Trigger Warning: Suicide

I just wanted to give everyone a fair warning that this blog is going to be straight up honest and blunt.

I have a mental illness. I am not shy about sharing it because I hope that it will help others be brave enough to share or to get the help and support they need.

In case you are wondering, this is what I have: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). I basically am like a buffet of issues- a little of this and a little of that. It’s like going to a Chinese buffet that has pizza and chicken nuggets.

Either way, I have discovered something about mental illness that made me so angry that I can’t be silent anymore. I was asked today why I am on intermittent FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act).

I am on FMLA because of my PTSD which was a direct result of an active shooter drill that one of the high schools did where I used to work. The school I worked at brought in three men with assault rifles, shot up the school with blanks and they had people banging on the door screaming to let them in because the ‘shooter had a gun and we are going to fucking die.’

So yeah, getting up and going to work is hard because I am going to a place that doesn’t feel safe and although feelings can feel real, they are usually not true. And as much as my mind understands that, my PTSD and Trauma brain does not.

When I was questioned about it today, I was open and honest. I mean I write a blog for God’s sake. But then this person, who is extremely kind but I feel like doesn’t realize how they come off, said that they ‘understand people that are on FMLA because they need medical treatment but they…

And that’s when it hit me. I told this person that just because this other persons pain is physical and can be seen, doesn’t mean that my disability doesn’t exist because it can’t be seen.

And that’s when I realized, in order for people to believe that you are in fact sick, you have to have physical problems. So it makes me sad but I believe the only way people will know that I suffer and that I am sick is if I self-harm and develop physical scars or if I just can’t put up with life anymore and decide to kill myself.

So do all of us who have mental illness a favor and believe that we are suffering. Believe that we are hurting. Believe that we are scared. Believe that we are triggered. Believe us when we say that we are trying to get better.

We don’t ask someone with cancer to show the results of the tests that changed their lives forever. You don’t ask a diabetic to show their pricked finger or their empty needles. You don’t ask a person in a wheelchair to walk just to be sure that they would fall. Why is mental illness different? I am fighting battles that you will never know anything about and for that I am brave. For that, we are all brave.

Until next time,


If you are suicidal and need someone to talk to, contact the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).


A List of Clichés That Make Me Want to Punch You.

People are getting on my nerves so I have developed a list for the people that don’t have a mental illness. Study it. There will be a test douche bag.

Here is a list of what not to do with someone with depression or, in my case, Borderline Personality Disorder:

1) I don’t want you to tell me that I have a good life. I have eyes asshole, I know that I have a good life.

2) Don’t ask me what is wrong and then when I say ‘nothing’… don’t act like something is wrong anyway. It’s just my bitch face.

3) And even if it’s not my bitch face, did you ever think that I don’t want to share my feelings with you because I am sick of hearing myself talk about why I don’t understand why I am depressed? Or maybe it’s that I don’t feel like hearing your broken record telling me that, ‘I should be happy.’

4) Don’t tell me that if I exercise, I will feel better. When would you like me to do that? Between my full time job, being a mom or going to therapy three times a week? When I am not doing the above, I want to do something for me and that is not the gym. And why is it not the gym? Because the gym smells like sadness and despair.

5) Don’t tell me that things will get better in time. Shut. Up. Like seriously, do you have a book of clichés?

6) Don’t tell me to use therapeutic skills. Do you know what I want to do when I am in a rage of emotion? It’s not to use skills… it’s to do the opposite. It is just to sit there and wonder why the hell I have to be the one to use skills to regulate emotions. Maybe you need to use skills because you are pissing me off.

7) Don’t tell me that if I eat better, I will feel better from the inside out. I will tell you what will make me feel better. It’s a few eggrolls, a whole pizza and ice cream, you clean, eating, health hippie. Go hug a tree while eating granola.

8) Don’t tell me that I am thinking too emotionally. You know why? Because I can’t control my emotions… that is part of being a Borderline you ass.

