Life: My Therapy Session

What happens when nobody listens or cares? It’ll be too late? Most of you won’t read this post, but it’s okay. 

I showed up ten minutes early.

I clicked on the light switch to let her know I was there and waited anxiously on the couch. As usual, soft elevator music was playing and the room was dim as if to invite calmness. I looked at my watch to make sure I wasn’t late. I wish I had canceled. I heard the door open and I saw her smile. I felt bad. Was she ready for what I was going to tell her? I took a deep breath, walked in, and sat down.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

“A lot of things.” I said. My mind was racing. I didn’t know where to start. From the beginning of dinner, after the bar, or during the drive home?

After a few seconds, I began to tell her my story.

“I saw my ex again.” I said.

“Oh” she replied. She knew our history.

I continued, “He invited me to dinner and I accepted. We ate, laughed, and I thought we were starting to move past our issues. I told him that I was going to go to a bar to meet a potential friend and I was excited because I hadn’t had a friend a could talk to in a long time. He said he was happy for me and that he may even make an appearance.”

At that moment, I stopped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought he actually cared,” I said, “I met my friend and we were having a good time. I told him about my best friend and school  and he told me about his life and childhood. We related, but I couldn’t help and think about what my ex had told me. Was he really going to show up? A couple hours later and he did.”

“What happened then?” she asked.

I said, “I went up to him and he pretended not to know me. All of a sudden my world stopped. To think that someone who hours before invited me to dinner and who I shared personal details about my life acted as if I was a stranger.”

“That must be hard, what did you do after he told you that?” she replied.

I responded, “I only remember glimpses of that night. I remember feeling depressed. I remember telling the Uber driver that I had enough. And I remember taking all the pills I had in my drawer. 30 Trazadone, 23 Prozac,10 Propranolol,  and 12 Xanax. The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor at the police station. I guess someone had called and they thought I was drunk. The police officers didn’t know I had taken any pills and just took me away. They released me a couple hours later and I remember entering my room, laying myself on the bed, and sleeping for hours. I spent the weekend at home with a fever, my body shaking uncontrollably, not being able to pee, and feeling alone.”

I paused. All this time I had been looking down on the floor that I forgotten my therapist was there. I looked up. Her eyes kept from crying, but her face looked sad.

“I’m very grateful you’re alive to tell me this story,” she responded, “that you’re able to tell me me what happened coherently. Not everyone gets lucky enough to make it.”

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

“Nothing is wrong with you, it’s your inability to regulate your emotions that we need to manage,” she replied quickly.

“Can I ask something?” I said, “have you diagnosed me with anything?”

“Yes,” She replied.

Her response scared me. I wasn’t expecting her to reply with a yes. But for some reason, I knew this day would come. My life was full of pain. Full of traumatic events that I somehow managed to live through.

I looked up again. “What do I have?” I asked.

“Bi Polar and Borderline Personality Disorder.” she answered.

The rest of the session went by slowly. We discussed my feelings and I ended up with the idea that my life needed to change. The next days were full of mental evaluations and appointments. That was the last time I saw my therapist. Not because she wasn’t good. But because I couldn’t afford it.

And that’s were I come in and ask for help from you.. I am asking for donations to go back to therapy. I plan to make a different page just for my writings on sessions and my progress. I want to go twice a week, but each session is $80. 

Dealing with BiPolar and Borderline Personality has been difficult. Thoughts of suicide and depression have been the story of my life, but somehow I have been able to be fortunate enough to come out alive and write about my experience.

Any type of donation would help. Even a reblog would be appreciated.

My name is Eddy and I have Borderline Personality Disorder and BiPolar, and I am alive to share my story. Thank you.


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My Life: Becoming a freelance writer

Hello? Is this thing on?

If so, I would like to say hi and¬†welcome you to my blog. And for those who have not heard from me in years, I would like to apologize. My life these past two years have been chaotic (and that’s keeping it simple). I went from home to home trying to find a place to call my own, changed job positions, and invested a significant amount of time and money on pursuing a Masters degree.

However, life happened and I am no longer in the right circumstances to continue.

I hope to share with you, in time, that chapter of my life. You’ll understand all of my struggles, my joys, and my pains. But for now, I would like to share something that I have not told my family. I am trying to find meaning in my life and in the process, I have decided to become a freelance writer. To tell you the truth, I don’t have a clue about what I am getting myself into, but that has never stopped me before.

When my guidance counselor told me that I would not go to a four-year college, I ended up graduating from San Francisco State University with a B.A. in Psychology and minor in Counseling. When all my other brother’s dropped out of school, I applied to a Masters program and got in. And I will continue to move forward regardless.

My stories aren’t too sophisticated (trust me, I know). Nor are they grammatically perfect (that is a creative choice). But they are honest (I promise). And that’s why I want to write and make a living out of it. I want to share my story and help at least one person get through the day. Or to make them laugh. Or cry. Or make them not feel alone.

And with that announcement, I would like some help from you.

I know this may alienate the people who read my blog, but I would appreciate any leads that can help in me becoming a freelance writer or at least a place where I can make a living sharing my stories.

