Thursday, March 12, 2020


I haven't felt the need to write since my last post.

So, update, I am no longer attempting to end my life.

I adopted a cat.

I oftenly tell my friend who gifted her to me, that my cat may have saved my life.

For those of you who know me, it's a love-hate relationship between her and I.

But for my predisposition towards cats and my feelings towards mine... she must be something quite special.

But all that aside, I really need to rant. I have been here and there but I really need to put things down.

I've been under the weather sort of speak. I have expressed it to one of my managers whom I trust to not judge me, and he has undermine my illness at every turn and step. The first time I told him I was not feeling well, he blamed it on the tequila and or oysters. Then when my snot turned yellow/green and bloody, I took a picture and he told me it looked like a sinus infection. When I woke up with a sore throat last Thursday, Friday, then had to go into work on Friday... I felt trapped.

I reported each of my symptoms to my boss, and he disregarded them each and every time. Friday rolled around and I had one cancel because they were afraid we would go near Chinatown and get corona virus.  OK that's fine because I still spent that Friday in restaurants, a dessert place, shops, karaoke, arcade, bars, subway, etc... with my sore throat and all... with about a dozen other people.

While I was at the bar, which was the last place of the evening, I get a text message from my mom offering to send my face masks... I said "ok sure mom".

Monday, I get my face masks from my mom. Same night she sends me an article of how a Chinese man who was wearing a face mask got stabbed. It's unconfirmed whether or not the reason he got stabbed is due to discrimination of the mask, his race, or some other factor.

Now I'm faced with a new set of problems... wear a mask to potentially protect me from a virus, or risk people judging me and lashing out because I'm Chinese and wearing a face mask.

I'm not sure I can recall ever feeling so helpless.

Here are things that I am hearing:
Oh it's hype. This is how I look at it, "the last thing any government is to create mass hysteria, but Italy has shut down. Shutting down a COUNTRY has it's financial implications where they are not going to do it unless it is necessary."

The NBA has postponed games because from my perspective they can afford to, where as the NHL for now, are "consulting their medical experts" probably to wait to see how it plays out because they can't afford to shut it down.

Point, if a country is shutting the whole fucking country down and there's huge event venues being put to a halt.... can we please stop being in denial about this shit?

Seriously, this shit is real. I'm not saying you will get corona and die, but let's not make a joke out of this...

I'm not saying I have corona either, because my symptoms are not the same at all, I am sick, but being taken seriously and also discriminated against due to the symptoms i do have.

Wednesday, August 1, 2018

9 Lives:

I feel like I've lived the lives of many in my 30 something years.

I was born in China, I have childhood friends where we may not talk when we are apart but when we get together it's like no time has passed and we are kids again.

I've seen the Great Wall, Terra Cotta Warriors, the Palaces of the old emperors, Tian Men Square, and been to countless cities in China.

We had no running hot water in our apt, and my grandparents taught me how to be frugal.

I lived in Toronto, became a Canadian citizen when I was 7. It was there I started to take French and piano lessons.

The piano lessons went on for 8yrs.

My mom took me to Disney World in FL when I was 8 or 9.

I spent some time living in Kansas.

We later moved to California.

Did a foreign exchange program in high school. Spent a week in a little town on the border of France and Switzerland, called Ferney-Voltaire.

I got to spend my 16th birthday in Paris. Saw Monet's home in Giverny, the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, Eiffel Tour, the other Statue of Liberty. Had my first drink at a TGIFridays on my 16th birthday in Paris: it was a "Sex on the Beach". Walked through the red light district and got to see the Moulin Rouge briefly.

My family once stopped in S. Korea because my mom wanted to try Korea's Korean food. Got to see a mesmerizing aquarium.

Went to college in a beautiful beach city and fell in and out of love with my college sweetheart. It was that relationship that broke me. It's not that I swore not to love, I just didn't believe in it anymore.

I got to see Paul McCartney play in Liverpool, he messed up during "Blackbird" and says "Oop That proves to you it's live". I later saw him play in Chicago, NYC, and New Jersey.

Saw my favorite Turner at the National Gallery in London, completely accidental but the best surprise at an art museum to date. Had fish and chips because that's a must in England.

I've been on a camel in Dubai, got to go sand dune bashing and eat lavish food. Saw all the aquariums in Dubai.

I've been to the red light district in Amsterdam, saw Van Gogh's museum, smoked flowers in coffee shops while sipping on coffee. Visited the Heineken Brewery and the Anne Frank house.

