There are guards around the palace

Recent events have made me reflect and analyze many things. This morning in second period I started experiencing symptoms to what I knew were my "black out" symptoms. I was frightened and confused because I didn't know why I would be experiencing them, I was having a normal day. The most important thing was to hide it from everyone around me as if I felt normal, even if I could barely balance or see. The bell rang and I went to my car, still experiencing the same symptoms and almost expecting the inevitable to come. I had to drive home and although that was scary I was glad I arrived home without it happening yet.

Laying down I felt no change, frustration and helplessness were what I felt emotionally, physically I felt pressure on my head, so strong it made my eye lids lower, nauseous, dizzy, unable to balance, unable to breathe, racing heart, weakness. It is then that I began to think.

I remember my first black out, 7th grade at school. I realize how early it started and it saddens me, so young, so naive to what she was feeling. I remember I was in class and suddenly became very sick to my stomach, I asked the teacher if I could go to the nurse and it was in the hall the rush of other symptoms came. I began to stumble and my vision was surrounded with black, I remember one person walking past me and I could not tell what gender they were, what they were wearing, they were just a blob. I remember what it was like to have to struggle down the staircase to the nurses office, I barely made it and I prayed to God with each step I would. I almost collapsed several times and it felt like it took an eternity... I sort of forgot the rest of the way but I remember the nurse saying I look "as pale as a sheet of paper". I called my mother and she was not alarmed. Come to find out she would never be alarmed. I don't know if it was her way of coping or what, that's just a tangent though.

I went to the doctor and they diagnosed nothing, sent me home and told me to drink lots of fluids, I returned to school the next day a different person. I was no longer as naive as I was, and many doors to realization slung themselves open. I wish it never happened, they remain open 'til this day. As I grew older I realized the trigger for my first blackout was family issues.

That made me remember 3rd grade, in 3rd grade my mother made me see a school psychologist every Friday because I "never smiled". I remember playing games with her that I now think she used to get me to speak. I was so quiet as a child, so confused by the world and unable to respond to what it layed before me. I remember she constantly asked me how I felt about my fathers absence, I believe I told her it made me sad, I don't remember if I cried in front of her or not but I think I did.

I remember when I used to cry because I didn't know my dad and I thought living with him would be better than living with my mom. I wondered what he would think of me and I wondered if he loved me. My mom excluded him from my life from ages 5-10. For some reason, since I didn't remember much before 5, I always felt like he was never there. They were divorced when I was a baby and for two years he saw me every weekend.

I am now heavily disappointed and sickened by the thought that I cried to want to live with him. When it came about that I would live with him, without my knowledge, I learned that it was the worst situation I could have been in. As mentally ill as he is he made a horrible father and resulted in much emotional damage to myself.

I currently have a hate/accept relationship with both of my parents (instead of a love/hate relationship) I hate how much damage they did to me, I hate how they kept me from being the person I could have been and at times I accept their mental illnesses and actions and am nice to them, wanting to forgive them. I understand I wouldn't be the person I am today without the things I have been through, but sometimes I truly wish I wasn't the person I am today. I wish I could be naive, ignorant, materialistically happy. I wish... I know in the end I would disgust myself if I was like that, but I would disgust myself because I am the way I am. Which in the end that sometimes disgusts me.

I never have made progress the times I did get external help (social workers, psychologists, etc) because I was always moving, not by choice. I wonder what would have happened if I would have continued to see my psychologist Julie and my social worker Emily. I miss them...I miss what could have happened with them.

I have a story, one that would take hours to tell. No one would actually listen to it for hours so it would have to be broken up into days. I have a story I choose not to share because of the fact I'm afraid I will tell it and the person will not actually be paying full attention. I have a story that I will not tell because I'm afraid they will not understand and will not accept me. I know many people won't understand, their minds are sheltered and I do not say this in a negative light, it is reality.

