Red Velvet.

Dad and I baked a red velvet cake, today. The house now smells heavenly and the cake was divine. I love baking with my father. 

I never feel happy, these days.

It's not that I live a miserable life, lacking in love or companionship. It's not that I have any legitimate reason to feel unhappy. I just am. I'm unhappy, unmotivated and stuck. I never look forward to anything, I never feel that utter joy and excitement that I used to.

I'm stuck in this mindset, where nothing is ever right or beyond content and it has me feeling dismal. It's like there is a ball of emotion in my chest, jam packed tightly and the fuse is slowly burning down to combustion. I'm a constant wad of anxiety and stress. There's no external reason for me to feel this way. I'm just mentally ill, with anxiety and panic disorder. 

It's not a legitimate sickness, in the eyes of most people. 

"Be happy, if you want to be happy."
"Get your shit together."
"If you want to be anxious and sad, you're going to be. It's all mindset. Just fake it, until you make it."

It's not that simple, though. 

I have utterly no motivation, passion, drive or purpose. I have no control over my emotions, to the point that they fluctuate more than they're meant to. I have no interest in anything, beyond laying in bed and thinking. 

Some days, all I can do is lay in bed. Getting out of bed is a feat, in itself. I feel constantly tired. My diet consists of a sandwich or granola bar and several cups of coffee, daily. There is nothing that I care about, literally.

I could care less about school. I could care less about my friends, family, etc. I could care less about blogging, art and photography, ginormous loves of mine. I could care less about books, fashion, boys. There is nothing that interests me, outside of my bed and sleeping. 

Dragging myself to shower, do my hair, do my make-up. That's a mission I rarely have the energy to accomplish. I'm lucky if I don't fall asleep in the shower, sitting on my bum inside of it. I'm not suicidal, but I do think about harming myself. There is literally nothing in this world that I loathe more than me, right now.

I feel blubbery, boring and unappealing in every manner. I don't say this in an arrogant manner, but I know that I'm not the worst looking person in the world. There are some people that would even refer to me as, "beautiful" or "pretty," but I only go so far as to recognize that. In my mind, I am this hideous monster and the worst looking thing to ever grace this planet. Every insecurity that I ever felt, in middle school and earlier on in high school, have come to surface as my largest battles. 

Things that I previously had cared very little about have become insecurities and problems. Things that I had been confident and secure about, have joined the ranks as things I detest. There is nothing about me that I can find something positive or complimentary about. 

It's not that I'm hideous, or ugly or that my insecurities are cemented and well founded; it's that my mind cannot wrap around things and that the chemicals in my brain are so imbalanced, that everything in my mind and body is being affected. If anything, I simply desire to stop being me and become someone else. I have lost every sense of who I am as a person, as a woman and as an individual. Mental illness isn't just a chemical imbalance, but also a disease. It can take over who you are, warp you into someone that no one can recognize or reach. 

Right now, my mental illnesses have pushed me into being someone that I'm not. Right now, I'm not me. I'm nothing like myself. I went to the mall, yesterday, looking at at least eight stores and I didn't buy a single thing. New York & Co. have an entire line of mint, mod, 1960s inspired attire and I didn't have the desire to try a single thing on.

Mint has always been one of my favorite colors, and I've always loved vintage and vintage inspired clothing. I've needed to buy pants, long sleeve shirts and blazers/jackets for months, but nothing was even remotely attractive in the manner that I desired to wear it. Why? Because I felt that nothing would look good on me, even if I did. It would all just accentuate the rolls on my hips, the fluff of my stomach, the thickness of my arms. 

Everything that I hate about myself would be on display for the world and everyone would just laugh, is exactly what my brain was screaming at me. The gold sequin blazer that I would have normally adored and begged my mother to buy me? I slid that down the rack without a second glance, despite it being on sale for $10. That pair of mint slacks for $46? I strolled past those without even touching them to feel the firm cotton-polyester blend or to finger the crisp lines where they'd been steamed. 

Things that I normally would have done, I had no desire to do. Shopping at Victoria's Secret left me on the verge of tears, after going to the dressing room. My stomach looked awful, my breasts too large, my shoulders too rounded. Even the prettiest shifts and lingerie didn't elicit the normal awe that I felt. The floral, spicy perfumes of the store didn't leave me feeling chipper or flirty. 

I just felt minuscule, unimportant and grotesque. 

Not even the kind, maternal sales associates helping me could elicit a feeling of content or desire for my mother to be with me, helping me pick out bras and pointing things out to me. The prices on the lingerie didn't make me wince, wishing I had more money. I didn't spend a single penny, because what would have normally been worth the $62, just reminded me how disgusting I find myself. 

Food makes me nauseous. People make me anxious. Seeing myself makes me cry. Sharp objects make me want to hurt myself, because maybe if I physically hurt, then the pain will go away. My muscles and tendons ache, not used to a lack of physical regimen. 

I haven't run in nearly two months, because I always feel cold to the bone and too tired to move beyond a slow walk. All I think about are cigarettes, when I don't even smoke and never have. All I think about is sleeping, trying to remember what it's like to feel loved and hating myself. 

That has become my life. This is who I am, when I'm consumed by everything I've fought against for the past seven years. This is what I live with. You probably won't understand or you'll try to and fail, but this is where I am. This is my life.

I'm not just sitting here, waiting to die. I am trying to get help. I have a therapist, now. I meet her tomorrow, I think. I don't know what I'll say to her, though. 

I don't have a lot to say, these days. I just sit around and think. I'm better at thinking than speaking. At least, when I think, people don't take my hatred and blame for myself as being directed at them. At least, when I think, people don't know what's going on and try to help in ways that do nothing for me.

I'm just very fucked up, right now. It will get better, eventually. I have faith in that. God's never abandoned me, before. Even when I didn't know that I believed or didn't believe, God never abandoned me or forgot me. 

I fell in love with the woods, today.

Everything felt right, for a moment. Materialistic things became trivial, anxiety became minuscule  I found peace. It was a nice bit of therapy, before the week begins, again. It was perfect.

01/2013: Things I like.

This month, I was heavily in like with the Spring vibe of mint, vintage shift dresses, hearts, unique accessories, lace and yellow.

Source: 01, 02, 03, 04.