Experienced loss unlike any other when my grandpa passed, he was my favorite person and probably the only person who loved me unconditionally.

Drove 152mph on my 26th birthday on my way to SF. Took myself to a Giants game, ate sandwiches at the wharf, bought myself a Tiffany's ring and got to see a Patrick Hughes in person.

Got to live in my favorite city in the world. I love all the art museums, the park, to watch the sun rise and set all over the city.

I got to see all 3 of VanGogh's bedrooms in one place, which was unbelievable to me because I've seen them all separately in 3 different countries.

I've visited countless cities in the US due to my job as a camgirl. Met the most interesting people.

I accidentally fell in love again. I didn't want to, because my relationship in college changed me. I was afraid of how a person can affect me and turn me into someone I didn't like. So, I did everything in my power to show my new love the most unattractive sides of me, but I couldn't push him away.

To me, it was proof that the heart is stronger than I ever gave it credit for, because not only can it be dead for a decade but it can also heal.

But he's so broken, he deserves someone that's not damaged like me to show him that love doesn't have to hurt, nor be consuming.

I look back on my life, and I'm proud of all of my experiences.

But as I look around at my life currently, I'm lonely and I feel empty.

I've been so lucky.

But I just don't see the point in any of it.

People tell me to look forward and I'm trying.

I try to think about things I would like to do in the future.

I always wanted my hair really short, sides shaved like a faux hawk type and be able to style it differently every day. After my two failed attempts of sleep syrup and a trash bag taped around my head, how sweaty my head got with all the hair, not liking my hair being pulled, I decided to cut off all my hair.

I felt like it was a bucket list thing: short hair.

So then I started to think about my actual bucket list (in hopes of finding something to live for).

I've always wanted to see the Northern lights because I love colors.

I still want to get an RV, visit all the 48 states, monuments, and maybe Canada. Since I am Canadian and all.

I've had two people propose to me with rings but neither felt right. I guess there's still a part of me that wants one where there's not a doubt in my head that it's coming from the right man.

I want to be a throuple like the creators of Wonder Woman.

I wonder what it's like to be a mother. My most recent desire and attempts to kill myself made me question that desire. I can never if I am so mentally unstable.

I cannot imagine myself as a old person, nor even being a grandma. But the question is, can anyone?

I don't really feel like my list is motivation enough to keep my going because I just feel so alone.

I try and surround myself with people at work, but it leaves me feeling so painfully empty on the inside.

I think about how a few minutes of physical pain might be able to permanently terminate this ongoing emotional pain I feel.

As I contemplate a sure method, I have not made any attempts since the failed bag attempts. I think part of me feels lame for failing so many times.

I've had some people reach out to me but part of me thinks, "It's easy for you to say because you have things to live for."

I'm just not sure what I have to live for, but I'm trying to find it, while not seeing the point in searching.

It's August today, I owe over 3k in rent.

A month from now, 9/01 it will be the anniversary of my grandpa's death, followed by his birthday.

Thanksgiving is coming up shortly after. It's my favorite day of the year, because it's all about being with family, so I promised my mom we would always spend Thanksgiving together. Last year, she broke the pack and I spent Thanksgiving with a girl I didn't really know to avoid spending it alone.

This year, I don't want to make it to Thanksgiving, let alone another snow fall.

I honestly cannot bare the thought of spending it by myself.

At this point, I don't know how to get better, nor do I have the will to do so.

So meanwhile I'm just going about day to day life, putting on a smile for others, hoping that I'll either be successful with an attempt or find an anchor or anchors to hold me to physical plane.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018


I wrote this entry nearly a week ago but my internet was out and I never ended up posting it...

This isn't just some depressive episode, nor some emotional response.

I have been wondering what motivates people to keep going and survive for over a year now.

It started with the financial troubles, I've been struggling to make rent for years now, unable to save enough to move.

My "friends" just take take take or use me to make money. Not sure why I keep letting people into my life, especially after JK.

I remember my mom calling me last Feb '17 or so and asked me to go home and retrieve my things from her house because she was moving.

I remember crying to her on the phone because I was behind on rent and I couldn't afford to take time off of work to make the trip.

She told me, "Do what you need to survive, it's what I always did."

I went back to visit her last March '17, got rid of 3/4ths of my stuff, sold my car and shipped 14 boxes to my apt in NYC.

During my trip, my mom threatened to kill herself. Well, I once made a promise I would never do that to her after her best friend's daughter committed suicide.

I told my uncle to keep an eye on her considering they live in the same city.

