A figurine's story

On the shore of a lake where the water is calm, a figurine left on the ground unattended has a good chance of simply remaining until it is found again. However, life is not a lake. Life is an ocean. with crashing waves and engulfing tides. A figurine left on this shore will likely be swallowed up by the ocean. But as life isn't a lake, I am not a motionless figurine. I've dug my fingers into the sand as I was swept away. I've kicked and struggled toward the surface and back toward the shoreline. The ocean seems endless, and my figure naturally sinks. Despite this I know that you could find me when walking near the place where we parted.

If the one who was left behind is a figurine, then you were one too. I wouldn't dare to leave you by a shore, though. I opened my hand with you in it. I tilted my hand until you slipped off, into the hands of someone I thought should have you. A girl who held you while I held you, but slipped her fingers between mine while dreading my touch. I knew you were safe in her hands. I never wanted to stop seeing you, so I didn't. I stroked your head as it appeared above her fingers. I smiled, and cupped my hand behind your head. Feeling wrong, trying to move on, I took my hand away. You were fine, but I was gone and I was alone. The day came when I rushed back and my hand held your head too tightly. You left to a place far away, in her hand. I was left as a lonely figurine.

Inevitably apart

My little brother and I spent today making our mom happy. We started just past midnight with "Happy Mothers' Day!" to her and our grandmother. I showed them the previous message I put together. After hours of sleep, my brother got me up to prepare a plentiful breakfast of french toast for them. After breakfast, we presented our gifts to them: a floppy white hat for our grandmother, and a wooden wall ornament for our mom. I expected the ornament to be put up in my mom's office at school, but my mom had me put some nails into the wall above her computer, and we hung the ornament there.

Afterward, my brother, my mom, and I spent a few hours on Coronado Island. When we hit the beach, I was the only one in the water. It was pretty cold. My brother admitted to acting like you. Ah well, we had fun exploring the coast. We came across the Hotel Del Coronado and explored its shops. Yes, the hotel has its own mall. We came across a sweets shop with an intoxicating smell, and I got such a filling caramel & sea salt fudge block that I couldn't keep it all to myself. That's both because I wanted my mom and brother to share its deliciousness with me and because it was terribly filling.

On our way home, we ordered some pupusas, and we visited a small rose garden while the order was being filled. We went home to eat, and I poured cayenne all over my pupusas. Watched TV with my brother, watched TV alone, now I'm here at the end of the day. It was fun, and I'm glad that our outing made our mom quite happy.

Normally after these things I say, "I wish you'd been there." Yeah, I do wish that. To my understanding, my brother and mom would have liked that too. However, I realized as quickly as I'd thought it first that you couldn't have spent the day with us anyway. You'd spend the day with your mother, just the same as you probably spent it today. Maybe you could have come over in the evening, but you would have missed the main events. Perhaps you could have slept over yesterday to spend the morning with us today, then I'd have dropped you off with your mom. Still, it was inevitable that we would have spent most of today apart. So, this is one of the few days when I truly could't regret being separated from you; it would have happened this way anyway.

I hope that you and your mother had a lovely day together, sweetie. =]

Happy Mothers' Day

Happy Mothers' Day

I've done lots of writing

Well, that's what blogging is all about, isn't it? It's a whole lot of writing. This makes the 178th message, 2 messages for nearly every day since I've started. Some messages are a few sentences, and some are a few paragraphs. The one I just wrote was a few paragraphs. I don't think this message will come near a match to that.

I have so much to tell you. Well, if you've read everything up to now, then I had so much to tell you. You had a whole lot to read, in that case. I'm so grateful if you've read it all. I'm grateful if you've just read a little. Thank you for putting in any effort at all to understand what I've been dealing with. Not just the simple synopsis of, "You broke a relationship, now you can't let her go. Soldiers and the poverty-stricken have much worse problems than you." Actually trying to understand how I feel, or how I can't feel, and how I'm trying to understand and manage that. Understanding how depression and suicidal thoughts aren't helped by abandonment, and how holding on to even the most unrealistic threads of hope can help to bring a person out of their personal hell. I know there's so much more to understand, too, but I'm not trying to list off what I think you should be getting from this.