9) Don’t tell me to take a deep breath. I will tell you why, because when I take a deep breath, it only helps me to channel my energy into pummeling you to the ground.

10) Don’t tell me to enjoy what is around and take in the moment. I want to get out of the moment and I want to run. I want to run but I am fat because I don’t exercise because of my emotions which is part of my disorder which is part of who I am which is part of what I can’t control which is why I have my problems in the first place, hence the therapy. Jerk.

So, remember people… think before you speak. Don’t give us the clichés. Just sit with us because we just want to be with people that are comfortable with being in our presence.

Until next time,

This is not a multiple choice test.


Is this Cheers?

So, you want everyone to know your name right? Just like in the old sitcom, Cheers.

I always thought it would be so cool if I could just enter a bar and everyone screamed out ‘Allison!’

Woo! I got so close…

So earlier this week, I went to the pharmacy and the woman asked for my name and I started spelling it and she said, ‘I know who you are and you are the teacher right?’

Well, it finally happened. Someone knows my name… maybe she can be my best friend now… I mean she knows my medical history and all.

So why is this such a different experience than Cheers? I will tell you using my all mighty list.

1) She knows my name from all my antipsychotic meds. Just kidding, they aren’t antipsychotic… at least, I don’t think they are.

2) She remembers that I am a teacher. It must be the bitch face I have going on.

3) She asked me which medication I was looking for and how many… so she has good attention to detail.

4) We bonded in the drive-thru about our crazy classes, (she is also a teacher).

5) We discussed how it would be beneficial to have a bottle of wine in your desk drawer so you can drink before classes.

6) My pharmacist understood me and is aware that you shouldn’t mix alcohol with medication but here she is, supporting me 100%.

7) She didn’t care that the pharmacy drive-thru was getting long because we were having a deep discussion about how we can’t wait till we retire.

8) I think I found my best friend in the pharmacy drive-thru.

9) She doesn’t know it yet that we are best friends but I feel like when my medication is ready, I will ask her out on a best friends date. I mean, I have BPD so boundaries are a non-issue for me.

10) And just like Cheers, I am happy to go where this woman knows my name, knows my medication and still likes me enough to hold up the drive-thru. That’s real friendship right there.

Until next time,

🎵🎶🎵Don’t you wanna go where everybody knows your name? And they are always glad you came… as long as you are still taking your anxiety medication. 🎵🎶🎵

I Can’t See You

I need an escape. I clawl my way from the bottom, trying to get to the top and I can’t seem to get a grip. I slide down the sides of these walls because there is no solid ground. It’s like an avalanche all around me and the bottom is filling quickly. Soon I will run out of air but I don’t even know if that will bother me.

I see you above me; holding a rope. You are screaming at me to hold on. Your words fall on deaf ears. I see you and I understand what you are saying but I am not worth it. There are so many other people you can give your rope to; help them.

At the last moment I lunge for the rope. Too scared to go under. The rope feels good in my hands as you try to pull me out. I’m too heavy; too much borderline. The rope is slipping through my hands causing dust and dirt to fly through the air. Just as the dirt and dust go all around me, so do my thoughts. ‘How did I get to this point?,’ I think.

And just as quickly as the rope leaves my hands, I see you disappearing from my view. Everything is black.

Until next time,


You Can Sit in the Front

Being a person with Borderline Personality Disorder is like being on a rollercoaster. Everyday has an up and down; even if my day is going well, you don’t know what is setting me off and going on in my head.

Waking up is like taking a ride everyday; the ride looks great from afar- it starts with waiting in line and waiting for your turn and once you are at the front of the line you need to take that ride… after all, all your friends are doing it.

I get on the rollercoaster and take the first seat available; the front seat. That’s it, I crave the thrill of the ride. I feel nauseous but I am anticipating the seat belt check and the team member to give us the ‘go ahead.’ This time I am going to make it.

