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).


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’m Great and You Can Fuck Off

I haven’t written in a while because nothing has really been going on but I am writing today because I am so pissed off that some people think that being depressed is a choice. If you do, you can fuck off.

I get really upset and distant when people say that what I am going through is a choice; I personally want to crawl out of my skin because that is how much pain I am in. I hope you never have to experience this type of pain. So before you judge someone with mental illness, maybe you should stop and put yourself in there shoes and think before you talk and hurt their feelings.

From now on, don’t ask me if I am ok because from now on, I am great! It’s a choice right? Just don’t ask me. You can call me stubborn or willful or whatever but from now on I will be the only one that knows how I feel and from now on, you don’t have to worry about me because I am fine.

Peace out,


Please Stay with Me

My heart is aching, my body is breaking and I don’t know what to do. There are so many thoughts that go along with being like this. I am stupid, ungrateful and dumb but really all I feel is numb. You will never understand because your feet aren’t in the same place that I stand. I stand among you but you don’t know the thoughts that pass through my mind; the thoughts that come and go. My world is shifting and I tend to fall. I get up again and again but I am so tired and don’t stand as tall as you. I slouch and crouch down so I can’t be seen. I can’t let you see me and what this all means. I don’t understand it myself because I am so lost and it’s dark here. I want to be better but there feels like there is no end in sight. Some days are light but the darkness sets in and there is nothing in front of me or in back of me, just an abyss. You face the night but I face the darkness. I can’t see my hand in front of me because it is too dark. Even the bright white of my hand can’t be seen in front of my face. My thoughts are just as dark but I try not to let you see because how would you feel about me? If I really told you my thoughts I know you would run; run as far as you can because who wants to be next to me? Do you really want to walk by my side to go with me step by step? I am safe and I am not actively hurting myself; they are just thoughts and thoughts they will stay because I could never die that way. Please stay with me and see my thoughts. Please don’t leave me because I can’t take that loss. Please stay with me because I can’t be alone. Please stay with me because I can’t be left behind. Please stay with me until this passes. Please stay with me.

Until next time,

I wish I wasn’t a borderline


I was angry but you weren’t there.

I was crying but you weren’t there.

I was confused but you weren’t there.

I hated myself but you weren’t there.

I was judgemental of myself but you weren’t there.

I said hurtful things to myself but you weren’t there.

I was tormented but you weren’t there.

I was falling but you weren’t there.

I was alone but you weren’t there.

In the end you were there all along but I wouldn’t let you be. In the end, I wouldn’t let anyone get close to me.

Looking back, I can see the path I walked- in and out and with each step I would shout.

But you weren’t there and neither was I because whenever you would say, ‘are you ok?’ I would whisper back, ‘I’m fine.’

Until next time,


I Can See Them Circling

Some days I am a fawn jumping in the lush meadow. I don’t have a care in the world except for the wet, morning dew on the small pads on the bottom of my feet. 

I feel like that sometimes; I am just prancing around, loving life and loving most of the people that I surround myself with. I can feel the sun on my face, the warmth and the heat. I can see how bright the sun makes the meadow around me; it is bright and full of life- the tall grass sways gently in the morning breeze. I feel at home here and I feel alive and happy but deep inside of myself, I also feel vulnerable.

Other days, on the hardest days, I can feel that hunter stalking me in the woods. It’s not a regular hunter; it’s emptiness, embarrassment and shame. The hunter is the feeling that I am not good enough and not feeling like I am worthy of other people’s love and affection; and worse yet, their time.

I can feel myself cautiously moving through the trees. The temperature drops a good ten degrees as I carefully move through the wooded forest. Somehow, I feel safer in the cover of the trees, less vulnerable I guess, than in the open meadow. The trees provide a sanctuary for me and I can feel their protection but of course, I am alone. In the meadow, I may be happier but I am scared and I am cautious because out in the open field, other deer can see me and I feel like my every move is being judged.

In the thick forest, I hear a crack of the wood, I hear the bend of the bow and just as fast as my heartbeats, I take a gasping breath; the first arrow strikes me. The arrow is embarrassment and shame for what type of fawn I have become. A young deer that is young only emotionally. A young deer that only has a perspective from a fawn’s eyes.

Just as fast as the first bow comes, I can hear the breaking of the wooden bow and the swoosh of the second arrow. It feels slow at first and it’s like I am just waiting to die and then it hits. It doesn’t hurt as bad as one would think because I am so used to these arrows all the time. This arrow is judgement. I condemn myself to death because of what type of dependent fawn I have become to those around me.

I am lifeless on the ground. And as I lay there, I can hear the swoosh of bird wings. The vultures are beginning to circle and soon I will be no more.

Those moments in the meadow are few and fleeting. They are few and fleeting right now but I am hoping over time, I will find myself in the meadow more often, prancing along in the morning dew and hearing the whistling of the wind through the trees and the birds chirping their morning song.

I need to steer clear of the hunter and I need to accept myself; flaws and goodness and all the problems that I face daily. I have to stop being who I am in this stage of my life and become an adult.

My death, my suffering is only caused by the hunter. I am the hunter.

Until next time,

It is time to put my bow and arrow in the shop and live life in the open meadow.