Excuses I think I can make but definitely can't:

• "Oh man I'm so sorry I didn't mean to say that it was just my depression."
• "FUCK no really I'm not sane it's okay"
• "You know, I just started taking meds and I know that was really fucked up to say I'm so so sorry I didn't mean it."

It is 8 in the morning and I am scatter-brained. There is a central thought right smack bang in the middle of my head and all of these sharp little arms are clutching outs trying to reach for the outside world. Trying to grasp what I won't allow it to have. Which is life, basically. I am not capable of giving my thoughts life. My anxiety and my refusal to truly give in to any emotion in fear of it becoming too much I can't handle makes everything I feel and think so dull and fuzzy and perhaps that is the reason I am so sad and unattached.

Unattached. Unattached from what? Who I used to be? There is no I am anymore. Since I've started counseling I've become better at recognizing my problems and giving a name to them. I've gotten my words back again but that does not necessarily mean I am better. It just means I'm more aware. Lots of people resent becoming aware because they realize how bad things really are. That is how I feel. I feel, I feel, I feel, I think, I cannot grasp, I cannot change. 

To be able to put my own hand up to the sky, willing, take a hold of a piece of it and use it to lever me up and be able to look down at everything I have laid out in my past, in my words, in everything I have done and think, "Okay, well, there is nothing to change. Move forward, you have a whole sky ahead of you to climb." To be able to do that and be forgiving with myself and with everything to just LOVE again that will leave me breathless when the moment comes. I know it. I'll get on my hands and knees and feel the gray seep out of every pore and I'll cry and become hysterical but for once it won't come from despair. 

I don't know how long this has been with me. Uncolored companion with no name. I hate to be ungrateful of a friend but I can't accept you as one. 

This is a lot to process. There is a lot to work on. 

If my dad is willing to lose me as his daughter just because I've had sex then I'll somehow find a way to get over it. I was the happiest child I could have been without him and I can be that happy again.

During the last session with my counselor, I was surprised when I started describing the phenomenon of having more than one presence inside of me. I never thought I would be able to admit it because I had never chosen to recognize it myself before. For some reason I still refuse to give it a name.

I can't stand to say I can't stand myself, or my life, or everything around me and that I just want everything to stop in one way or another but it's the only thing I really feel.