want things from people that they’re not going to offer unless I tell them about it.  But I want them to think of it… which is such a huge part of the problem.  I’m not willing to let people get close enough to me that they know what I want, much less are willing to give it to me.  So they just don’t know how to love me.

But here’s the thing.  And I don’t know if this is a right now in this moment thing, or if it’s ongoing.  But I am longing to be wanted.  By a lot of people, I feel unwanted.  I know it’s because I’m insecure in myself.  I know it’s my fault.  But I just want people to reach out to me.  To pursue me, to ask, to keep asking, to push past my walls.  I know I push people away, that I don’t tell them much, and it’s just really frustrating to deal with me.  But within all my walls, I’m longing to get out.  I’m just so afraid that if I get out, if I show myself, I’ll be flat out rejected.  So I’d rather invite people in and wait for them to put the effort into pushing past the walls.  If they make it through, that means they really care.  That means they really want me.  So I can trust them.

But then, once they’re in, they get overwhelmed by meeting me all at once.  All my pain and problems presented to them at once… it’s too much.  So they back away.

And now I feel so alone.  I don’t know how to do this life thing.  All I want is to be loved and held and comforted and encouraged.  But I can’t get myself to ask for that, and of course people don’t know me well enough to do it without me asking.  Except maybe one or two people… but they’re not here right now, and I am alone.  I am alone and struggling so much to hold on.  I know things will be better once I get back on my meds, but even though I know that’s one of the main things contributing to this bout of depression, that doesn’t make the depression any less severe.

I’ve been crying almost every night.  I’ve been fighting so hard against the urges to cut and binge and purge, and it’s so hard to see the point.  I’m fighting for the sake of other people.  I don’t want them to be disappointed or hurt.  I haven’t killed myself because I don’t want to hurt people.  But when I think about me, just me… it’s all I want to do.  I don’t see the point of me being here.  I can’t carry on normal, healthy relationships with my friends.  I’m always barely surviving, and sometimes it seems like that’s all I’ll ever do.  I’ll never be truly happy and confident.  I’ll never be wanted, not really wanted.  People might want me to stay alive, but they don’t want to hang out with me.  They don’t want to hear how I’m doing.  They don’t want to sit with me.  They aren’t excited to see me.

I’m struggling, world.  I’m hurting and lonely and I feel like a burden that everyone would be glad to be rid of.  That’s what I said in the suicide letter I wrote at one point… and never deleted.  They’d all hurt at first, with the shock of it, but once that passed, they’d realize it was better that way, to have me gone.  No more worrying, no more dealing with my discontented, impossible to please, discouraging to be around self.  They’d all be better off without me.  They’d realize it’s true eventually.  And then they’d be glad, relieved that I had killed myself and ended it all.

Part of me wonders if any of this is wrong.  If I should even bother writing about it.  I’m writing it half-hoping that someone will say no, my life IS worth something, and I AM wanted.  Which is, of course, extremely passive aggressive.  But if I were to ask, they’d have to say it, because they’d feel bad if they didn’t.  I feel safer saying things here, because things are anonymous here, and so people don’t feel so much pressure.

Anyway.  That’s my rant.  The end.  I’m sorry.

July 6

My depression is so strong lately.  I know it’s partly because I ran out of my meds over a week ago, but I won’t get the refills for at least a couple more days.  So I have to make it until then.

It’s just… it’s so hard.  I feel like I’m stuck in quicksand, slowly sinking.  The idea of suicide is becoming more and more appealing again.  I don’t know how many times I thought about it this weekend.  It was a lot.  Everything is hitting me at once… cutting, eating disorders, depression, suicide.  I’m fighting and fighting, and I haven’t had much of a break, and I want to give in so badly.  If I give in, I’ll have a break.  I actually keep thinking about hospitalization, because there I could actually sort some things out and be safe.  I’d have so much less to worry about.

I want to talk.  Why do nights have to be so hard?  Why do I have to be so awake?  I have a cold, and when I lie down, it’s hard to breathe.  So I am awake, and this is not a good time to be awake.  My mind is spinning in a downward spiral.  And I feel so alone.  Everyone else is asleep.

I want to kill myself.  I wish I could.  I wish I wouldn’t back out at the last second.  I wish it wouldn’t hurt so many people.  I wish I could just do it and be gone.  I wish.

I don’t see hope for me in my recovery.  Other people, yes, they’ll get through it.  They have the strength for it.  But me?  No.  All I can see right now is more and more anger and hatred against myself, because of acting out in unhealthy ways… or because of not doing it.  It makes me hate myself either way.  I’m weak, I’m cowardly, and I’m lazy.  I shouldn’t be in this place right now.

And what if people say they can’t help me?  What then?  That means I really am too screwed up, right?  That’s why I got kicked out of AFH.  That’s why I got dismissed from the eating disorder treatment center.  That’s why I got kicked out of school for a while.  I’m just too much, too messed up for people.  That’s why they don’t stay around.  I overwhelm them.  Then there are also the people who want to help, but who think I don’t want them to.  Like I don’t want them near me or something.

But that’s not it!  I push people away partly because I’m so sure they’re going to leave anyway, and so I don’t want to get too close to them, because then it will hurt even more when they leave.  I also push people away because I don’t want to hurt them or wear them out.  And I push people away because I’m not worthy of their attention.

I hate myself.  I want to die.  I want to kill myself.  I kept thinking of the ways I could do it this weekend… drowning in the lake, hanging, jumping out of the car when we’re going 75mph on the highway.  It never ends.  The thought is always there.  I want to die.  I really, really want to die.  Why can’t there just be some crazy accident that kills me and everyone else is fine?  I want to die.  Why do other people, who don’t want to die, have to die while I live?

