A Letter Never Read: To Ben

A letter that will probably never be sent:

Dear Ben,

I don’t think you’ve thought about me as much as I’ve thought about you over the years. Before, I always wondered. I never knew if you thought about me that much. I didn’t think so, but now I know so.

I don’t know if I was really your first real heart break. I like to think I was. Then it would all make sense.

Calvin was my first real heart break. I have only felt more pain on a couple other occasions. It destroyed me for a time. Of course, I’m able to move on and pick up the pieces, but it wasn’t easy. It still isn’t.

I’m not one of those people who can act all buddy-buddy with someone I have conflicting feelings with. I usually move on quickly from anger, but hurt and betrayal are much deeper emotions. I don’t understand how our relationship all those years ago impacted you or if you really even take it seriously now. It’s hard to believe that we started dating almost 9 years ago. We’re still so young now, doesn’t it seem almost silly to be that young and in love? I know I was though and I’ll always remember you as my first love.

It hardly seems fair sometimes. I can say with certainty that I was not fair to you. We were young and irrational and inexperienced and immature. But not a day goes by that I wish I had treated you better. I can say that I feel I became a better person because of our relationship. I’m better able to control my anger and like to think myself as a more rational person. I can still be petty, but I try to keep it in good taste. If in good taste is even a thing. Probably not.

I want to say I’m sorry. I wanted to say that when we went out for breakfast about a month ago, but I didn’t. I was so nervous. I was so incredibly nervous. I took 3mg of Ativan and I was still shaking from anxiety. At least I felt like I was. I was a coward. I wasn’t thinking.

I want to say I’m sorry for how I treated you. I want you to know that I still hope for you and want the best for you. If you’d have me, I would like to be a part of your life again. This seems so incredibly formal and impersonal. But if you’d have me, I’d like to maybe be your friend. I know that can be a big step. Or maybe it’s not a big deal. I don’t know the protocol on this. Can we be friends again? Is that too weird to ask?

I’ve known you for most of my life yet I have no idea who you are anymore. We’ve always seemed to get along so well. I felt that after the first jitters were really gone we were able to have a decent conversation. I’d like to get to know you again. It doesn’t have to be right away and we don’t have to become best friends, but it would be nice.

Who knows? Maybe it’ll be beyond awkward and it won’t work. Maybe that’s how you felt about our last get together. God, I hope not because I didn’t think so and that would be pretty humiliating. Judging from your current responses and such, I think that’s the direction you’re currently leading towards. Is that something I deserve? Possibly. You certainly don’t owe me anything.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. My life took a complete turn around in the span of 3 months. This opportunity I’ve been given in California was beyond a surprise. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. It was short enough after my break-up with long-term ex-boyfriend that I hadn’t had time to set down any deeper roots and long enough that the shock factor had passed. Everything sort of fell into place. My plane tickets were well within my budget, the facility is lovely, I was the first music therapy intern to receive housing from the facility in many years, and it’s a lovely area for a new start. I’ve never done something like this before. Well, that’s not entirely true. But I’ve never thrown myself so completely into something all by myself. I’ve never been this alone. It almost feels empowering. Or maybe that’s fear.

I have only felt the entire universe telling me to go out to California these last few weeks. It’s been an amazing whirlwind. Stressful and amazing.

It would be nice to know you again. I can understand if you’d rather keep that door shut, though. I just feel an invitation is more appropriate.

This is a letter you’ll never read. Many people have told me how I should approach this situation. It just seems too impersonal, though. But it’s more adult-like. It’s more mature. It doesn’t ensure that I can say everything I feel I need to say to you. All the unspoken apologies. It’s not that I don’t want to live with this guilt. I will take that guilt with me to the grave until forgiven. I can understand if you don’t want to forgive me.

It would be nice to know you again. This is a letter you’ll never read.

Love,

Tori

Simultaneous All-and-Nothing (Also, a GoFundMe link)

A coworker gave me the idea of starting a GoFundMe.

I’m sorry, I have no beautiful or eloquent way of stating this.

But I did it.

Click here.

Even if you don’t donate – thoughts, prayers, anything is appreciated.

It’s been a crazy past 2 months.

My entire life changed. My entire future changed.

I learned what kind of control I had in my life. It is a simultaneous all-and-nothing.

I have enough control to make choices. I can choose where I want to go and what I want to do. I have no control over how those choices go. I can make informed choices. But everything will happen, it will be an experience, and I have to make do with what I have or create something bigger and better.

I think I can do that.

Human High School Science Experiment

Oh jeeze….

So I’m borderline ready to explode.

Or implode.

This anxiety is raw and is fighting every medication I put in my body to get rid of it.

The Wellbutrin is helping the anxiety.

I’m no longer on the Wellbutrin.

In fact, I’m being weened off Lexapro, too. I’m going to be put on Effexor. Oh god… when will it end??

I want to ask for an extension on a paper. But I feel like then I’d be asking too much. Just lazy. But honestly, my anxiety completely controls my life and I only am getting brief periods of sanity. This Wellbutrin really messed me up. I hate being in that small 10% that certain medication combos don’t work for.

