We were sitting at a table with four other people and, as you animatedly told your stories from the weekend, you only really looked at me. You glanced at the others periodically, but I felt like you were telling your tales to me.

The guy you liked, one of my closest friends, was sitting in between us. I knew you’d tell him many more details later and, at the end of our meal, I heard the two of you making plans to go into town together.

But, as you spoke now, you kept looking at me.

I could’ve cried. Instead I laughed, listened intently, and gave you as much eye contact as you wanted.

I could feel you wanting my attention in that moment. I could feel you wanting my laughter, my friendship.

For a couple of weeks now, I’ve been fighting it. I’ve been avoiding giving you my eye contact, my attention. I felt you didn’t want it. I felt you’d given up on me and didn’t care to try to cultivate any relationship between us and, stubbornly, I said, “Fine.” Stubbornly, I avoided you. Stubbornly, I ignored you. Stubbornly, I put bricks back into place in a wall I thought you’d been working to tear down.

And today, I could’ve cried because I felt like you wanted my friendship again.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it a billion more times: making new friends is hard. It’s confusing and vulnerable and complicated and painful and terrifying. Stubbornly, I want to know: Do you want my friendship or do you not? It’s your choice.

Because I want yours.




I think she might have been right.

That counselor two years ago.

I think she might have been right when she told me I didn’t let people love me.

And that saying? That saying that says “We accept the love we think we deserve”? It’s a line from ‘Perks of Being a Wallflower’ by Stephen Chbosky. I haven’t read the book or seen the movie, but I’ve heard the quote. And when I first heard it, I ignored it. I wrote it off and told myself it wasn’t true. At least not for me.

But I think Stephen Chbosky may have been right too.

Making new friendships is a terrifying, painful process for me. And this time around, I’m very aware of my self worth because of it.

Because, as scary as it is, I’m making a new friend right now. When I hang out with him, I’m cautious and reserved. He can tell. He’s commented a few times about the wall I’ve built around myself. And I can tell he’s looking for a hole or a weak spot in the wall.

But he doesn’t know how many walls there are.

Anyway. When I’m with him, things are good. It’s fun. It’s easier than I’d like to admit. But when we part ways, I start to panic. My mind starts to spin with thoughts of how something in our latest interaction is going to make him hate me and I convince myself he will stop talking to me or ignore me the next time we see each other. I’m already afraid of losing him. And I’m afraid that losing him will cause others to leave me too.

The other day, we were hanging out with another friend and there were a couple of other people around as well. He was teasing me and telling me that he liked me. I turned and looked him in the eye and said, “You don’t like me.”

“Yes I do!”

“No. You don’t.”

He brushed me off and told me that he did like me and that I needed to stop listening to whatever voices in my head that were telling me he didn’t.

Our other friend, a close friend of mine, who has been keenly observing our interactions, laughed. The subject changed. I was a bit taken aback and drew into myself a little. Because he’d hit the nail right on the head. I was constantly convincing myself he hated me and, if he didn’t now, he would tomorrow.

Having friends and making friends… Is it supposed to be this painful? Even with the close friend I was just referring to, I tell myself all the time that he could, honestly, that he should, stop being friends with me. I remind myself that I have nothing good to offer him and that … it’s hard to write down… But I remind myself he deserves a better friend than me. That he’d be better off without me.

I know how that sounds. That’s why it’s hard to write down.

I keep telling myself that people hate me and, if they don’t now, they will tomorrow.

If they don’t hate me now, they should tomorrow.

“We accept the love we think we deserve.”



Depression sucks. And I talk a big game about getting better. I know what to do. I know seeing a therapist would be good and I should exercise and cut some sugar out of my diet. I know there are studies that any one of these things can help someone living with depression.

I carve out time in my schedule for self care. An hour to read here. An hour to do yoga here. An hour to write there.

I have these moments of determination and clarity and can imagine myself doing all the things I need to do to get better. I go to meetings smiling and chatting and make a good time of it.

But there are other moments. Like the moments that led up to that meeting, reminding me I’d already cried two or three times that morning. Or moments where I sit with my head in my hands as I have a few minutes alone and just repeat over and over that I’m okay and that painful, restless energy shooting through my veins is something I can get through. Or that moment when a friend texts me and I know I have to go and get out of my apartment and hope the fact that I’ve been crying for the last hour isn’t too obvious. Or the moments and moments and moments I spend lying in bed for two hours after I wake up, trying to find the motivation to even sit up. Then hopefully standing up and getting ready will follow.

