Today was my second day off. I don’t normally get two consecutive days off. I was scheduled off yesterday in order to attend a company function. Surprisingly, I enjoyed myself. Today is also the first day of the actual dose of Strattera. There was a titration period of 15 days. I generally felt good all day until mid-afternoon. I became somewhat irrational and I felt judged by my partner. I began raising my voice and having strong feelings. The feelings I felt strongest were shame and guilt. I felt ashamed that I was relaxing and enjoying myself. I felt guilty that I have been spending my time and effort into my interests and trying to find new friends. I felt bad that I haven’t done any of my research this summer. It kind of snowballed from there. I didn’t have dinner at the time but I didn’t feel hungry. Strattera curbs my appetite – most times I don’t feel hunger at all. I cried because I felt angry. I was angry at myself and I felt that my partner wasn’t being supportive of my efforts and of my interests. I felt extremely alone at one point. I felt I was on a rollercoaster of emotions. At one point I felt as if I was not allowed to be happy. That I am a slave. That I am not allowed to take care of myself. I said, “I’m not allowed to breathe unless I am working (on my project).” It was rather over the top. My partner calmed me down by telling me to eat and by watching a show together. We hardly ever do anything together these days. I told my partner I feel alone because I am alone.

Eating and watching two episodes of our show put me in better spirits. I admitted that I wanted to take a break. I got over the guilt and the shame and worked on a schedule. I feel that I will be alright as long as I schedule a week in advance. To keep me in check of what I need to do.

Despite my outburst this evening, I have finally found how to relax and how to enjoy myself. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.



I wanted to continue the morning pages but when I wake up, hopping on and writing is the farthest thing from my mind. I am reading the book my counselor suggested I read. She told me about it last year. I've had the book since November of last year. I have never read it until now. I read it last night. I can only read a few pages at a time. I don't understand why I am afraid. I'm afraid of the words. I am afraid of reading on. My heart is racing, my eyes are tearing, my face and my ears are flushed. The words are common words, but here and there they bring me back to that place. The place I don't want to be. Old memories that have been pushed down and forgotten.

I am alone in my studio apartment. My house is secure. No one is with me. But why do I feel so afraid? No one can hurt me. No one even knows where I live. They don't know my telephone number. They don't even know that I am miles away. I know that I have to continue reading to heal, I know that. But still I am afraid. I'm starting to regret pushing my counselor's appointment to a month and a half. I think I will call her and see her. I think I need to see her. I don't understand, why am I so afraid. Why am I crying? I am not hurt. I am not in danger. Why. Why. Why.

I know what happened to me. I want to get better. I know I have to do this even though I don't feel strong enough. I know I can get through this because I have people who will support me. They will support me even though they know what happened.

I feel fear. I feel anger. I'm so angry. Why did this happen to me? I didn't do anything to deserve this. I was just a kid. I had so much potential. I could've been something. I had hopes and dreams. Why am I stuck? I keep thinking things could have been better if that never happened. Maybe I would've been done with my degrees by now. Instead, I am stuck. Just running in this wheel, making excuses to not finish my thesis. Pathetic, pathetic.

Feeling sorry for myself. Pity party. That's what he would say. Even though he is not here either, I hear him in my head. I hear my mother in my head too. I hear my father in my head, my grandmother. I hear them. Everyday, they tell me how I'm not good enough. Not smart enough. Not attractive. Overweight. Lazy. I hear them, over and over. I can't see past their voices. The whispers are coming back. Why, why. I've been doing so well. The medication, it's been working. They have been quiet. But ever since I started reading this book, they're back, I hear them.

They say I'm a liar. That I should keep it to myself. Don't spread rumors. No one will believe me. I'm not lying. It happened. Believe me, believe me.

I never wanted to be sexually abused by my father. Who would ever wish for that. Heavy breaths, so hard to breathe. My eyes are blurry. I have to read at least a page, two pages, three. I have to. It's hard, it's difficult. I'm still alive, I can do this. I can. I can. I can. Even though –

Rain. Darkness. Breathing. Touching. No, I don't want to. Please stop. Please. Don't do this. Please.