I kinda want to die right now. Or sleep and not have to deal with the world. To my twisted mind, those are both the same thing. And yes, I’m throwing the phrase “I want to die” around loosely. Deal with it.

I’m still away from home. I scheduled a trip with a close friend to the city where Pizza Guy lives. It was convenient, surprisingly cheap, and since the opportunity to travel young and responsibility-less won’t come around again in life I said “why not?”. Plus, it happens to be the same city where my most recent dating interest lives.

And yet, it was a bit of a mistake and I can’t wait to get back home. I’ve barely spent time with my friend because she’s busy doing adult things and basically I’ve been locked up in the hotel and mostly sleeping by choice. And why locked up? Because my anxiety is very high right now. And why is my anxiety very high? Because I got my heart broken on only my second day here.

The most recent dating interest is no more and I am pretty devastated. Another one bites the dust. I’m glad I didn’t give him a name on the blog and I’m glad my sole traveling purpose wasn’t him. But still. We were sort-of-almost-dating and just going with the flow. But on Friday he confessed via text that after a full 3 months he’s finally accepted that we’re not a good match.

And you know what’s the funny thing? I rejected him after our first date. I told him I thought there were girls who were more compatible with him than me. He said “ok, but I believe in second chances”. We continued texting daily. He grew on me. We went out quite a couple of times when we coincided geographically. I started liking him. And then finally I was really into him.

But I guess it was the other way around for him. He thought we were a good match at first…but then he got to know me better. Granted, at least he wasn’t a douche like The Russian and actually told me what he felt. But still…

Can’t help but feel men only like me for my physical attributes and sex (yes, low-self-esteem-me is actually feeling that). However, once they get to know me they discover I have no personality and am something to run away from. They all say how beautiful I am  at first and as time goes by they just drift away slowly, hoping I don’t notice.

But Dana, there’s other fish in the sea.

But Dana, that’s not true! You’re a great person! You’ve got an awesome personality in addition to being beautiful!

But I wanted that fucking fish. And I wanted it (him) now.

There’s a backstory to him. He’s been my platonic crush for all of 9 years now. I couldn’t believe I was semi-dating him. I felt so lucky to be semi-dating such an amazing guy. But no. After 3 months I get my heart broken by no less than my platonic crush. You’ve gotta be kidding me…

I’m fucking sad. Very much so. He wants to stay friends. I told him me too, but that he has to give me time to recover. But right now I don’t want to recover, I just want to see him and be with him. And knowing that I’m in the same city as him and we haven’t spoken since Friday is killing me.

Then yesterday I saw Pizza Guy. Nothing remotely sexual, I just wanted some good friendly company and to get out of the hotel. It was good to see him. It allowed me to solidify our current relationship status as friends. I told him about my heartbreak. And again…

There are more fish in the sea.

Dating fucking sucks.

Some new person will come around when you least expect it.

And that’s fine, sure, if I had the fucking certainty that I will actually meet someone or a few people who will be Mr. Right at the right time. But guess what? Some people actually live alone in this life. And that could well be me. What if my fear of ending up alone and without a significant other becomes a reality? Anything’s possible.

Meanwhile, my close friend met up with someone last night and is meeting up with him again today. I love her to bits but I can’t help but feel like an utter piece of shit next to her. I’ve always felt like the ugly best friend when I’m with her and I’m just so jealous of her meeting up with this guy. In summary: here I am, feeling ugly, personality-less, lonely, and heartbroken, while she’s out there meeting awesome guy after awesome guy after awesome guy…in an awesome city.

Why couldn’t I have this one awesome fish with me? What didn’t he like about me? What made him think we’re not a good match?

There’s only one common factor to all the guys I’ve dated or been interested in: me. So, it follows that I’m the problem, right?

I’m always the fucking problem. Maybe I should just fucking drown in a vat of coconut oil.


I feel shitty. I’ve spent the whole day sort of restricting and….thinking about the Russian.

No, I’m not over him. Yes, I am pathetic.

It’s taking me so ridiculously long to get over this guy. I still can’t believe it. I guess that’s what not having closure does to you.