Those are just a few moments that have occurred within the past 48 hours.

Two days ago, after I’d been pretty productive and had planned in the self care into my calendar and had been researching depression workbooks (who knew those were a thing??), I got into bed and had this sinking feeling. I fell asleep and the only thought on my mind was, “I feel discouraged.”

One of the scariest things to me right now is trying to get better. I know that sounds crazy. Because going through life like this is miserable. But… I don’t know. I’m just really scared. What if I put in all of this work and… And nothing happens? What if I do my very best and better than my best and I’m still floundering? What then? I mean, I can only last like this for so long, right? And others won’t be able to deal with me, whichever me this is, for so long, right? So what happens when I don’t get better? What happens when I do everything I can and I’m still not okay?

What then?



I want you to know that when I look at or think of my friends, this voice in my head sometimes whispers, “They’ll hate you soon, just like he does. They’ll leave you too.”

I want you to know that making new friends is hard because I wonder how much pain they’ll cause me when it ends.

I want you to know that when my friend tells me his partner will have a say in his friends, I can’t hear anything else he says. My mind is stuck on wondering if the person he’s talking to hates me and this is his way of telling me our friendship will be over soon.

I want you to know today that I’m sad. I’m just sad. For no reason. And I’m exhausted. And at some point along the way, my heart let me need you. And now I don’t have you. And today, I wish more than anything I could call you. But I can’t. 

I want you to know I miss you.

And I don’t want you to know any of this because I know it would hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you. I have no interest in hurting you.

You are the third deep loss I never saw coming. And I want you to know I live in constant fear of the fourth. 



Let me describe

Let me try to explain

What this feels like

What’s happening to my brain

Let me say the words

Try to make them clean

So you’re able to understand

Exactly what I mean

There is this balloon

In the center of me

And it’s puffing it’s chest

Making it hard to breathe

It’s filled to the brim

Widening my ribs

I can’t seem to get

Use to it

It’s pushing my my veins

So far out of it’s way

I can feel it effecting

My arms and legs

So, please, grab a scapel

And split my skin

Puncture that damn balloon

Let something good back in

Because I feel it, I feel it

Like I’ll explode

I grit my teeth, bear it

No one has to know




You know, a little while ago, I was severely depressed and the thing I couldn’t handle was that I was surrounded by people who should’ve cared. And they didn’t.

I’m sure, on some level, they did. I get that.

But now, I’m not drowning. I’ve just breathed in a couple mouthfuls of water and I’m gagging a bit. And now these people, these people here in this place, they care. Now, they don’t always care the way I want them too. These people actually notice when I’m not okay and they don’t just ignore me. They want me to participate in the conversation. They do nice things. They take note when I’m not mentally with them.

And maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m more open here. Maybe here I feel less constraint. Maybe there I hid more often. Maybe there I made myself inaccessible. Maybe it was me.

All I know is there I felt like no one cared. All I know is here they care enough to ignore me and care for me anyway.

I don’t deserve the care. I can’t figure out why these people are nice to me. I don’t know why they notice when I’m not okay or why they bother trying to make me laugh. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with the kindness. I really really really just want to stay in bed all day but somewhere along the way, I became this person with a job that takes up too much time and I have to get out of bed every morning and for goodness sake I know that’s a good thing but I really just want to get lost in pillows and blankets and warmth and  I don’t want to leave it and I don’t want to face these people who are so kind to me when I know I can’t give a damn thing back to them and I’m so tired and sad and how the fuck do you still feel alone when you know the people around you actually like you and want you to be here???



I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I got scared and a little mad. My emotional brain was a little stunned and a little confused and a little hurt. My logical brain quickly tried to wrap a blanket around my emotional brain and soothe her. My logical brain knew, and knows, that nothing was wrong, that nothing was meant by it, and that it wasn’t supposed to hurt.

I’m sorry I acted the way I did. And I’m sorry it affected you. Because I could tell it affected you.

I felt rejected and I reacted. I stood as tall as I could, bit back a little, and stayed stubborn as ever, proving to myself and those watching that the only person I will ever need is myself.

And you don’t deserve a friend like me. You deserve someone better. Much better.

So if you want to leave, I understand. I will, with all the grace and dignity I have, watch you go. I will watch your form walking away from me and I will wish you well.

I’m sorry if I made you angry. I’m sorry I took it too personally. I understand if you want to leave. There’s no reason you shouldn’t.