If I don’t take the Lorezapam at a regular interval, I go crazy.

I took 2 at about 8:30. I just took 1 about 20 minutes ago. I feel like I’m going to die.

My head is spinning, my limbs don’t feel like they’re really under my control, my heart rate is erratic… the list goes on. I am so dependent upon my medications right now. This is just a mess.

I just need to wait 40 more minutes then I get to see my therapist, Lisa. 40 more minutes.

I ate.

That’s something good.

I had a salad and sandwich and bread at Panera. Yesterday, I have a piece of toast, a pear, and a pb&j sandwich. I probably won’t eat another meal today, though.

I’m so incredibly tired. I just want to sleep. I feel like I’m at a risk of a mental break down right now.

I’m probably going to pack up here and just sit and wait in the parking lot.

Cheers to being a human high school science experiment.

Peace

• Peanut Butter M&M’s. Yes.
• McDonalds. I can’t remember the last time I had that. Only a small amount of regret.
• I’m tired as all hell. 
• My brain is quiet. It’s not running. It’s not chatty. It’s a murmur. Whispers. Gentle. Quiet.

Peace at last. These are my medications. I took so many of them today.

But for the first time in a long time, nothing bothered me.

In terms of anxiety. Yeah, people bothered me. Yeah, poor intonation in our concert tonight bothered me. But I was able to play and just focus on the music in front of me and making it something. Granted, I also didn’t care when I missed a note. 

My brain was quiet. My brain is still quiet.

It’s nice.

Peace. Peace at last.

So Then They’ll Know

I have it good.

I have 2 homes, a very nice bed and another bed plus couches that are extremely comfortable. I have a lot of food and things to cook it with. I have a beautiful saxophone, lots of momentos, movies, books, a big fan, clothes, shoes, coats, a bike, and many other things.

I hate my scissors right now.

I love them, for they’re helping me now, but they (like most scissors) are dull. They aren’t really getting the job done.

I just have bumps on my arm.

Long, white bumps. 

More so just on my shoulder. So I can wear t-shirts and not have to worry about it.

I had a doctors appointment today.

She’s keeping me on Zoloft, even though I’m not feeling anything from it at all. 

But I feel my scissors, as shitty as they are.

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to just tell her how my life is falling apart and I can’t tell what side she’s on. My anxiety is on high now since school’s starting soon. 

Normal she said.

Just like being unable to open my university email all break.

Normal she said.

Due to my rough last semester.

I just want to scream.

What is normal about that? How am I normal? What is “normal” anymore? I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

She asked me for my goals.

I didn’t understand that question. So I asked her what she meant.

We didn’t end up talking about it any further. 

I don’t know what my goals are. What should I be shooting for? Love? Happiness? Success? From what? They sound so arbitrary. 

This life is miserable. 

I want to go. Go some place else. Break ties with those here except my family. Become a waitress some place warm, where the sun shines most of the year. I’m alright with rain, but I need warmth because this cold devours and has been devouring every year from the first chill until spring for 7 years.

People don’t believe me when I tell them what goes on in my mind.

I told a good friend last night. He thought I was joking about my past suicide attempts. He was saying we could do it together sometime because he feels that way too when he’s stressed. He joked that we could stand out in the cold and he’d die. I told him there were easier ways, trust me. 

I think he gets it now.

Most just nod and look the other way, some apologize and say I don’t deserve it, some pour out what makes them upset.

I just don’t understand.

Maybe it’s time to show people how broken I am. So then they’ll know.

Where Does The Ground Start?

It is official. I am becoming nocturnal (hoot-hoot.)

I was kinda-sorta sleepy at around midnight (fact), tried falling asleep about an hour and a half ago (ish), decided that wasn’t working and started writing.

Not on here, although this is where I am now (obviously.)

And it’s 3:31 AM and I’m not even tired.

I have insomnia issues.

Which is for real.

My doctor just doesn’t like to prescribe things to me (which I can’t really blame her.) I suffer from clinical depression and severe anxiety. I have increased my dosage recently and while I haven’t really noticed anything too different, I do feel like in some ways I am feeling better.

I don’t find myself having periods of extreme self-loathing sessions where I pick apart every single flaw I have very often. My thoughts of suicide are becoming fewer and fewer.

My anxiety is what the real problem is though.

I know that my depression stemmed from my anxiety issues. Pulling up my bank records today made me have a panic attack since I hadn’t checked them in a long time. Everything looks pretty good though. After that, though, I still couldn’t shake the feeling. My arms felt like they were rubber but twitching at the same time, my chest was about to fly away from my body, and my legs just wanted to run like crazy.

I know restlessness is a side effect from the medication I’m on, especially in the legs. But this was something I was trying to get away from. With my anxiety, I feel restless all the time. It’s as if I were constantly drinking coffee (which is why I can’t drink that much of it which is really sad.) I went up in dosage because I was having problems with the anxiety.

THIS. ISN’T. WORKING. DAMNIT.

I like my psychiatrist, I really do, and I know she is an intelligent woman. I still don’t feel like I’m myself though. But at this point, I don’t even know who ‘myself’ is. I don’t know where my roots are, where the ground starts.

Where does the ground start?