Oh...It's gonna get better? You're a fucking liar!

I don't feel comfortable in my own skin.

That's so cliche of me, isn't it?

I'm doing everything twice because in the moment, I forget what I'm doing and how to do it.

The depression is back. It's back. Again, it's back.

Last week I missed a dose of Seroquel because my doctor didn't get my message that I was out and needed a refill. I took 2mg of Klonopin that night in its place hoping it would help me to sleep and not be edgy. When I woke up the next morning I knew something was off immediately upon opening my eyes.

I had a mental breakdown at work that day. I self-harmed. I ditched out to grab my prescription and to take half the dose at home. Then I slept it off. A full dose would have me down and out for about 12 hours so I did what I could.

I felt okay the day after. But I don't think I've felt more than okay in a long while.

I feel like I've been ice skating only the ice wasn't frozen through just yet. I heard the crack and came to a standstill. Then, the inevitable. I fell through. In my effort to get out, to find air, I sunk deeper. The opening was out of reach and I was pounding on the ice from the underside. Then I realized how easy it would be to give in and stop the search. My body sank into the icy waters and I was gone.

I'm not giving up, it's just the idea of it that is so charming.

I'm over it. The whole idea of living like this.

I'm tired of hearing how much better it's going to get from others too. Really? When? Because I've been waiting a hell of a while here. Stop your lying.

Seriously, stop making it seem like this is just some small thing that will pass. Yeah, it'll pass but you have no idea the terror behind it or how long it will take.

Hope is distant and cold and slippery.

Frankly, it bores me to bits.