Earlier today I was thinking about this guy I like and have sort of been talking to (there went my promise to put men on hold…). Suddenly, I found myself thinking about the Russian out of the blue. And I just started crying. (There’s more to the story but I don’t know how personal and graphic I want this post to be.) That resulted in my spiraling down to the low point of facebook stalking him and his girlfriend, then comparing myself to his girlfriend, then arriving at the same dead end I always do: why her and not me?

Gosh I feel ridiculous admitting to these comparisons. I feel ridiculous about being so hung up on an asshole. But I am. It doesn’t help that two nights ago I dreamed he texted me. I don’t remember what he said, but the point is he reached out.

And you know what’s worse? That I wish it were true.

Every time a friend messages me on facebook my phone has a quicker vibrating pattern than normal text messages. And even if I don’t have the phone in my hand, even by just hearing the vibration pattern, I know it’s a facebook message. Every time that happens I have a small heart attack….because I always wish it were him.

Then I go through the panic of thinking What if it really is him?, then I mentally slap myself across the face and think Nah, that’s just your friend X messaging. And then I go back to But what if…..? and then again it’s For crying out loud, it’s been at least 3 months by now, get over it. Finally, when I pick up the phone, the smallest, but still very perceivable amount of frustration rains over me….because it wasn’t him.

To be honest, if he did come back and gave me space to talk to him, my first question would be Why didn’t you say goodbye? Sure, I could ask Why not me?, and I certainly would, but it’s not my job to force other people to like me. More important than that is why he didn’t think I was worth saying goodbye. Why did you just disappear instead of giving me closure?

I try to hate him. I genuinely do. I think of the things that made us incompatible, of the one time he made me feel absolutely tiny, of his dirty apartment that grossed me out, of his tone of voice that sometimes pissed me off, of the day we went shopping for a jacket and I told him he looked “fuckable” in the one he bought and seemed to like but then spent the whole day trying to replace it with another one (after telling me we were going to go boot-shopping for me)….

But then I think of his fucking smile that melted every bad thing away, of the things we did have in common, the uncanny coincidences in life experiences and details, one memorable date we had where we sat under the stars and talked about Interstellar, the stupid little emojis he would randomly text me, how genuinely excited he seemed when we planned my visiting him come the end of October, the time he unexpectedly and very softly kissed my neck while I was talking with my mom on the phone…

Then I think For chrissakes girl, get over it! You met by way of Tinder! He swiped right on your face! Not on your personality!

But then I think of when I asked him if he considered us to be “dating” and he answered “yes”.

And then I think of when I tried to be affectionate with him and he would brush me off.

And then of this one time he took me atop a skyscraper to look down at the city that I adore.

…And then I think of his girlfriend.

She’s ugly, or at least not as pretty as me. She seems like everything I’m not: hailing from a conservative family, an All-American Sweetheart, pretty blue eyes, probably not a freak like myself, wants to get married, dreams about having a big mansion, goes to a reputable med school, a student leader….

The only thing her and I seem to have in common is having studied medicine.

But the truth is, I don’t know her. I’m passing judgement here. I just know him. And he….has made me feel like utter shit. He…made me feel like I’m not even worth a goodbye, much less an apology.

Why, then, can I not forget him?



I had other ideas for this post. Happier ideas, about going back to review my Obligatory end of year/Beginning of year post. But I don’t think I’ll write one for 2016, because I’m lazy. I will say, though, that reviewing that post I realized I did pretty well on sticking to the commitment of making 2015 one of growth (patting myself on the back now). So, I’ll do the same for 2016.

HOWEVER, New Year’s Eve brought some interesting things with it, some very interesting things worth posting about. I thought it was the end of the Russian (see my previous post), but the deep, nasty, suppurating wound in my heart that is dedicated to him was reopened on that day and salt has been poured on it daily since then. I think the Russian is becoming a non-healing ulcer.

And that’s because…the Russian made a reappearance.

A quick one. But a reappearance nonetheless. Enough to cause little old me to cry herself to sleep last night.