Not even sure how we made up after that trip.

She asked me to visit her again in October '17 because she wanted to break my Thanksgiving pact and go on a trip instead of spending my favorite day together.

This trip she told me that we're done.

My uncle was the icing on the cake, my mom's needs were more important than mine.

It was hard enough trying to keep up with rent when I had family but not having them in my life, made everything seem infinitely harder.

Then I was hell bent to create my own wolf pack, surround myself with people who I care about, and vice versa.

It shocked me just how little everyone cared.

It's been over a week since I made attempts to take my own life.

I've deleted my social media pages, my phone's been off for about a week, my home internet has been cut for a few days now.

I've done more research since then, thought about this, fantasized about it for a very long time.

I joked about a game of Russian Roulette on cam, to be honest, I always wanted to do this via live stream so that people can see just how much damage they can do to a person.

I researched about cyanide. Then I remembered how awful it was to wake up after getting my stomach pumped in college. I really don't want to survive another attempt.

It wasn't just one person, or one thing, it was everyone and everything.

When it was just financial, the promise I made my mom kept me going.

When she threatened to kill herself, I voided that promise I made to her because if I am not enough for her to keep living, why do I owe her the same courtesy?

I tried to focus on people I care about but it seems my feelings towards others never quite match my own.

I'm sleep deprived, took some sleep syrup, got my bag and tape, just waiting to be extremely tired so that I can just fall asleep quickly.

If I wake up from this, I'm going to be really upset.


After this post I tried to sleep with a bag taped around my head. But I woke up. I tried again the following night.

Again, I woke up.

It might be some type of reflex to ripe the bag off one's head due to oxygen deprivation.

All the failed attempts in the last 2 weeks, I've come to the conclusion that the instinct to survive is innate. So I've given up on making attempts to take my own life until I find a better method.

People tell me to get help, see a psychiatrist, but help doesn't change anything.

Talking to someone isn't going to change the fact that no one cares, nor change my financial situation.

Doesn't matter who I care about, the truth is, no one cares about whether or not I live or die.

I don't have anyone on this planet that loves me.

That's really all I want, is for someone to love me.

But I look around me, the mess I'm in both literally and physically and I just know it's not possible because there's nothing to love.

I'm pretty sure the only way to successfully do this is to purchase a gun. Might have to cross some state lines but at least I know it will get the job done.

I never thought I'd ever be in this place again. I've never been here for so long, and made so many attempts. Usually after an attempt, a day, two, I eventually see how irrational my head was, but this time is different. Day after day I keep thinking about it, I try time after time.

I keep praying for death. I see a car and just think please run me over. Please kill me.

I never asked to be born. I never asked for the things my mom thinks she sacrificed to give me. I'm so tired of feeling like I owe her something.

I'm so tired of trying to survive.

So tired of knowing no one cares.

Thursday, July 5, 2018


Still alive but not for lack of trying.

For the longest time, I couldn't see the point to life.

Call it an existential crisis but I've been in a financial shit hole for a few years now, hence why I had to find other sources of income.

I was trying to save up so I can move out of my apt and into an RV but I can't even cover my rent right now so the RV dream seems so much further away.

My family abandoned me for the second time in my life and I promised myself it's the last.

The people around me, my hopes that I could turn my financial situation around, kept me going for some time.

For me, there's a big difference between not wanting to live, wanting to die, praying, fantasizing about death and actually attempting to end one's life.

I crossed all the lines.

I tried to cut but I don't have the pain tolerance nor courage to go deep enough. I realized I needed a razor not a knife.

I tried to take sleep syrup and hoped to fall asleep in my tub and slip into the water.

I woke up and realized my bathtub is not deep enough.

I fantasized about trying again with sleep syrup and a bag taped around my neck.

I acquired topical anesthesia in case I wanted to try slitting my wrist again with a sharper tool.

I think about jumping off my roof but I fear it won't finish the job and I'd just wake up in the hospital.

I wonder where I can purchase a gun or if I should just visit a shooting range in another state and do it nice and quick.

I cross the street, see a car coming and I pray that it runs me over and that's the end.

It's pathetic I can't even manage to kill myself.

It's not just one thing. It's everything that's wrong in my life.

I'm 3k behind on my rent, my family doesn't want anything to do with me, guys online don't care, I have no one.

I'm just so done. I've quit trying to survive for a while, but now not only do I welcome Death, I'm trying to get to her myself.

I'm so tired of praying and hoping for little things in my life to start getting better.

Tired of trying without a shred of success.