For all the effort that I put into my messages, I am grateful for the effort you put into reading and comprehending them. Whoever is reading, thank you so much.

Obedience

My dog bit my brother for the first time today. Yeah, probably the one you'd expect to do it. It wasn't a bad bite; it didn't even break the skin. Of course, my brother is too cool to get upset over something like that, too. Still, that's a big deal, and the dog kept growling afterward. See, when that dog really wants to be in a certain place, he'll defend his right to be there. That's probably what led to the bite. So, like a good owner, I scolded him. I told him to stop growling, putting my fingers in a ring over his snout. This wasn't dangerous for him, of course, because he can still breathe through his nose when that's going on. If anything he could slip out of my hand and bite me easily. He was better than that, though.

My stepdad and my mom have a different approach to the dogs' misbehavior. They prefer to let them be or to distract them with treats. Obviously, they're not interested in correcting the dogs' behavior. They just want the dogs to stop, they don't want to train them. So of course while I'm scolding the dog my step-father is telling me to just let him go. He didn't want the headache of hearing me scold the dog, though he didn't say that. He only ordered me to stop, just as I was ordering the dog to stop. I didn't stop. Often I'll oblige because giving my step-father problems means my mother will have problems later. Today, though, I knew the dog would listen soon enough. I ignored my step-father, and he sulked off into his office, slamming the door behind him.

The dog stopped soon, like I thought. Then more noise started up. When my step-father gets frustrated, he likes to sit in his office in front of his computer and blast music. That's his coping mechanism, and many teens are likely to be able to relate. He always does this, usually only loud enough to bother my mother who sits at her computer across the wall. Today, though, he took it too far. My little brother and I wanted to sit down and watch Supernatural, and we could hear the music as clearly as if it was playing from the television. I couldn't stand for that, knowing my mother had to deal with it being even closer. My little brother went to ask him to turn the music down. My step-father told him to just close all the doors. My little brother did so and, of course, it didn't help at all. So I went to his office to ask him to turn the music down, because we could hear it clear across the house. I reminded him how we always turn our volumes down when he asks us to. He largely ignored me, with his two responses being "I don't want to hear you" and "go ahead and turn it down yourself".

I knew that turning it down by force would accomplish nothing, so I simply threatened to stand over his shoulder until he turned it down. I didn't want him to just settle in and get comfortable while screwing with the rest of us. I told him that this was not the right way to handle his problems, and that he should stop being so inconsiderate of his family. My mother came in and started yelling at me to just let him do what he wanted. I just stood still. She took me by the arm and literally dragged me out of the room; I didn't want to hurt her, so I let her do it. I realized that my step-father would feel justified, given my mother's actions, so it was now pointless to play the mind-game of standing in his space.

I wasn't finished yet, though. I went outside to the fusebox. I could still hear the music clearly from outside. It wasn't locked, so I tried to get open it, but I couldn't get a good grip on the cover. Before I could open the box, my mother rushed out and got between me and the box. She argues her hand-off position, I argued my take-action position, and my brother stood with us outside. Eventually, understanding that I couldn't convince her, I walked away from it. But she wanted to make me understand, so she asked me to come back. I did, and she talked a bit more. I didn't try to convince her, though, and she sure didn't convince me of anything. My little brother noticed that we couldn't hear the music anymore. With that, we went back inside, and my brother and I watched our show.

The irony in me training the dogs to be obedient is always that I disobey when my mother or stepfather tell me to stop training. I used to feel guilty about that. However, I realize that, first of all, my obedience doesn't set any sort of example for the dogs. Second, I'm training the dogs because I know better than them. I know that growling and biting is the wrong thing for the dogs to do, so I scold them for doing it and pet and baby them for playing nice. However, I'm not a dog. My little brother isn't a dog. We're not pets of our parents; we're intelligent, thinking beings. In this case, they simply don't know better. Perceived wisdom through age doesn't trump logic. We're all human, and at the least we should be able to see each other equally. I don't try to train my parents to train the dogs correctly, because I don't have a place over them. Of course, my stepfather thinks he deserves a place over me and my brother, the power to give orders without question. I'm not saying that he's wrong because we know what to do better than he does, I'm saying he wrong because he's treating us like we can't think for ourselves.

When you thought for yourself, thought to try to stay my friend, you made the right decision. Then you gave in to others' wishes for you to abandon me, and I doubt that was the right thing to do. I don't want you to regret that decision to not think for yourself, and I know that I have learned so much from what I've gone through because of that decision. I just want you to know that you're a smart, loving, driven girl who should be respected for the decisions that she's made in kindness.

To bathe or to blog

Around 10 I made myself a decision. A little decision, but one nonetheless: should I write a message now, or shower? Late at night, my folks don't like me splashing water around. On the other hand, of course, midnight is my deadline for my two messages each day. I chose the shower.

Why do I feel the need to tell you that? Well, I'm just spouting everything I can find any meaning in. Allow me to explain that meaning. Tell Her Before I Die has helped me to pull out of the darker depths of depression, so I keep writing for it a priority obligation. But I realize that this is less about defeating depression and more about living my normal life. The bad feelings will probably not go away without you. I've been working toward not letting those feelings impede my life. To do that without lying to myself too much, yes, those negative feelings have had to diminish. In the big picture, that's a stepping stone. It gives me a foothold toward normal living. And, of course, normal living is a stone toward spending time with you again. You see how that all goes.

I think that in that decision I prioritized living normally over living with depression. I'm here banging out this message last-minute, but I may not have ended up able to do this. I'm clean and taking care of my body, and that's important. I realize that my head still needs work, so I'm not going to stop writing, but I think it's safe for me to put it on the backburner sometimes.

Better yet, I should learn how to manage my time better. Also how to take shorter showers.

I keep forgetting the spice

I keep forgetting to spread a good helping of cayenne powder on my food lately. On everything where cinnamon is appropriate, I certainly don't forget the cinnamon, but the poor cayenne has been neglected or at least nearly omitted. Piece by piece, I place the nourishment on my tongue, chew and swallow. The whole time, to the end, I feel like it's lacking. Only at the end do I realize what was missing, and I get a little frustrated. The person I'm returning to being didn't bother spicing his food. So as I get closer to normality, I suppose that I forget the extra steps I've been trying to take.

Similarly, it's become more difficult to replace an extra meal with a glass of water. It's more tempting to pick up a sweet instead of preparing a healthy meal. I can't say that my family's habits help; they're always getting temptations both casually and as gifts. This really frustrates me. You understand what it's like to not have what you need to be healthy.

I have a choice though. I do have the freedom and finance to just go and buy what I need. Near the end of our relationship, I took you grocery shopping, and you made good food choices for yourself. Leeching off my mother's money, I could drive to any market in town to buy the food that I'd prefer. There's a few excuses that discourage me from doing this, though. First, I don't keep that good of a catalogue of the food we have. I don't want to waste money on what we already have, especially if it's perishable or best when fresh. But my grandmother could help me take inventory before I decide to go. Second, going grocery shopping has always been the responsibility of my mother and stepfather. I don't want to infringe on their responsibilities. However my stepfather often uses the argument that, if I'm not happy with the way someone else does something, then I should do it myself. Maybe that's why I'm the one who makes noodles around here now. Third, I don't want to be any more of a financial burden than I already am. Then again, my household pays for my food anyway.

And since simply saying that I don't want to be fattened up hasn't been clear enough, I should let economics take its course. I should let the unhealthy food ruin, because it isn't a waste to have not eaten it but a waste to have bought it in the first place. The fact that it's there doesn't mean I need to eat it. That's a dieting truth that I came to myself, not learned through reading and certainly not learned by my family's habits.

That reminds me, I never ate that greek yogurt they wanted me to eat. It's too sour for my tastes. I'm sure she loves greek yogurt, by the way, given what we know about how poorly she perceives sourness. Guess she and I both have pretty wacky taste buds. Yeah, I don't know how to bring this post back to the point from here. I guess it's not so bad to end on a completely different note, is it?

Playing videogames again

Well, I think I made an improvement. I actually wanted to play a videogame today. So I went ahead and did it, and I had some fun! It even helped me to feel normal again. I didn't feel like playing for long, but that's not a bad thing. I do have responsibilities to attend to, after all. I'm just glad that I enjoyed involving myself in something, instead of just sitting and watching something.

Perhaps this is the same sort of involvement that I have with making those art messages and coding in general. I probably should try not to game too much, though. I should do it just about as much as watching shows, since those are both just entertainment. Whatever gamers may say, I'm not really gaining life-relevant skills from playing, at least not with the games I play. But making art messages and coding do give me practice skills I intend to put to work.

You probably fill your spare time with gaming. Could you imagine if we met in an MMO, oblivious to each others' identities behind the masks of our characters, and became friends again that way? Ah, that's certainly not something I'm aiming for. Considerations include the unlikely odds, the times and durations we'd play, and finally the awkward moment where I'd have to tell you who I am or suddenly abandon you. All in all, I actually hope we don't meet in a game. I think I might be playing more single-player games anyway.

I don't think I'll write any messages about multiplayer games that I'm playing. If for some reason you're reading this and still avoiding me, that could drive you away from a good game. But I'll probably make recommendations for single-player games just like with anime. Whatever you decide to occupy your free time with, I hope it's fun or that it helps you. Take care.

An itch passes

In previous message, I said that I'd been filled with an anxious energy. I titled the message Itchy. It's kind of absurd when you can so easily find a physical sensation to describe emotion, but it helps when there's physical symptoms of that emotion. That hand fidgeting, sometimes it was a scratching motion. Pretty direct link there to an itch.

There's two ways to get rid of an itch. Either you indulge it, by scratching it or bathing it or whatever else, or you ignore it. I did a tiny bit of indulgence, making pointless movements to oust energy. I mostly ignored it. An ideal of weakness got me through it. It wasn't a struggle, but a numbing. That apathy that had dried the meaning from my life drowns near everything, and that itch was no different. I still feel in creeping, but now it's something I can work with instead of being worked up by it.

I remember now that my true problem isn't with anxiety. What I manage is my depression. I am low, not high-strung. I'm closer to nowhere than I am to anywhere. But what's even more important is that I've never even had a problem with anxiety, depression or not. I'm going back to where I should be, neither nowhere nor anywhere but somewhere safe. That place where we'll smile together again.

Some disgusting walmart story

At the middle school that I went to, where my little brother goes now, there's this one history assignment: make a shield for class. I painted mine with a yellow background and an green trim, with an orange tabby on it and some M-looking red symbol at the top-center. The shape I chose for the shield had one point at its bottom and three on its top. My brother's shield is a simpler, classic three-point shield. Both shields are made of plywood. We both used duct tape to make handles on the back of the shields, but he also covered his shield in duct tape for a metallic well not really but you know look. He cut out a star in the duct tape and painted it red and blue.

Before he was able to get to that point, though, we had to buy some paints. So, we went to Walmart. We wandered around and until I became too lazy to look any further. I stopped to ask an employee where the paints were, jokingly disclaiming that as a guy asking for directions isn't my thing. The employee started to lead us to the paints, but we turned a corner to find a load of crap. No, literally, there was crap that I believe came from a large dog and was left there on the floor of Walmart. Another employee was scooping it up. Well, our employee was so flustered by the sight that she couldn't even continue leading us to the paints. "Welcome to Walmart," the other employee said. We got some incoherent directions and managed to make it to the isle ourselves.

I simply never thought that I would see Walmart's reputation present itself in front of me like that. I'd actually begun to wonder if my local Walmart was somehow immune to the oddities presented on the internet from locations across the nation. Wow. I don't even think there's a lesson to be learned. Just, things you don't expect will happen!

An old thought on crying

Crying is something you do alone, or with your best friend. You shouldn't stop crying, or eventually you won't be able to anymore. You'll need to cry when you need the drowning feeling at the bottom of your ribs to go away.

Itchy

Today was difficult. Internally difficult. Everything around me was fine, but as usual I'm not. I was filled with this uneasy energy, with directionless anxiety. It seemed mostly like a torrent of negative thoughts that I couldn't catch and think out. When one thought did rise into focus, it didn't stay long enough for me to come to a conclusion. I couldn't find something that I wanted to do, because I just felt so unable to grasp anything.

I decided to make myself watch some YouTube videos that have forever been on my Watch Later list. Most of them were music videos, so I started with the ones that weren't. Those did redirect my attention, though it felt meaningless to watch the first few. The last non-music video I watched was about a transgender suicide. It made me think about the various reasons for suicide. I also felt guilty because I have a great life surrounded by people who accept me. I feel bad that the fact that you no longer accept me is the cause of my suicidal and depressive thoughts. A little more self-loathing, you know. To be clear, I didn't start considering suicide again, by the way, I was only considering its reasons.

Then I watched this video:

I probably wanted to watch this for the adorable box people. I can't remember when I found this. But now I'm watching it when it's got my words. Which means, of course, that it's now in that playlist, They Sing the Words I Couldn't Find.

After replaying that several times, I went on to play some other songs from my playlist that I've memorized the lyrics to. Namely Drown, Rather Be, and Iris. I was able to sing along, but my singing reflected how I felt: rough, shallow, distracted. It wasn't as heartfelt as my usual attempts. On my way to school, Drown played on the radio, so I sang along then too.

My hand's been fidgeting. I still don't feel quite right. I hope that I can sleep tonight. Are you anxious about something, love?

Don't just

Don't just stop talking. Don't just quit.
Know what you're saying. Know what to quit from.

An old work from an old heartbreak

I remember that I showed you my deviantArt once. You didn't care for it. It doesn't mean much to me now, either. I usually only go on dA to look up some random things. I don't check on anyone I'm watching, never replied to comments, and haven't posted anything on there in years. I've only got a few deviations from 2009 to early 2010. I haven't even bothered to update anything on my profile to reflect how I am now, or to let anyone know that I'm not there.

This one is from 2009. An internet girlfriend had broken up with me. The trigger was that another guy wanted in on our relationship, and she was not down with that. Things didn't really come together between myself and that guy. I don't think that was the underlying reason, though. We had great chats on the internet and the phone. She'd sent me pictures of herself, and she was one pretty girl. But I never showed her a picture of myself, because I thought I looked unattractive in comparison and it would drive her away. I just don't think I showed her enough of what she wanted. In retrospect, I'm sure she was just waiting around for a reason to leave me. At the time, I didn't see it coming, though.

I wasn't happy that she'd left me. However, I knew that I didn't need her. We were still friends afterward. I felt bad that we couldn't keep being a couple, but I easily went about my life as I always had. It was more a bummer than a struggle. I was just waiting to stop feeling somber, and with time and her companionship I eased back to feeling completely normal.

I don't relate to this image at all now.

Tinkering around, falling behind

I've been working today on another art & poetry post. I thought I'd be done in a three or four hours, but it's taken much more time. If I were to approach it in a straightforward manner, I probably could have it done. However, I like to code in a very reusable manner. That's to say that I like my code to need as few changes as possible when things change around it. I know that I won't be changing the posts on Tell Her Before I Die, but I still practice this. It's just me being a perfectionist.

I don't think that I'll pick up that project again tonight. I'll get too caught up in it and midnight will pass without a result, or I'll just publish whatever I've come up with that works the best. I'll leave it for after I write again, hopefully to put up tomorrow. I want to learn to have it done as I envision it. Maybe I'll make the code more straightforward, after all. Maybe I'll cut out the JavaScript and just rely on CSS3. Whatever I decide, I'll try to get it done my tomorrow. No real need to set a deadline, though.

Like I thought, though, I've been very motivated to do that art post. I guess right now I need more than just words. That's another reason why I compiled that music playlist, isn't it? They're words, but they're also rhythms and melodies. There was a time before you when I did some art to express how I felt after a breakup. It was word art with a few doodles to go along with it. Perhaps that's what I'll show here later. I just need more to express and involve myself, because it's honestly difficult to dig into how I feel using words. However it gets done, I'll keep expressing myself to you.

Do something else to waste time

I've been thinking about why I often put off writing these messages. I know that I'm uncomfortable with not quite being depressed nor fine, with not knowing whether I'm slipping back down. I'm even skeptical of my feelings, especially the ones that say that I don't need help anymore. I know that I'm not alright because I haven't stopped feeling bad; I know that I can't write those feelings off. So why is my mind trying to tell me o pretend? Especially when pretending is what breaks me?

I'm not in danger right now. But if I start lying to myself again and I crumble once again? I could be right back at square one. I could want to hurt myself again. I'd lose the ability to go about my life again. I'm not downright scared like I was when I was at my deepest point, but I am afraid of going back. No, saying that it's okay does not help. I can't be complacent again, after all the progress that I've made.

And so I think this is why I often write these late at night. All day I hear the thought, "I'm just fine now. I don't need to write anymore. I should waste my time with something more fun." It's not true. This has helped me, it's still helping me, and it's even helping others. I'm not fine, and there honestly shouldn't be anything more worth it than writing here. Maybe I should set aside more time to write messages under the art & poetry tag. Tinkering with those little projects is something that I've found fun lately. Maybe that'll be two birds with one stone. I'll have to try.

Another thought: "Its all meaningless. This is just to waste time until she comes back. What does it matter what I do, as long as I do something?" But you're not coming back unless I get better, and I'm not good enough yet. There must be a purpose to what I do, and that purpose is you.

Stupid response to a stupid saying

Someone asked about us today. I said that we weren't together anymore. It was hard on you, now it's hard on me. I didn't want to go into detail. Guess what the response was? "There's plenty of other fish in the sea." Yes, that.

It's not the first time I've heard that, but most people I've talked to know better than to use that cliché advice. Well, it's not even advice. It doesn't say what to do, really. It just belittles love and relationships. Trust me, if you truly cared then that is not the way to go.

I just responded, "Yeah." But I finally got down to thinking, just how is it wrong? And how can I explain it in the same sort of metaphor? Well, here's my attempt. We swam wonderfully together in beautiful reefs. I love your scales no matter how the light shines on them. Through so many waves, despite so many predators, we nudged each other through. With you, I felt that no hook would ever make it into my mouth. We swam in lovely circles and excitedly flitted over sand and coral. The water a always felt just right when you were in it with me.

I could swim with another fish. But the ocean will never feel the same when your fin isn't fluttering against mine.

Blogging can be important

Each of these posts is a message to you. I remember important thoughts from the day and let you know about them. Sometimes I have to tell myself, "Nothing meant anything to me, but it'll mean something to someone else." This is especially true when it's come to the last hours of the day and I haven't written anything. I think I've had no thoughts worth knowing about, yet every time I conjure one up and write.

Social networking is for a range of interests that a person has. In contrast, blogs have themes. I believe this blog's themes are important: heartbreak, isolation, and living with depression. I don't always feel obligated to jump onto Google+, but every day I feel obligated to write for Tell Her Before I Die. It isn't an obligation to you, not directly at least. You may never read this, which I hope isn't the case given the name of this blog. It's an obligation to myself, so that I can keep myself thinking meaningfully, not let myself disappear.

So far I think that doing this has helped me so much. I think it's a regular reminder that I'm trying to stay alive and to help myself. Holding on to something can destroy a person if there isn't anything that person can do. Yet holding on can save a person if it'll drive the person to do what is needed. Holding on isn't destroying me; letting go is what destroyed me. So I won't let myself stop writing.

It's faith, not trust

I used to think that the one I needed to end up with was a person I could absolutely trust. For years, I thought I could absolutely trust you. You kept every secret that I asked you to keep. You would tell me everything that came up about yourself. You had trouble telling me things about her, but I tried to understand; she's shy, distrustful, and she gave you her own secrets that I had no right to know. Plus your love for her rubbed off on me too, so it was easier to let it be. This was still the equivalent to me of absolute trust. Most importantly, I trusted that you loved me more than anyone else.

Then that November day came. For years I'd been letting you two take it as far as you wanted, expecting something in return. You revealed me that she couldn't love me back, because of my sex. She wasn't as open as you two had me believe up to that day. So I told you that you had to leave her in order to keep me, just to test your love for me. You kept saying that you'd do anything, but you refused to do that. I ended up leaving. And, as I told you the next month, if you'd decided to keep me then I would have let you keep her as well. My trust in you was broken, and I convinced myself that, because of this, you weren't the one.

When we spoke again a few days later, you asked if we could get back together. I told you that I needed to learn to be in a healthy relationship, and you needed to learn to be independant. You stayed close to me, yearning for my attention. I let you have it, because I enjoyed it. We were happy. I tried to get into relationships with two people that I trusted. Neither of them wanted me, but the second one didn't properly reject me; you had to tell me that she wasn't interested. On New Years' I found a new relationship, and I tried to let you go. You went just fine, sure. The person I had found lied to me, though, and I ended it with her. All alone, I crumbled, with nobody to love me that I could trust. I tried to trust you with my feelings. You fulfilled my trust for a few days, then cut me off.

Now, going through all of this, I sure as hell don't trust you. But I've put my faith in you. That's kept me going. I should have known, as a religious person, that it's all about faith. I honestly can't trust everything in the Bible, but I put a lot of faith into it anyway. Trust didn't get me anywhere with anyone. But even if I can't sincerely trust you anymore, I can put my faith in you and just run with it. It's kept me running this far. It'll keep me going.

I'm waking up early why

I've been up since around 3:30. That makes 3:30 the earliest that my depression has ever woken me at. I wish I could get some more sleep. That was only 2 hours of sleep, seriously. Maybe I'll be able to sleep later.

I've sometimes wondered why this is a symptom of depression. Maybe it's to save me from nightmares, or from simply unpleasant dreams. Well, that's unfortunate, because I'm also being deprived of wonderful dreams of you. Then maybe it's to keep me from getting too attached to sleep? That makes sense, but I don't like it. Many people are restless because they have too much on their minds. Like I've said, it's often difficult for me to sleep without being occupied by prayer or with a video, distracted from bad thoughts. I know that I've awoken with those thoughts, but maybe it's those thoughts that wake me to begin with? I've got one last hypothesis. When you wake up and fall back asleep within 5 minutes, you normally forget having woken up at all. Maybe I woke up and I would have fallen back asleep if these thoughts didn't instantly start buzzing in my head?

A quick Google search suggests it's about the dreams. Depression leads to more dreaming, those dreams lead to more active hormones, the body reacts by waking up and staying awake. No poetic distinction between nightmares and fantasies. Well, I wasn't anxious to find out the answer, but it's nice to know anyway. At least this isn't my mind waking me to go and change something, because there isn't anything to change any earlier in the morning. That could be frustrating, but I probably wouldn't care much for it anyway. I slightly care about the sleep deprivation. It's not healthy, and I want to have whatever dreams. I'm at the mercy of my body on this one, though. Ah well.