Harangue: a long, passionate and vehement speech, especially one delivered before a public gathering.

I try so hard every day to stay as positive as possible, seep myself like a teabag into the cup of hot water that is my family and friends.

I love my dogs and take time to just watch them, their pure joy in just being with me and my husband.

I go to the doctor, like yesterday, for a blood pressure check up. (130/80)

I push myself to do the things that I still can do. I see my new therapist every week and tell her everything that pops into my hazy little head.

I try to drink enough fluids, eat enough food even when my stomach (lately) clenches at the thought of it.

I use my sense of humor whenever possible to add levity to my situation and to lessen the worry of others who care about me.

But I’m gonna let you in on a few little secrets.

I am fucking scared of having to go back to the psych hospital. It’s a fear that stays with me. I dream of it, from the uncomfortable beds, the strangers around me, the awful food, the constant boom of my name over the intercom for med passes, blood sugar checks (why the hell do I even have diabetes, anyways?) and that sickening feeling of being alone in a place where I am just another crazy person with a bracelet on.

I despise the constant cycles of a 36 hour (even if a zombie apocalypse happened I would sleep right through it) snooze or it’s counterpart, not being able to sleep at all because I hurt and ache, with a brain that can conjure up the freakiest shit imaginable.


I want people that I rarely talk with to check in on me, but they don’t. I want someone to understand how I feel and when I do find someone who does, I want that person to hold me, comfort me, cry with me and tell me that it will all be okay.

I wish with every part of my soul that I could find some inner peace somehow. Sometimes, I can just put my finger on it and then, it’s gone.

I want people who read what I write to take a second and tell me that they care.

I want my dad.

I had gone almost two weeks without crying and today the waterworks are coming fast and furious.

I wish that I could have outran the fibromyalgia for just a little bit longer.

But mostly, I want my damn mental health to stay stable.

I have a small request and if you are unable to do it, (possibly because you don’t know me from shit) I will understand.

When you are done reading this, please leave me a comment. It can be anything. I just need to feel that people are out there.