So, what happened? New Year’s Eve was going just as planned. It was 1pm in the afternoon and I was readying myself up all pretty and hot, a treat to myself after realizing a few days previously that the Russian has a girlfriend now. I was in the process of texting my med school girlfriend something, and as I was typing I saw it appear at the top of my phone’s screen:


From an unknown number, mind you. I’d deleted his contact information from my phone, but I knew it was him because I’m really good at memorizing numbers. In addition to texting me, he messaged me via facebook with “hey dana” at the same time.

I decided to have fun with it, and reveled in the orgasmic pleasure of texting the following words:

“Who is this?”

He answered.

I said: “Oh”

And he said….nothing.

That’s right. NOTHING. For an hour and 45 minutes I tried to distract myself doing my hair and listening to music while my armpits were sweating profusely due to nerves. I was trying to be a proud girl. I was pretty successful, and it felt great figuratively having him at my feet, wanting my attention. But after an hour and 45 I said ‘fuck it’ and decided to text back again because I wasn’t going to let him spoil the rest of the day.

So, I said “Yes?”


Abso-fucking-lutely NOTHING! I partied with my family, got drunk for the first time in my life, and NOTHING, you guys. Not a single little word from him the whole night.

And then I went and fucked things up a bit because in my drunken state I replied his “hey dana” message on facebook chat with “hey hey russiann”. I’m pretty sure he could tell I was drunk. (But at least he didn’t catch the worst part of my drunk texting wrath, which involved texting my two best med school friends about everything from the Russian, to C, to videos of me giggling like an idiot, to confessing about the abuse….yeah, I’m not planning on getting drunk again. EVER.)

The night came to an end. I went to sleep. I woke up, non-hungover (I purged on purpose before going to sleep so I wouldn’t wake up miserable). And my first thought was Why did he text me?!

So, I texted him again at 11:30am: “Why did you text me yesterday?” thinking it might have been that he just wanted my address to send me the earrings. I mean, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity if he was actually planning on finally hauling his ass to the post office to send them to me.

And still….NOTHING.

So later in the day I got pissed because I didn’t know if he was just making me look like an idiot and playing jokes for shits and giggles. And the final message I texted was the following:


Of course, I commented on his “behavior” while crossing my fingers that he’d let my drunken “hey hey russiann” slide.


And that was it. Still nothing. With just two words the Russian managed to make me cry myself to sleep. Yeesh. (A part of me actually regrets writing that last message because I’m still hopeful. But I know I’ve gotta demand some respect too.)

I want to know why he texted. I mean, it’s been 1.5 months since I last heard of him. I know I shouldn’t give this much thought, but humor me for a bit ok?

I thought: Well, maybe he wanted to ship the earrings. But heck, if it was that, then why did he suddenly back down and chicken out? It’s something completely impersonal. All it takes is a text that says: “I’m sending you your earrings. What’s your address?” So, I’m not quite convinced it was that.

And then I thought: Well, maybe he got the wrong Dana on his phone. Honest mistake. Could happen to anyone, right? Wrong. He messaged me on facebook too, which means he purposefully searched my name and clearly saw my picture and messaged “hey dana”.

And finally, I thought: It was New Year’s Eve, maybe it was a drunken tirade. Yes, could be. But it was 1pm you guys. And honestly, as much as I want to say bad things about the Russian, getting drunk at 1pm is so very not him. I mean, I never once saw him drinking when we dated, nor was he ever insistent on drinking alcohol.

And then I texted my med school girlfriend: But hey, he still has my number then. To which she responded: “Sometimes iphones keep contact info even after you delete it.” But I insisted: “Yeah, but it still means he thought of me for whatever reason and dug my number up.”

So, I still don’t know why the hell he texted me. I’m dying to know. But I know I’ll probably die before knowing. Maybe it was something as meaningless and impersonal as the earrings. Or, better yet, maybe he actually missed me. But I’ll never fucking know.

And now, because of that, the Russian is back at the forefront of my mind. To the point where even C is annoying me. Every time C texts me I wish it was the Russian.

But no luck. He has a girlfriend now. Slightly younger than me, his same ethnicity, a good student, and a Christian (which is surprising, since we once had great sex after discussing our atheist ways in detail). Unlike me, he’s probably not ashamed of presenting her to his mother. And unlike me, he’s willing to change his profile pic for her.