Tired of feeling like no one loves me.

Please give me the courage to end it once and for all.

Friday, June 29, 2018


I grew up with a lot of physical and psychological abuse.

It quite literally makes me want to turn around and inflict the same pain back onto the world.

I keep that dark side of myself under tight lock and key.

It slips out when I drink.

I hate pain. I hate people who try to manipulate me psychologically.

I am not a masochist in the least bit, but sometimes I tolerate it because I'm used to enduring pain.

In my experience, letting it happen and pass is easier than retaliation.

I hate myself for not speaking up.

I hate myself for being afraid to speak up.

I hate myself for taking it as if I am getting what I deserve.

Deep down, I just want to be held and loved, but I just don't feel like anyone cares about what I want or need.

I feel so much rage and anger.

It's like my blood is boiling underneath my skin and I fantasize about inflicting the pain I feel onto others.

I've put myself on lockdown until this anger subsides.

I'm so mad at myself for being so docile, I want to hit something.

I've been playing Injustice2 so I can direct my aggression at a game instead of people.

This is one of many reasons I am afraid to have kids because my mom and grandma used to take everything out on me.

I'm starting to see it was never about me, I wish I could tell my inner child that.

I wish I could go back and tell myself abuse is not love.

But all I can really do, is be better.

Break the cycle.

Friday, June 22, 2018


Today's one of those days I'm trapped in the Hell of my own mind.

I can't stop thinking and fixating on my abusive family.

I guess I'm starting with psychological abuse.

Preference for boys vs girls: 

My grandma used to tell me about her miscarriage (a son) before being pregnant with my mom.

She also took the liberty to tell me about my mom's abortion (also a son) before being pregnant with me.

My grandma also enjoyed creating hypotheticals for me because if she never had the miscarriage, the timing, she could not have ever been pregnant with my mom.

She questioned what if my mom never got her abortion, again timing, my mom could not have ever been pregnant with me.

In China there's a preference over males because men carry down the family name. Sons are expected to take care of their parents when they get old. Daughters are expected to be married off and go and take care of her husbands parents.

When I was 16yrs old applying for college I even recall my mom saying, "If you were a boy, I would get 3 jobs to put you through an Ivy League education, but you are just a girl". Hence I was not allowed to apply to an Ivy League school because it wasn't we couldn't afford it, my mom just didn't see the point.

The gender preference was a type of psychological abuse.

Slut Shaming and Misandry: 

My grandma used to slut shame me. I left China when I was 7yrs old.

Even before I left for China, I remember her saying shit like keep your legs closed. Guys only want one thing. She used to tell me to focus on my career, that boys will always be there.

I returned to China 2 years after I left. I was 9yrs old and I wore a pair of fake clip on earrings because I wanted my grandma to be like "Wow look how mature or older you look".

First thing out of her mouth, "You look like a slut/whore." (in Chinese). Again I was 9yrs old, and that was not the response I expected.

I remember being 11yrs old, my mom just met my (now ex) step dad. My grandma would ask me disgusting questions if he touched me, or if I had older boy neighbors that would touch me when I was home alone after school.

I don't know what happened to my grandma. My grandpa was the most caring and thoughtful man but my grandma was sick, vile, vulgar and her mouth was just repulsive.

My mom once said if she let my dad have custody and raise me, I would be a slut. Yes when she used the "expression" it was in English.

My mom used to tell me to marry for money, and in my head I would protest because I wanted to marry for love.

I was always such a hopeless romantic and I imagined myself being happy living in a box on the street if I had my soulmate by my side.

Till this day, I can't stand guys who throw money around as if it would impress me because I know money doesn't buy love nor happiness.

I'm happy with "poor, poor and perfect" and when Buttercup says it, sometimes I just burst into tears because I understand.

When I was 14-15yrs old, my mom told me that every guy she's ever dated or married has either cheated on her or she was the other woman. Then she proceeded to tell me that, "All men cheat, if they don't do it, they think about it."

Abandonment and feeling un-wanted: 

My mom left me in China when I was 7yrs old for Canada. Her parents and my dad had joint custody, 1 month here, 1 month there.

When Mother's day came around and kids would sing a song that roughly translates to "On this planet/Earth only mom/mother is the best/good". I used to think to myself, "I wouldn't know".

When I was about 4 or 5yrs old, my dad tried to pick me up from my grandparents house one night, drunk, and I didn't want to go. According to the story, he tried to hit me and my grandma blocked it. He was asked to leave and the next day he brought over all my stuff and "severed" our ties. I've seen him once since that day.

