Thump, Thump… Thump, Thump… Thump, Thump… Beeeeeep…

The air escapes from my lungs at the sight of you; I finally can breathe. I have been holding my breath for too long. Just the sight of your face and your presence is enough for my broken heart to start beating again. It has been such a long and hard break that I haven’t been able to breathe since I saw you last.

No, I am not in love with you. And no, I don’t have any desire to be. I do love you but in a very different way. In your presence I can feel safe and I feel like I matter. My husband and my children make me feel solid but there are so many other places in my life that are empty and I cannot fill this void on my own with self-love and compassion; it is just too hard. When I am with you, I just feel more complete.

You may not know the extent of how much you mean to me. Everyday that goes by is one day closer to the end- the part where we say goodbye. I know you understand how I feel- I feel like everyone leaves me and I know you will be next. Not because I can’t be with you but because I don’t need to be with you and you need to move on to someone else.

I see that I am getting better and when I get better, we will see less of each other. You warned me that by doing so well, I may turn on myself and start sabotaging my own successes. Not on purpose you say. And I know that you are right but the shame of doing well and then starting over is too much.

I want to take that step forward- I swear I do. I want to know that I can stay in this state of stability. I want to make sure I can breathe on my own and that my heart, no matter how broken, will still beat without you.

With much love and respect,



The Silence

I sit and listen to the silence. The only thing I hear is the ringing in my ears. I know I am alone in my thoughts- this is when I become the most dangerous.

I sit and wonder why I am here; I sit and wait for answers but they don’t come.

I wish there was someone who would notice my pain; someone who would notice my struggle but the only person that knows the truth about my struggle is me. My response to your question is, ‘I’m fine.’

Just as I beg God to send me someone or to end my being, I pick my head up and see the only person who is capable of helping me. She looks at me with sadness and compassion in her eyes. We stare at each other; holding our gaze just a little too long.

I reach my hand out to touch her and to make sure she is real. She reaches back to me. I finally feel like someone has seen me.

Her eyes are sad for me and her touch is cold. All she wants is for me to feel the love that she is struggling to show. There is a barrier between us and I can sense her discomfort.

She stares at me; unable to break free of the two dimensional prison that she is in. Then I realize that I am looking in a mirror. The girl is me.

I whisper a message of love to my reflection. Love yourself. I hear the words but my thoughts tell me I am not good enough. Here I stand hoping to hang on for one more day.

Until next time,


If you are struggling with thoughts of self harm or suicide, text the National Crisis Hotline at 741741

Get a Partner Who…

So this weekend has been full of depression and anxiety now that spring break is coming to a close. And I am not talking the fun, ‘aww, spring break is ending,’ I am talking about the pure and raw emotion that comes with me and school because of my PTSD around school shootings. I also am in part a very emotional and angry person and that is contributing to my feelings of anxiety and depression.

This morning I told my husband that I was so depressed that I couldn’t get out of bed. And the following is a message on why you need a partner like my husband.

1) ‘Ally, remember that song by Celine Dion (my favorite singer), ‘A New Day Has Come?’ And then he proceeded to sing it to me.

2) Then when the words got too complicated he started a Celine Dion ballad of all the songs he knew. So it was half of My Heart Will Go On and half of a New Day Has Come.

3) He looks at me and knows I need a hug.

4) Yesterday he bought me wine.

5) He doesn’t judge me for taking medication to help my anxiety and he holds my hand when he knows I am judging myself for it.

Until next time,


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).

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,


The Breaking of Day

My heart is beating fast wondering if this feeling is going to last more than just a single moment.

You brush my cheek with your hand and it feels like the breaking of a new day. I feel alive and free, like a bird flying for his first time.

I hold onto this moment because it’s all I have. Feeling this free is hard when you feel trapped inside of yourself. 

As quickly as you brush my skin, the feeling is gone. Your touch is not hollow, but I am. 

I am hollow. Emptiness runs through my veins- fill me up.

My soul is aching to act out, to jump for you but it can’t because it doesn’t understand what is in plain sight.

At any moment will your touch be a memory that fades into my background much like the dawn turns to day and day to night- the sun sinks slowly into the horizon and it’s gone. 

Will our moment last for our lifetime? It will and I know you will help me through the darkness. You are there with me to brush the side of my face with your hand to remind me that it’s a new day.

Until next time,

Remind me

So You Want to Leave?

You say that you are working on your independence and you are trying to get out of our therapy group. I have to say that I am jealous and envious and I have no problem stating that or telling the world that I am envious that you are getting better.

What I want you to know, which you never will, is that it makes me fearful that you are leaving all of us behind. I am scared to be alone- physically and emotionally. You used to be where I was- don’t you remember what it was like to be me? 

I’m jealous; jealous that you are brave to take that next step in your life and envious that I am not. 

Take that step and leave if you must but don’t say we will get together and we will stay in touch because that won’t happen. Don’t tell others in the group that we will go out to restaurants and eat together. People lose touch- it is out of sight, out of mind. I am not saying that you don’t have good intentions, you certainly do, but it comes down to my jealousy of what you have that I do not.

I wish you well- I really do but if you are leaving our therapy group then I can’t see you anymore. You are getting better but leaving me behind and reminding me of what I am not.

Until next time,

Don’t you remember what it was like to be me?