1. Drink exactly 1 1/2 teaspoons of vodka (yes, I realize that isn’t even a full shot. But I do it all the time. Does that make me an alcoholic?).

2. Spend all my money on candy bars.

3. Eat said candy bars until I realize I have gotten too much and cannot eat any more (usually after about two).

4. Sleep instead of doing the work I SHOULD be doing. 

5. Take an extra 5mg ritalin.

6. Drink an extra cup of coffee.

7. Take tylenol, even when I don’t really need it (science says that it takes the edge off irritation and social rejection, which is nice. And it seems to, anyway). 

8. Yell at electronics.

9. Yell at people and then apologize.

10. Yell at myself, which doesn’t help.

11. Post on facebook, and then feel better when someone comments and says they love me. But I’m sure it is annoying for other people!

12. Pace. Procrastinate.

13. Throw things about my room so that it is a proper mess.

I can’t figure out if I’ve become one of the healthiest, soberest  human beings I know, or if all these habits added up make me an unhealthy person!

When I am on my medicine, I am the nicest. And the funniest. And the sweetest. When I am off my medicine I just want to lay down and die. Which one is the real Emily? I’m tempted to say the medicine one, but I’ve never been this good with people before. Maybe it’s a weird side effect of growing up. And what if I’m actually bad with people and just really, really confused. You can never know!

This is a depressing post about my life, so feel free to ignore it as you see fit.

My ambition never matches up with my ability. I make lots of wonderful plans, and it will work for a while. Then I will get sick and everything will be destroyed. And then I am sad and feel sad and I just want to cry and then it takes forever to get better and I get even more sick and then I am in the clinic and then sometimes the hospital and then I am back at home and trying to do things because I want to do them SO SO MUCH and then I try to do them and get sick again. 

But I can’t stop trying to do them. I would die of depression if I stopped trying to do them entirely. So I keep trying. I am stuck on a treadmill, maintaining because I keep trying and never getting happier because I am beholden to preventing myself from becoming sad. It is ironic and evil. and I am upset with it.

I keep trying to chat with people online, but none of them can stay and talk. :(. I am lonely once more.

I have a secret goal that I am working on. But it is super, super secret.

Well, not all that secret, because my little brother knows.

But it makes me feel good inside. It makes me happy when I go to bed. It makes me giddy when I get up in the morning. It helps me make the right decisions.

I am a happy human for the past few weeks, even with this sickness. Because I have a secret, and that makes all the difference.

It feels nice to not be afraid all the time.

Who knows what will actually happen… who cares, really. For once my now is liveable.