I remember a time where my mom was hanging out with my (ex) step-dad and she says to me, "Don't you have homework to do?". I felt like I was in the way of her dating. It was that thought, that first made me want to commit suicide. I'm not sure if I would have remembered it if I did not find the note (found last March, 2017) I wrote dated 1998. I was a child and my mom made me feel like I kept her from living her life and being happy.

Pity, sense of responsibility, duty: 

My grandma used to tell me about her sad life where she was always the victim. She used to make me feel so bad for her it made me sad. I remember dreams where I couldn't describe it as a kid, but as an adult, best I can describe it is I was a balloon being blown up and I felt like I couldn't be contained and I was about to explode. I think those dreams were the my first signs of feeling anxious or "under pressure".

That's just mind fucking. It doesn't even cover the physical abuse.

There's a Chinese saying, "Hitting is affection/closeness. Scolding/yelling/criticism is love." (This is definitely psychological abuse, but I'm putting it under physical because this was the justification of their physical abuse.)

My grandma used to beat my with the back of a broom handle that was kept in her closet. It got to the point that every time she even looked or headed towards the closet, I was afraid. I would run for the bathroom because it was the only place in the apt with a lock on the door.

My mom hit me. The worst was when she realized I didn't practice piano during a piano lesson. She dragged me from my piano bench, by the hair, across the floor to the kitchen. Grabbed her rolling pin (for dough, which was essentially a wooden stick with an inch diameter) and beat my ass. My ass was black and blue almost instantaneously and she felt bad, but it was done.

There were times she would just say to me, "I've had a long day, I'm too tired to beat you. Hit yourself for me." I, like a dumbass would just be on my knees and bashing my own head with my fists. I was 9 or 10yrs old. (Again, I would categorize that as more psychological abuse than physical).


My grandma once told me a story about how (before my dad dropping me off at my grandparents for good, so before 4-5yrs old, I don't remember this...) I kissed my uncle on the lips, as she tells the story. She asked why I did that and I said, (according to her), "I saw my dad kiss someone else like that".

The only time I saw my dad after being a kid was when I was in my early teenage years. I just hit puberty and started to wear a bra. My mom thought maybe I wanted to know my dad. I remember being in the elevator with him and my mom's mom (grandma) and I felt something on my shoulder. When I looked it was him apparently trying to tuck my bra strap back underneath my tank top, but it didn't feel like that. It felt sexual. I did not feel comfortable.

I remember my mom kissed me one morning, and my response was "Ew you just French kissed me" and she was surprised I knew what it meant. (9-11yrs range not sure how old). But my mouth was closed, and she tonged the outside of my mouth.

All these different forms of abuse that made me feel so insignificant, unwanted, a burden. I'm starting to look back and question how much that really had to do with me.


I'm starting to wonder maybe I was just a punching bag.


What I know, my mom feared for her life when she was married to my dad, that was the reason for her abortion. She told me how she used to check for a gun in his briefcase when he came home or how she would stand with her back against a post while waiting for the subway because she feared being pushed down into the tracks.

I was the product of a relationship where she feared for her life. My dad was a bully. I'm not even sure the extent of the abuse she had to endure. All I knew was that he swept her off her feat, he danced like Prince Charming and my grandpa did not like him. My grandpa was such a good judge of character, I think that alone should have told me enough, but my mom was stubborn and rebellious.

When I put the pieces together, given the fact he was abusive, the way she treated me and made me feel.

I can only come to one conclusion, that I indeed was not wanted. I was the product of an abusive husband/marriage, she ran away from that relationship to Canada and left me with her parents.

I am pretty sure the reason why she's cut ties with me now, is because truthfully speaking, she never wanted me to begin with and I'm a constant reminder of my dad.

Last time I saw her, she made these "jokes". She took a look at my pink combat boots (she loves combat boots) and she says, "So you are my daughter after all". The tone and comment suggested that she thinks we have nothing in common and the only sign of proof was that we have similar tastes in shoes.

I mean her marriage was so on the rocks she got an abortion before me.


My grandma, middle of her 2 sisters. Her older sister was start and pretty. Her younger sister was cuter and well younger. My grandma was... I don't know how to explain it. I wonder if maybe she was a lesbian. Her pictures looked butch. She was misandrous and she always questioned me as if I had been molested or raped.

I mean even before I hit puberty. I do not recall any type of sexual abuse. But maybe the story of me kissing my uncle (before age 5, before I could remember) wasn't quite the way she told it. Did I really see my dad kissing someone else on the lips and I was mimicking him and his actions?