This weekend, people were talking about the people that live on bases in Antarctica, and how they basically lost the ability to function during the months without the sun.  They couldn’t even do simple tasks.  Everyone was so shocked by this, that being away from sunlight for so long could do that to a person.  And I was thinking, that’s every day when you live with depression.  You get so lethargic, and it takes all the effort in you just to get out of bed and get ready for the day.  It’s awful.  I hate it.

I hate me.

I want to die.

I want to kill myself.

If only I could.

“You know you can still stay here, and live here, and not have to worry about traveling for birthdays and things like that.”  My mom’s voice was casual, but I knew there was deep emotion behind the words.  She’s my mom, and she wants me near her.  I know she loves me deeply.

That’s the hardest part about this move.  I know my family loves me so much, and they don’t understand how they can’t be enough for me.  I know it hurts them to have me leave, and there’s nothing I can do to take that hurt away.  And I love them too!  I’ll miss them so much.  We have healed somewhat in our relationship, and I feel more comfortable with them than I have in the past.

But I need to go.  The reasons I need to move still remain.  I need more support.

This is a scary new step, but I know it’s what I need to do.  I don’t know what will come of it.  I’m hoping for the best.  There’s always a chance it’ll get all screwed up… but I think that chance is small this time.  It will be hard starting over.  But it will be good.

I’m excited about living.  Based on all the practice runs I’ve spent there, I will really live while I’m there.  I’ll let my creative, emotional side out.  I’ll be crazy.  I’ll be loved.  I’ll climb trees and dance in the wind and laugh and play with little kids.  I’ll discipline myself to finish things, to learn and grow, to write and finish stories and books, to work toward publishing them, to sell my art, to stretch myself.

This is a fresh start, a new adventure.  I’m a little scared, but mostly excited.  Tomorrow it all begins.

I don’t really know what to write here anymore.  I’m doing better most of the time.  I have bad days, but they’re just bad days, not bad weeks or months or years.  I had a bad week a little while ago, and it seemed so awful to last that long.  And I did get to a pretty dark place.  But then it was over.  I realized that maybe the reason it freaked me out so much is that it had been so long since I had a week of solid bad.

It’s like that, now.  I’m finally on antidepressants that are actually helping.  I’ve also worked through a lot of stuff, and I’m beginning to actually want to live.

I started this blog because I needed an outlet.  I needed somewhere that my voice could be heard and listened to, even if I didn’t have the courage to speak aloud to my closest friends and family.  Journaling tended to frustrate me, because it was like writing to a wall.  Sometimes it was good to get the stuff out, but I needed someone, anyone, on the other end, listening.  I needed to share my pain.  It was in sharing that I began to find healing.  So… windwhisperings.  All the thoughts and dreams and tremblings I had whispered to the wind, alone and unheard up to that point, except by God and the wind itself.  It helped so much to write about pain and loneliness and quirkiness and addictions and realize I wasn’t alone.  All the likes, comments, and follows were the beginning of the affirmation and empathy I needed.

I think all my closest friends know about this blog, now.  I’ve used it at times to show what I’m feeling and going through, when I can’t put it all into audible words.  Somehow the written word is safer to the suffering mind than stumbling, stuttering conversation.  There were times when I couldn’t trust myself to get the words out, before crying shut them off.  So I shared a post or two from here.  Windwhisperings became a bridge that helped me to begin communicating and being vulnerable.

Vulnerability sucks.  It is truly one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced.  It’s like not only shedding your clothes to expose yourself in all your flaws and beauty… it’s ripping your skin off to show what’s underneath.  But when I was vulnerable, I found strength.  I exposed myself to dear friends and found that I was not judged or mocked or rejected.  I was loved and accepted and forgiven.  They validated my pain, and they validated me.  They treated me like an equal.  They respected me.  They even told me over and over again that because of what I’d been through and faced, I could be such a help and inspiration to others who struggle.  They helped me keep going.

There was one night at the residential treatment place, where I showed my wrist to a woman I loved and respected very much, when I had just cut it that day.  She was one of those people that I was almost completely sure of her love.  But I wasn’t sure she’d still love me then.  It took all the strength in me and I don’t know how many tries before I finally got the words out.  I couldn’t look her in the eye as I asked if she still loved me.

She did.  And does.

Vulnerability opened me up to healing.  I had to expose myself to possible rejection and pain to expose myself to possible acceptance and healing.  It was, and is, terrifying.  But I do it.

I am healing.  Of course I’m not all better… I’ve still got a LONG way to go.  But I’ve also come a long way already, and that encourages me.

I don’t feel like killing myself every day.  I don’t plan it out in detail anymore.

I actually want to do things, now.  I want to get up and move and make things and get stuff done.

Small rejections and disappointments don’t devastate me anymore.  They’re awful, and I still tend to handle them in unhealthy ways, but they don’t destroy me to the point where I have to start at square one again.  I can maybe start at square two.  🙂

I can point to so many victories that I’ve made over the past month or two.  Victories over self hate, purging, cutting, suicide, shutting down.

As many times as I fall, I know now that I can get up again, and that, I think, makes it a bit easier.


Maybe I don’t need to use this blog as an outlet so much anymore.  Or at least, maybe that won’t be its sole purpose.  Maybe I will write about the things I’m learning and growing in.  Maybe it can be an encouragement to others on their journeys through recovery.

Of course, now that I say that, I’ll probably use it as an outlet more than ever.  Haha.  But if that’s what I need it for, so be it.  It doesn’t change the fact that I really am doing so much better these days.  I am thankful for how I’ve grown through this, and excited to see how I grow more.

Love to you all, friends!