And after all this, I’m left with the question: Was what we shared genuine? I know it was for me. We have so much stuff in common. I mean, the coincidences were uncanny, people. And in spite of personality clashes at times and my asking him on various occasions, he always insisted he was in it for the long haul, looking for a “partner in crime” and that we were on the same page: number 72.

Why? Just….why? I’m embarrassed to admit that I still, to this day, want what we had. I know I shouldn’t. But I do. And I constantly compare C to him (more on that later….if I feel like it).

That non-healing ulcer is giving me severe pain again, you guys.


My previous post was about telling the Russian to fuck off. It was supposed to be the true beginning of the end of the Russian.

And yet, here I was an hour ago, bawling my eyes out after watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind because it reminded me of him, of us, of everything that…..everything that I still want.

Was there a trigger for all this? Yes. New Year’s Eve brought some old ghosts along with it.

I have a lot to say. And I know I should focus on my interviews. And they’ve mostly been ok. But really what’s at the forefront of my mind right now is the Russian.

Another one seems to have disappeared. I knew this would happen the minute he turned around last time we said goodbye. Something just didn’t feel right. I thought it was me.

So this week I asked him if I could stay over one night because I made a mistake in my schedule and didn’t have a place to stay. He said no. Then, mid-week, I texted him asking if he was still alive. He said: “Away;sorry. Will text you Saturday.” Obviously that was a pile of BS. However, of course I still had some hope he might just come around and actually communicate. But yeah, nope. Nothing.

I’ve tried to focus on myself the past three days. Tried to study for Step 2 CS, which I’ll be taking in literally a week and a half….but I can’t. Two days ago I fasted enough to make me feel dizzy and incredibly weak. I knew I took it too far when I noticed I just lay in bed and couldn’t raise my arms up against gravity and my breathing was shallow. Somehow I gathered the strength to go eat something. I fasted because I felt like shit and horribly fat, but it was also a mix of anxiety not letting me get outside.

Then today I ate too much for my comfort. I purged. Petechiae all around my eyes now and a few on my forehead. During the whole day I couldn’t keep my mind off the Russian, obsessing over what had gone wrong. Finally, after purging, I broke down crying like a dumbass. I started crying the moment I grabbed my phone and noticed I still had this picture of me smiling. It was a picture I took of me all excited when we planned the whole my visiting him and staying over at his place for a week. I’d sent it to him back then. He was excited and he’d told me he missed me.

If he didn’t like me as much why didn’t he just tell me? Honestly, I prefer crying hysterically over someone telling me they’re not into me anymore, than crying hysterically because they just disappeared and decided to ignore me. The difference is, in the first option, you’re respecting me, acknowledging my existence, and growing a pair….vs the second option is just being a piece of shit coward.

I was so happy at the beginning of this month. I was actually thinking November might be different this year, that I’d actually found this cute/nice guy to date. But nope, none of that. Apparently I’ll have none of that happiness back. It’s just a load of shit. Again, the rug has been swept from under my feet for the one millionth time.

Tomorrow I’ll be leaving to another city for two interviews. I’ll be staying with an old friend from high school I haven’t seen in years and who will probably trigger me into oblivion concerning all things The Ex and my teenage years. To top it all off, the city I’ll be going to is the Russian’s home city.

I remember him telling me he liked my being so affectionate. His telling me we were on the same page. Looking at the stars together….sitting at a pair of swings together…

I told him three times I didn’t want to get hurt. This is precisely what I meant by “hurt”.

Why do I keep trying? Really, why?

Tomorrow I’m going back to the city that I adore.

The interview for that top program I got invited to is on Monday. I am scared shitless and unprepared. Just getting invited to this place is awesome. Matching there is….unimaginable to me. That is, if I like it. I might run out of there on Monday at the end of the day hating the place, so who knows? Either way, I want to give off a decent impression. I don’t know if I have what it takes, to be honest. They tell you to just be yourself, but is “myself” really enough for these people?

Unfortunately, I won’t be staying with the Russian. Actually, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to see him. Apparently, he’ll be in his home city for the weekend, so I’ll have to stay at a hotel (there goes the money I had managed to save up so far). I don’t know where I stand right now with him.