Many times I wish I could travel in time at the age I am now and comfort the younger version of me. I wish I could protect her, stand up for her, help her. I wish I could. I think of the younger me and I feel like I'm not the same person, but then again I don't really know who I am. I look in the mirror and sometimes I don't recognize myself. I say my name and sometimes it doesn't connect with who I am.


I wish I could tell my story because hiding it makes me feel slightly alone. I feel not fully 100% accepted because they don't know it. Honestly I can't tell everyone my story, that would be self-damaging because in this society not everyone is a permanent friend. Not everyone is a true friend. I have learned this.

I wish I didn't have some of the hatred I do for my boyfriend. Not for him but for his actions, for his past actions. I hate that he literally broke a part of me before that could never be repaired, I wonder what I would be like if things didn't happen the way they did. I wish I didn't ache from what he did. I wish I could forget, I wish I didn't have bad dreams over it...I'm growing but I wish it was faster. I can now listen to certain songs that used to instantly make me cry in remembrance. I wish I understood.

I feel saddened because I doubt many people will take the time to read this. I feel that that means they don't care. I'm not usually this emotional and pessimistic, I believe the near blackout earlier put me in this exposing state.

I wish I could write certain things right now but I'm afraid of being judged.

I wish I knew what all the hatred meant.

I write in my diary, and yet I feel no relief afterward. I rarely write in it because I feel like writing the words makes it to real, to much to really handle. I don't know...

After writing all of this I have yet to feel release, I believe I will feel some if someone responds to this with comforting or nice words but I do not expect anyone to. Thats something I do lately, I say things like "I understand he might be late and thats ok" so I do not get disappointed if hes not there. I feel weak but I am not.

I once had a psychiatrist tell me "you will be lucky if you make it to your 18th birthday". How sad, a psychiatrist has the nerve to say that to her patient. Anyway, I have passed my 18th birthday by a month and yet I feel only slightly better than when it was told to me years ago. Maybe more than slightly, I know I have grown a lot. I keep growing yet I have done it alone. I wish I could talk to someone regularly that could help me understand,cope and recover from the damage but that has been unpossible seeing my relatives would not allow me to see someone. They said "if you live with nana you will not be seeing anyone, you shouldn't be depressed and don't put stress on her", it's like they don't care, as in they don't want me to get help they want me to silently deal with it to make it easier on them. College means that I will have more control and will be able to finally begin recovery and talk to someone regularly. I questioned rather I should write a few things on the Health form to Ringling because again, I didn't want to let them in on the truth. I wrote it anyway, I can't hide from everyone.

I know even these censored things might not be accepted by some.

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Sometimes I go past places of my past, like an old house or school and I can almost imagine myself watching the younger version of me at that place. Like passing an elementary school I look to see if I can see my younger version playing on the playground. I believe this is just a hope of mine to go back in time to the innocent, naive version of me.

I view 6th grade as the happiest year of my life. I do this because it was before the realization of emotions and my situations, I was surrounded by unbelieveable best friends that I had unforgetable memories with and it was before I was interested in boys (did that only bring stress!). I wish I could go back to that year, it saddens me how impossible that truly is.

I keep wanting to write things because I don't know what to do if I stop writing this, my thoughts will continue and what is there to distract me?

Michael knows my story but I feel like he doesn't fully understand or give it the attention/understanding it requires. I am saddened by this but oh well.

I wish I could grow, complete all growth by the end of today, but I can't. Time somewhat heals all wounds.


I wish someone would read this and respond instantly but I know thats impossible. I just don't want to stop writing, post, and then the thoughts continue.

I am not weak, I hate the label emo.

I am confused.

I regret that I wasn't more social my junior and senior year, granted I moved AGAIN and that did affect me but everyone is getting their yearbooks and I feel no need to, I barely know anyone in there besides the teachers and the people I do know, well who knows. I got a call yesterday from a lady thats helping coordinate prom, she asked me who I wanted to sit with, I said sit my with anyone just make sure my date is with me. I don't like how she response to that, it was almost insulting.

I have tried to find out "who I really am" since the age of 12, after my first black out, but I still don't know who that is.