I think I've finally managed to puzzle my way to the heart of what I've been feeling.

A week or so before I moved back down to my college town (I'm graduated, but many of my friends are not so I thought it would be a good alternative to living at home) I got a text from my roommate saying that there would be a fourth person living with us. This was the very person I did not want to live with for various personal reasons. Names have been omitted, but this is the text that I received:

"So ***** is going to be sharing a room with ***. I moved into your old room, so ***** room is yours."

I text him back asking why he didn't move into the other room, since he was in the double already and would be the one who would have to move. He responded by telling me that he moved into my old room a while ago and just forgot to tell me about it.

I think I'm coming closer to why this still bothers me. The anger and shock have faded. I've come to terms with the fact that the other person is here and there isn't anything I can do about it. The issue I think, the feeling that lingers in my chest whenever I think about it, is hurt.

I was hurt by this. This callous way of informing me that I had been shuffled. That the room that I had previously occupied, that I believed to be mine, had been taken without so much as a heads up.

I am still hurt because this person, someone who I consider a close friend, treated me like a stranger moving in. That hurts. It hurts to feel like I'm an afterthought. Like getting a 'better room' was more important. I can't imagine ever doing something like this to someone and so that it came from someone who is very important to me cuts deep.

It makes me feel like I'm worthless, not even worth the time to shoot a text too until long after the situation. To be shuffled around like unwanted luggage. To have someone blow me off with a litany of "I'm sorry's" while doing nothing to fix the situation or understand why I'm so upset.

I feel hurt and betrayed. And I'm having a hard time moving beyond those feelings.

I recently downloaded a dating app for queer women.

Now that I've done it and have had a few days to see it staring up at me from my screen, I find that I may be too chicken shit to actually use it.

I figured, since I've been such a shut-in recently, maybe human interaction would help and despite my constant joking that I'm preparing to be a spinster for the rest of my life, there is a part of me that crave connection with another human being. I fear this feeling however, since the last two people I chose to give my heart to returned it to me in a thousand pieces.

I don't know. Maybe this app will be good for me. Maybe I'll start getting over this fear of letting people in. Or maybe it won't. I guess we'll just have to see.

There are days that I contemplate what I would say in my suicide note.

When I sit down to write something and stare at the blank page I wonder what I would write down if I knew it were the last thing I was going to write. I wonder if I could fit so much into writing. There never seem to be enough words, and yet sometimes I feel that there are too many.

I don't know if I could explain it all well enough to have people understand, or that I could find the words that would impart any sort of comfort. When I think about it, the words seem too small, not enough to fill up the emotions that I'm feeling.

And then as suddenly as they arrived the thought fleets away and I'm no longer wondering what I would write. I make my grocery list or jot down my thought and walk away. But somewhere in my brain the feeling still nags at me. I still wonder if there are any words that I could offer that would make my actions justified, if anyone would understand.

I tuck these thoughts away, put them to sleep for a time. I know that inevitably I will return to them. But for the time I continue moving forward.

Hey, I suppose

This blog is more or less exactly what it sounds like. I mean, I don't know what else I would do here.

In the light of reoccurring depression and recent low points in my life I have decided to once again take up blogging since writing things down seems to make me feel a little better and allows me to work out my thoughts.

Trust me, I never thought that I would be here at this point in my life. I mean, I'm almost 23, recently graduated from college and I'm still struggling with the same issues and themes that I was almost seven years ago. When I was sixteen I always imagined that I would spend these years in some big city, smoking cigarettes behind a restaurant, still dressed in my waitress clothes like those I was smoking with. Not still in small city, Utah with a BS in psychology and the perpetual and gripping anxiety that is continuing in higher education. I thought that there would be a lot of other things in store for me but instead I'm still single, the greatest sexual encounter I can boast is a drunken fumble over a spring break two years ago, and dipping in and out of depression like there's no other setting.

I think I just thought there would be more for me, and maybe that is contributing to the recent funk in which I have found myself and fear will soon become my permanent state. I have good days still, but they seem more like flashbulb moments in a room that's dark the other 99% of the time. I have enough human interaction to keep my head above water, but not enough to build a raft and make a break for the shore. I'm at odds with who I am and who I think that I should be. I worry about things that are out of my control. I keep trying to get better only to find myself right where I began and wondering if I have made any progress at all.

I don't know sometimes, and so I'll write it down here. I'll pour out my soul to the internet in the hopes that giving these thoughts and feelings presence and form will help me to better fight them, to move past them. I will try to carve out a spot for healthier thoughts and ways of being. I will make yet another attempt to become more at peace with who I am and let that person breath.

Really, I don't know that I can do these things or that writing them down even helps. But I believe that it might, so I'm going to give it a shot.