Sleeping 1.11.18

Yesterday I went home and napped. It felt better to be asleep. I woke up around 7 for dinner and roam aimlessly because I didn't want to eat. I went to bed again at 8 and promised I'd wake up early - that didn't happen. I snoozed over and over again this morning. I didn't want to wake up. I didn't want to. When I finally did, I said "maybe today will feel better." Well, today is here and it feels empty. What do you do, if anything, when you feel down like this? You know how that word "inner motivation" comes up? I just can't find it ANYWHERE in me. The most motivation I have is to work out and sometimes that feels like an uphill battle. Oh, depression. Y u like this.

A Little Lost 1.10.18

I'm not sure where I've been. I've done this thing that I call "leaving my brain" and I interpret it as a coping mechanism. In all reality I'll have to admit that in the last few months my depression took my hand and escorted me down a dark, dark tunnel. I haven't felt this way in a while so it was an unwelcoming feeling. In addition to that I feel as though I have an existential crisis on a daily basis. That's like, not okay, right? I'm constantly questioning my purpose, my meaning, and what the heck I was put on this earth to do. Nonetheless given my state of sadness, questioning my worth and liveliness didn't help make me feel better. I've managed to isolate to the best of my ability. From August-November I hid in my apartment. While I did socialize, I did so on a infrequent basis. Each day felt difficult to get through. I went through a recent phase that I call "zombie-fying" where I would go 1-2 days a week without sleep. My insomnia felt as though it was out of control. Have you ever wanted so badly to sleep, but instead just lay there and stare into the darkness? Hmph, how often I got mad at my brain for not letting me sleep. It was an interesting experience, the insomnia, the depression - the most interesting was the lack of interest I had. I didn't want to do anything. I didn't want to move or breathe. I just wanted to, well how do I say this... I just wanted to die. And if you've felt like that before, you know it's a dreadful, heavy feeling. I've lost about this blog a lot since I've been MIA. I don't know what I want to do it with, though. I'm not sure of content to post or topics to talk about. I was encouraged yesterday just to write. So, alas, here I am. Telling you about my depression. Oftentimes I feel/felt alone. I cried a lot more than usual. While the tear eyed portion of my depression has passed, I still feel as though it lingers. I have gained some interest in usual activities, but there are days where it feels that dark cloud hovers me from sun to dark. Currently I'm dealing with a slump in my life called "I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to continue, I don't know how to be happy or what happiness is, and I am confused/scared/ just wanting to enjoy myself but seemingly unable to." Have you felt this way? I'm bored. Unfulfilled. Now, don't ask me what would fulfill me because I do not have the answer to that question. I don't have any productive tales to tell you. I don't have any updates or adventures that I've been on. I suppose the most productive thing I do is wake up, get dressed and try to act like a decent member of society. I am writing to tell you that I am still here and will try my best to make an active attempt to write again. If it makes you happy, do it, right? But writing can be hard sometimes. I don't want to bore you with the details of my life, since there isn't much to tell at the moment, so I'm not sure what to write about. I guess I can end this with some advise about what I do to help myself on the particularly hard days.

  1. Cry
  2. Take a nap or a cry break 1-2 times a day, if at work
  3. Cry in the car
  4. Watch a comedy film or tv show
  5. Cry again

all my love.


I Didn't Do It 6.12.17


Every time I start to write, I stop. Every time I do write I do sit down to write, I am reminded of how it become my first love. Writing was always my thing.I used to be able to fall deep into books as well. My imagination was strong. I used to write daily. I used to research, explore, and analyze. But I don't anymore. And that bothers me.

Naturally, as a Pisces I am supposed to be creative, deep, analytical, emotional. It pains me to see how much I have digressed and disconnected from my soul. (I semi-joke about the zodiac sign part). I started this, what I am going to call, diary as a way to write without my hand hurting. Eventually as I aged my OCD worsened in regards to my handwriting. Handwriting always had to be perfect. So I stumbled on the internet. And then a couple months back, November or December I think, I said to myself "write again, please, especially as your move date to California came closer each day".  But... I didn't. Why didn't I.

Now I am writing this for me, not for you, bare that in mind. I feel as though, and rightly so, much of what is posted on the web is criticized, devalued, and misunderstood. Writing is an art. An art that looks different when compared. It's so unique that how can we compare?

Anyways. I don't think I even believe how difficult the last few months were. One aspect of mental illness that I am now lacking is empathy. Since recovery, two years ago, I have had a disconnected point of view. I'm not really sure when I became desensitize to it. Eventually my body forgot how to feel those things. Those emotions were closed. The emotions about wanting to die, feeling pathetic, hopeless and so, so dearly confused. I think today that if you just "believe you can" you will. And yes, that is true, but only partially.

I remember just wanting to change. I needed to help myself because after six years, I was proven to again and again that I am the only one who can bring myself out. I remembered my goal, move to California; live in LA. So I did it. I cried often during the transition period. In 2014 (oh my gosh, it has been three years...) I committed to recovery. Eventually 2 steps in became 10 steps, and then before my eyes I already took 100 steps. It came to a point where so many steps forward became "I can't undo this hard work". But, fuck, did I want to. When the jeans got tighter, when the butt became bigger, when the thighs expanded every single time I sat down, my gosh did I want to STOP and RUN back to the disorder (aka Abby).

I literally mean it when I tell you I put myself into God's hands. Now, sorry but not sorry for bringing religion into this. I respect your opinion about religion and your faith. I just want to express how I did not have an ounce of strength left in me to fight the demon in my head. I apply this not just to the eating disorder, but to the depression, anxiety and OCD voices. All of it became so tiring.

So here I am today. June 12 2017. Hot damn if you asked me back in January what I expected life to look like in June, I could not tell you. I had NO idea. Was I going to find a job? Was I going to move across country without having a mental breakdown? Was it going to be hard and I'd go crying back to my parents? I had no clue of what June would look like. But, not it's June. And I'm here. And I'm okay. Each day I become a bit more of an adult and it is fascinating of how this transition just happens.

I wished I had wrote it all down. What each day felt like. How in the beginning, me, Isabella with severe OCD, had gone routine-less for about 4 weeks. I lived in a hotel. then a sublet, then all of the sudden my first apartment. On my own. Completely on my own. In the second biggest city in America. Freshly recovered. Potentially trigger-able.

I did it. And while each day I am a bit upset I didn't capture the moments as they happened, I tell myself it is okay. It is better to write when I am able to. Write what I can. Just because I don't remember second by second doesn't mean I can't remember any of it.