Here is a list of some stories that show off my writing skills. I hope you all enjoy them! ūüôā

Life: A Message To My Future Daughter

The Night My Life Changed: An Introduction

The Brother Who Left My Life

The First Sexual Encounter Of My Life

I know it’s a long shot, but it’s an attempt. Hopefully someone out there can hear me. Thank you.

 

Sincerely,

EDDY

 

 

The Night My Life Changed: The Meet Up

I received a message from him around midnight. I had never been the one to get a message from a guy first, so I was a bit skeptical. Why would someone want to take the time to get to know me?

Regardless, I read¬†his profile description. “ibangsmurfs” was his username. I couldn’t help, but smile. ¬†At least he had a sense of humor. He was white, 5’10”, 160lbs, and single. Perfect, I thought. I stared at¬†his profile¬†picture a few times to make sure he was real. The picture was of him standing and smiling in front of a fountain. He looked cute. I messaged him and asked what he was looking for and if he had anymore pictures of himself. He immediately replied, emailing me pictures of himself in what seemed to be graduation photos, and telling me that he wanted to meet me. He¬†looked gorgeous. And what a smile. I gave him my fake number and told him to meet me at a school parking lot by my house and to my surprise, he said he would be there in fifteen minutes.

I closed my laptop and waited nervously outside my house. Those fifteen minutes felt like an hour to me.

Immediately, I realized that I never sent him a picture of myself. I began to think how he would react to seeing me in person. I mean, I wasn’t a handsome person to look at. And what if I said the wrong thing and ruined our encounter? I was always awkward when it came to meeting guys for the first time, so there was no doubt in my mind that I would ruin this too. Especially since he seemed to good to be true. And what if he didn’t find me attractive in person? Would he just drive away and leave me there, all alone? I became more nervous.

The night was cold, but I noticed that my head was sweating, my heart was racing, and I had a hard time keeping my hands from trembling. This was usually the case before every hookup.

I looked at my watch to check the time. Only five minutes had passed. To forget the time, I looked at his picture again. Why would he want anything to do with me? He was way out of my league. What did I have to offer? I didn’t work and I still lived with my parents. Maybe I wouldn’t live up to his expectations.

I looked around to see any sign of him. Nothing.

I sent him a text asking how long it would be until he arrived. He replied with”soon.” Cars drove by, but continued past the school. Maybe I scared him off. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time. As I stood there in self-depreciation. He sent a text. “Here.”

I looked up and saw his car parked on the other side of the parking lot. ¬†Slowly, I started walking toward him, making sure my family didn’t hear my footsteps as I stepped on the dirt, all while my heart kept beating fast at the thought of meeting him.

As I got closer, I could see his face through his car window. Funny, he looked more nervous than me.

I tried to walk straight in order for him to not see my abnormal walk. Something I was always self-conscious about. I guess, I just didn’t want him to see any of my flaws. At least, not yet.

I finally made it to his car. It’s now or never, I told myself. I took a deep breathe and opened the door. I saw him and he smiled back.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Eddy.”

This is the second chapter of an encounter that changed my life. Click the link if you want to read the first part of the story. Enjoy. The Night My Life Changed: An Introduction

My Life And The Bloggers In It

To tell you the truth, I never really expected anyone to care about what I wrote on my blog or to get many positive comments. I really didn’t. I wrote because I knew I would have the option to click on my posts, read them, and go back to a period of time in my life. Times where I was happy and times were I was sad. I’ve been doing that lately. I know later in my life I will see certain events differently or completely forget certain memories because memories really do fade away. So I’m glad that you’re here with me because you’re giving me a new reason to share. I write because I want you to know my story and I appreciate you reading my blog. No joke.

A few bloggers have told me that they like my style of writing (that’s the first time I’ve¬†been told I have style). I have also been thanked for sharing stories that are so personal. Honestly, I didn’t know how personal my stories were until I was told they were very personal and I don’t think I will ever change that about my blog. All my posts (except for this one) have taken me days to write because I really do want you to understand how I felt during that moment in my life. A few bloggers have shared similar experiences that remind me that sometimes we go through the same things.

I get happy when I see a notification and see that it’s a comment from a blogger that has something nice to say about my post. Those are the best. So what I want to do is ask you all a question (well a few questions actually).

Which is your favorite post of mine and why? What is it about my blog that you like the most? What would you like to know more about?

As for me, my favorite posts would have to be:

“The first relationship of my life” because I’m still recovering from the emotional effects and it takes me back to a time were I was so naive and in love at 21 years old.

“My life in blog” because it’s my first post and I have a thing about “firsts.” Also, the positive feedback I received from that post gave me the motivation to continue writing more.

And

“The brother who left my life” because I never expected to publish that story on this blog. I was literally scared of exposing that side of myself. You were the first people to hear about that event in my life. Two days later, I told my best friend and I remember crying in the car. It was something special really.

Those are three of my favorite. I hope I hear more from all of you. I’m really curious to know what makes people click on the like button. I really have no clue. I think my posts are too simple to be considered well-written or engaging. They are just simple posts from a simple guy.