Drafts of the Insomniac

To all those who may or may not be reading this, Welcome. Welcome to my blog. My journal. My diary. Welcome to the zone where I can record all of the different random thoughts that go through my mind every single day. As you read through any posts I have, you’ll notice I seem severely depressed in most of them. This is because I was severely depressed when I wrote them and I probably still am. To those of you who know me personally, you’ll know I’m not a talker. I don’t like sharing my feelings and I tend to suppress them as much as possible. If you’re part of this category, welcome to a new side of me. One I try to keep hidden from friends, family, and everyone else I know. Every time I write on this blog, I feel the tears falling from my heart, turning black and becoming the words on each page. I see the thoughts of sadness and hatred bleed with the same intensity on every line. I’m cutting literal figurative pieces out of myself and transcribing then as best as I can to show

I knew the storm was coming, but I could never have anticipated the floods that it would bring. With each drop of rain, the frown upon my face would grow. The thunder and lightning struck fear into the heart every time it struck and the depressive winds from the east would tear at my house. I always thought I was safe, but don’t we all. My storm stuck on May 4th, 2013 and lead to the following. It came in a wave of scarred wrists, shed tears, and too many sleeping pills. I was sent to a “behavioral hospital” on May 5th, 2013, the day of one of my best friends birthdays. My phone was taken, I was able to have one phone call during the day, there was no door leading into my room, and although it felt like prison, I felt safe. Every day, we would be awakened by one of the counselors. They would knock on the door frame where the door should’ve hung and tell us to get up. They would give us any and all pills that had to be taken in the morning. It would be followed by breakfast. All