Click, click, click… I can feel the ride and the day starting off bumpy. My whole body shakes with the click, click, click of the tracks. My day starts off with not wanting to go to work because I don’t feel like I am making an impact; but I stay in my seat till I reach the top.

Just as fast as I get to the top, something sets me off and I am plummeting to the ground; a thought, a feeling, a memory. I try to open my eyes but the flashes in my head are too fast and I just tightly grab the bar and close my eyes. I don’t want to be in my head.

The twists and turns come as fast as the initial drop and my head is making things up about me. Telling me that I am not good enough and that I don’t belong.

The ride is jolting me left and right no matter how many times I checked the seatbelt, I am still being pushed back and forth. I hold on as tight as I can but this skill doesn’t help. I hit my head on the side; I hit the side repeatedly and I can’t stop. It’s the way to make the thoughts stop so I just let it happen.

My day comes to a slow plateau when I pass Joe on the side of the rollercoaster. He is watching me and cheering for me on the side and telling me to hold on and he will be there at the end of the day; at the end of the ride.

The rollercoaster comes to a screeching halt and I hear, ‘click, click, click…whoosh.’ and that’s the end. I get out of the first car with bumps, bruises and a sense of accomplishment.

I made it another day; I made it another ride.

Until next time,

Wait for me at the end.


You Lead

The wind swirls through the air- sometimes I can see it and other times the wind is still but it is always there. 

There are times I can’t see you and those days seem to drag on and it’s because you are the only one that understands what it’s like to sit with my thoughts. 

Sitting with my thoughts is extremely hard. You recognize that difficulty and when I do well, you are the first person to tell me that you are proud of how well I am doing. Most of the times I want to run to a far off place where no one will find me but you are there to bring me back to the present moment and you stay. You stay. 

I appreciate all the work you do- you can see in my eyes where I am. And just through my eyes, you remind me to let you in and that you will stay with me. You remind me what is in front of me and what is here and now in this moment. Sometimes I drift but you gently pull me back to center. 

I can’t ever explain how grateful I am. You are one person I can always count on to make me laugh but make me work too. You don’t give up on me like others do. You feed me knowledge and teach me to live with grace. You lead by example and you show me what it’s like to be a mom, teacher, friend and wife. I love when you look out the window and tell me a story of your struggle and remind me that you are human too. That makes me feel normal. You are so humble, you probably don’t even know what you do for people like me.

You make me feel like I am a survivor and that I can march through this war. You remind me that my diagnosis is just a diagnosis and not a blemish or a scar. You teach me how to cope and more importantly, you show me that there is hope for a better tomorrow.

Until next time, 

Thank you. 💜

The Rabbit Hole

My breath is shallow and my mind is lost. I try to focus but at what cost? I can’t hear and I can’t see, I just see a black tunnel and at the end is a silhouette of me. I stand there still, unable to move. It’s like I’m watching a movie and my life becomes the story. 

I can’t tell you my secrets because you will judge me and I know the reason is because I already judge myself. 

In this hole, in this tunnel there is nothing but darkness. They say there is a light attached at the end of the tunnel but that’s a lie. The truth is at the end you just die. But when will death come? When will death come for some? When will death come for me because I don’t want to sit here waiting on this bended knee. 

I sit here and wait in this tunnel so dark, it’s as dark as the corners of my mind- a place I don’t invite you because I am too kind. 

You will never know what it’s like to be in here. My brain shouts to be free. I bang on the walls of my brain but the neurons fire so fast I know that I can’t last this way. The neurons fire and the desire is great, I need to get out before I collapse to my feet. 

I lay here wondering who will be toeing this line…following me down this rabbit hole- don’t worry I’m fine? 

I don’t want you there, I want to be alone. I don’t invite you because you aren’t as strong. I think you would be scared, I think you would run and I would still be here, my silhouette outlined in the darkness. 

Run I say. Run like you do because I won’t chase you. I can’t make you stay, I can let you run. Run as fast , you can and don’t look back. You can’t save me; let my world turn black. 
Until next time,

Just let me write