Taking A Leap Of Faith (A Realization Post)

So I did it. I finally became independent. It only took 28 years!

Moving out is so cathartic, yet it is bittersweet to visit parents at home.

Here I am, with the love of my life, blogging, in our own place. How awesome! Right? Well, yes, but to an extent. The cons? Well, the bills, and the neighbors are ‘eh’, oh, and the lack of money because of bills, yea…

The pros? Way too many. They outdo the cons (even though bills are a major thing right now). But, the independence, being with my love (and so much closer to sealing that lifelong deal we all dream about), the ability to pay bills (that is so quintessential to life, I have money now). Oh, I could go on!

So, as everything in my personal blogging sphere is, I DID come on here to vent as well! So, prepare!

I got into yet another argument with my mom. As our relationship stands, it is very rocky, and i’ll admit (not just me) but she has to tread carefully. I guess what gets me is, the drinking. I drink, too, so no hypocrisy here, no shame. I just am someone who drinks and is, at the same time, honest about drinking. The rest of my family members aren’t. It’s ok. Do you, momma, but, ima do me, too.

I love you, but I just cannot tell you everything mom, i can’t. It would be a big burden to not only my personal intimate relationship with my, right now, boyfriend, but also, my relationship with you.

Not to say I hate my mom, I don’t. I love her with all my heart. Although, she’s just one of those people (cancer’s, if you believe in Astrology) that I cannot tell everything to, and it’s only hurting me to do that.

Do you Momma! I’ma do me!

 

Lack Of A Support System

My therapist appointment didn’t go well. I called my clinic for help the other day, and I was met with having to sign a consent form to make sure I took my medications. At that point I didn’t even want to talk to my therapist about what was going on with me. I don’t really trust my therapist. I never really have, but I’ve tried opening up once. I don’t know if I can do that again. They want me to be honest, and open, but when I am I feel like it’s used against me. I just can’t trust anyone like that.

No one really understands my situation, but I get that. No one really knows what I’m going through, but I get that. Partly because, I just don’t either tell anyone anything or I say I’m “Ok”. I’m also partly paranoid about telling people stuff, but I know no one can help me. I’ve been in the mental health system since I was 12 or 13, and I have never gotten the help I needed, or true help. I’m put through ringers, or I slip through the cracks. That’s mostly what happens. So when I got around 20 years old I just quit telling people what’s truly going on with me. Just everybody. Not just mental health professionals, but family.

I feel completely lost, and without so much hope, because I have no real support system. My mental health support at my clinic is not stable. They’ve changed my psychiatrist and therapist two or three times in the past two years i’ve been there. I have no friends and my family is in pieces. The typical divorced parents, and one parent does not contact me much.

Rambling

i saw my therapist today…had to pay 100 dollars today for past costs that the clinic forgot to charge me for. They arent keeping their records right.

I may not have to have my parent in the sessions with me anymore. Im not sure. We are doing a trial run with that. Today it went well, and we are trying it again just one-on-one next time, too.

I feel barraged by stress. So much stress. I feel like i’m putting myself through it, but then why would I put myself through stress? I feel constantly watched by police, private investigators, and the government. Especially police. I can’t ever shake that knowledge and feeling. i dont just FEEL it; I KNOW i’m being watched.

I’m drinking to rid my stress and anxiety right now. I just want everything in my life to go away right now. I want to be alone so bad but then i’m too scared to be alone. I really just almost want to be dead, honestly.