The causes are speculation.


My mom makes me feel like I am indebted to her for raising me. I wonder if that's because she didn't want to have anything to do with me and she felt obligated to raise me.

My grandma made me feel like men are nasty and I am just a toy to them. I just don't understand because she was married to my grandpa. How can she be married to such a thoughtful man and harbor so much hate for them?

My whole life I've been pro-abortion, and I never wanted children because there was always someone who made me feel like I was not wanted.

I am so complacent with pain, when I'm being hurt, or when I am being treated as if I am nothing because that's all I know. Not only is it what I know, it's what I've been told is love.

But I hate it. I hate being hurt, I just want to be cared for.

I don't want to be hurt anymore. I don't want to be under the impression that pain is love.

I need to break the cycle.

Thursday, June 21, 2018

House Arrest:

I've left my apt once in the last week and it was to go to work on Monday night.

There's a part of me that is thankful I have that as a reason to quite literally pick myself up from my bed and force myself to step outside my apartment.

I thought about going to Chinatown for food that reminds me of home.

I thought about going to see Deadpool2 and the new Incredibles movie.

I need to pick up my Rx of birth control at the pharmacy but the thought of stepping outside of me apt and walking a block is paralyzing.

I thought about going to a meeting. I also thought about going to church.

I fantasized about going to the driving range to hit a bucket of balls. Since I can't go shooting in the city, I wondered if my old pass times would help me release the rage I feel.

I considered going to get a new piecing or tat so that I could feel a bit of physical pain because I was curious if that would distract me.

When it comes down to it, I can barely get myself out of bed.

I can't pinpoint why I feel so sad, so unmotivated.

It would be naive to call it depression because I've never quite felt like this before.

I get flashes of random ways to off myself but those images are unsolicited.

Suicide seems too effortful. I have no desire to harm myself in the direct sense of trying to kill myself.

I'm angry and I want to cause pain.

I'm scared and I want to be held.

I'm stressed, tired and I just want to know how I can get passed this.

Every day, I tell myself I'm going to get myself out of the house today. I tell myself that, "Today is the day."

But come 7pm, I'm sleepy and next thing I know it's the crack of dawn and a new day has started.

Everyone seems like they want something from me but I've got nothing to give.

I can let them use me like the shell of a woman that I feel, but somehow I know it will leave me feeling even more empty.

I already know because that's what I let the dick do. I just let him use me, and that was all on me.

I tried to ask for a hug, and he held me until I let go. If I held on any longer, I might have bursted into tears and I've done that plenty of times in the past.

I tried to tell him he was hurting me but I want him to be satisfied.

I need to try harder to communicate my desires to him, instead of just letting him do his thing and hope he does something I like, which for the most part, I enjoy.

I want him to be happy because I'm trying my best to keep it together for him. Even if I'm pretending I'm ok, I think maybe I can "fake it till I make it".

He's the most interesting person I've ever met, and I'm afraid if he's not satisfied or happy with me, my ball of crazy just won't be worth his time.

He reminds me a lot of myself.

Strong yet broken. Fiercely independent almost to a stubborn and unnecessary extent.

Talented in countless ways with a sexual drive that gives mine a run for it's money.

I sense a familiar internal struggle within him like me, one where we are doing what we want for ourselves, vs conforming to outside influences of family/society.

Aware of our darkness and imperfections, we also strive to put good back into the world.

He liked my drive and I'm afraid my lack of motivation is incredibly unattractive.

I drank on Monday, unfortunately that's just what happens when an alcoholic works in a bar. I know alcohol is a depressant so I've been trying my best to lay off of it.

In the past two weeks I've smoked a handful of times, in an attempt to taper off instead of cold turkey. Roughly half a gram, which is considerably modest in my opinion. I want to give it a break because I know amotivational syndrome is real.

I may not be able to leave my apt, but perhaps I've put myself under some type of house arrest to detox?

There's just so much to it.

I'm afraid of people because I feel insecure.

I'm afraid people want more than I am willing or capable of giving.

I feel empty.

I see my words and I know they are all signs that point to certain labels or diagnoses.

This is my way of trying to stabilize myself.

Admit my shortcomings so I can try harder to be better because today is a new day.

I share because I don't think I'm alone.

I share in case someone else feels my pain and they know they are not alone.

I share to make my "quiet desperation" not so quiet because I deeply understand when Thoreau said, "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation".