Boys are frustrating.

And that is all I have to

say on that subject.


Memory #5

I’ve decided to start up this segement of my blog again where I talk about memories from life that made a major impact on who I am today. Memories are just non fiction stories from the mind of an author just waiting to be shared. 

(Disclaimer: I’m not currently suicidal, just depressed and overwhelmed. I was looking for an answer while things are sort of good so that hopefully they won’t get bad again. I have no intention of hurting myself at this time.)

When I was a freshman in high school, I was very suicidal. Like it was all I thought about everyday. I thought about killing myself on a near constent basis. I made on average one plan a week to off myself and I came pretty close to going through with it a handful of times. This memory is going through my head because almost exactly six years ago today was the day I got called into the counselor’s office to talk about just that. The only friend I had confided in turned me in and tried to get me help.

I was anxious to go into the office, but I told myself that this would be good. I was finaly going to get help and everything was going to be okay. I would finally stop feeling these things that destroyed me inside. Someone that would do more than say a few comforting words would hear my problems and give me a better solution. I walked into that office with the woman more hopeful than I had felt in a long time.

I was so wrong.

I answered all her quesitons truthfully. I gave her honest answers about the things bothering me and the thoughts I was having. She called in my parents (which was about the last thing I ever wanted to happen) but I thought about this optimistacally too. I mean someone had to pay for the therapist or medication or whatever they were going to get me so I could get better.

That’s not what happened.

Basically, the counselor told my parents that I was fine. That I was being over dramatic. In her words that I’ll never forget: “It’s just a phase. She’ll grow out of it once she learns to get over herself.” I was devastated. The woman who was supposed to get me help and make me get better brushed me off. She denied me help. She said my feelings were invalid. She said I was basically justa normal teenager looking for attention. I was so dissappointed.

I thought my parents would side against her and pursue other options. They are fighters and seem to go overboard on everything. Well they did and they didn’t. We went home and they called a professional psychologist who did an assessment with me over the phone. Obviously I was fairly hurt at this point and was less truthful about me answers I skirted around the whole truth in order to protect myself from getting more hurt.

The professional who had never met me and couldn’t see me to know that I was lying told my parents that they most likely would not need to make me an appointment but they could if they wanted to. They declined. Of all the blows I recieved that day, that was the worse. My parents didn’t care enough about me to make just one appointment just to be absolutly sure that there wasn’t a mistake.

Keep in mind they’ve been sending my brother to therapy once a week since kindergarten to deal with his special needs.

Less then two months later and my parents appeared to have forgotten the whole ordeal. They thought everything was fine, but the truth is I just got better at closing my mouth because talking about it just made things worse. So much worse.

They think the problem just corrected itself but obviously it did not if I’m sitting here 6 years later with those see feelings still floating around. I’ll admit I don’t make plans anymore like I used to but the idea is stil there. No matter what issue I’m faced with, it always shows up in my mind as an option. It’s been six years and I still don’t know how to cope. I still don’t know how to solve my problems. I am unhealthy. I am forgotten. I am ignored.


I tell you this story because due to this strign of events I have an extreme fearand anxiety of counselors, advisors, psycologists, and basically anyone else who could try to help me. I have severe trust issues due to this event and I’ve never been able to reach out to someone for help again.

That is until today.

I tried calling a counseling office today. They’re open and encouraged you to call over and over on their website. So after 3 years of working up the courage to call this number, I finally did and you know what happened?


I got put through to voicemail. I couldn’t work up the courage to do that in just seconds. I hung up and to be honest, I’ll probably never call again.

(Disclaimer: I’m not currently suicidal. Just depressed and overwhelmed. I was looking for an answer while things are sort of good so that hopefully they won’t get bad again. I have no intention of hurting myself at this time.)

Nobody There

Three years.

That’s how long it took

for me to work up the courage

to call counseling services

to try to get myself help

and there was nobody there.


I’ll never call again.

I’ll never get better.

All because the one time

I conquered my anxiety

and tried to reach out

to find nobody there.

Waiting to be Noticed

Most of my days

consist of me,

sitting around,

waiting to be



I watch and wait

for someone to

see me struggle,

but no one sees

me drown.


I scream for help

and wave a flag,

but somehow I

still forgotten;



I’m dead inside

and soon to be

outside but yet

no one seems to

care much.


Hopeless Romantic

I am a hopeless romantic,

extra emphasis on hopeless.

I believe there is love out there

that could save me from the darkness,

then again chivalry is dead.

Men don’t bring you flowers just because.

They don’t go out of their way to

plan surprises to make your day.

Guys don’t care to take a moment

to slow down and dance in the rain.

They don’t stop to look in your eyes

and savor time before a kiss.

It’s just relationships without

any real hope of commitment.

These dudes don’t think about romance,

It is a different day and time,

but I won’t settle for lazy.

Men must go the extra mile.

I want to live a love story.

I want whirlwind.  I want crazy.

I want to be swept off my feet.

I’m a hopeless romantic

and I am worth all the effort.

Pure Stone

*this is a poem I wrote during high school. Unfortunately, it’s still pretty relatable for me.*


The depression inside won’t leave

Death will not come, so I still breathe.

I am weak; I don’t wish to fight.

On the inside, nothing is right.

Heart is so broken; life is bleak

Don’t know if I’ll make it a week.

It seems every night grows longer.

The pain within me grows stronger.

At night all I can do is cry.

Every day I just live a lie.

I can’t fake anymore smiles.

I cannot run any more miles.

Can’t live another day alone

Wish my heart was made of pure stone.

With no more feelings of distress

And nothing left to confess