The week I spent with the Russian went great. I enjoyed my time with him very much. It was all good at first, but then the two last days I don’t know what happened. He saw the ugly side of me and I saw the ugly side of him, which is fine…thing is, I don’t know whether he’s still interested or not since we had a bittersweet goodbye and we’ve barely spoken this week.

So, those last two days he showed me a side of him that I wasn’t very fond of, mainly because it reminded me of the Ex. We went shopping and I freaked out thinking he might have an obsession with money like the Ex did after I saw how he behaved at the mall. I even asked him how important money was to him. I think that pretty much prepped me up for a bad day, as I spent the day really quiet, triggered, and on edge. He noticed I was abnormally quiet and I had no other way of responding except “I’m ok”.

By the end of the day I was pissed as I was tired and hungry and that’s never a good combination with me. He’d already said a few comments during the day that kind of ruined the moment. When we got back to his apartment he said something that made me snap because I felt unappreciated and again, it reminded me of the Ex. And unfortunately I couldn’t hold it in anymore: I started crying.

He noticed I was crying in the bed and he lay next to me, holding me. I was trapped. I had to give him an explanation for my random crying. And so, I said it: “I was abused for 5 years.” Then I went on to explain that I can be very sensitive to things that make me feel slightly unappreciated and that all of this was new to me as I had never dated anyone long-term since the abuse.

He was great about it. He was quiet for a bit and then we ended up talking about how abuse is no stranger to him, as his closest friend is currently entwined in an abuse-related situation. He was then vulnerable with me and answered my question about the importance he places on money and explained that he didn’t have an obsession with money or brands, but he liked quality things, as his family lived in extreme poverty when he was young. I think I just phrased it terribly, but the point I’m trying to get across is that he was open to me just as I was open to him….and I appreciated that so much because I hadn’t seen him be so vulnerable with me before.

He then told me that what I said didn’t change how he saw me (after I asked him). A bunch of points in his favor there.

Then, before I left for my first interview (where I’m currently at), I asked him whether he would mind my coming back to stay with him this very same week. And he didn’t like the idea. That took me by surprise. He tried to explain he had to clean his apartment and that after a week it was so dirty…blah blah. I was kind of hurt and left him with a cold kiss, but then after I left I realized what he said was code for: “I just need a break to be alone in my own apartment again.” So, I texted him:


Whether or not it’s true, I took his triple hearts response to mean: “Thank you for understanding.”

This week he’s been super busy catching up with work. He knows I have an interview back in the city on Monday and was open to my staying with him again. So, I texted him to confirm:



“On the same page” is an internal joke we have for when I asked him whether he was looking for serious dating or just fooling around, and “72” is the “right answer” if you want to call it that. I wrote him a few things after that, including that I don’t know when I’ll be coming back to the city and that I’m excited to see “what’s in page 73”. Again, that’s another internal joke. When I was with him last week he said he wanted to see what was “in pages 73, 74, and in the next chapters”.

But he hasn’t answered. No surprise there, he’s terrible at paying attention to his phone and I was witness to that during the last week. Of course, that doesn’t work well with the Borderline in me…

Whenever he takes longer than 5 minutes to answer. No joke.

Whenever he takes longer than 5 minutes to answer. No joke.

I don’t know. I’m so confused. I hate dating. I hate it so much. I don’t know what to make of his silence and I’m probably reading too much into it.

But yeah, I like this guy so far. There were those bumps where he reminded me of the Ex, but I’m sure that will happen with any guy I date, due to the fact that the Ex was unfortunately my first “everything”. I mean, his being a man reminds me of the Ex, for chrissakes.

I’m just so insecure and so weak…and I think he can sniff it on me. I was so strong during my visiting rotation at the city when we first met, so protective of myself and my heart, but now that I was with him this week all that went to shambles and I’ve gotten so…dependent. I’m back to being a weak mush with no personality and mildly depressed.

I’m all alone in this strange non-walkable city right now, missing him, wanting to make things right with him, with severe black/white thinking and uninspired to be a psychiatrist. I’m afraid of getting even more depressed because I feel I have no support. There’s no G or R here obviously, and I’m incredibly pissed at MM and how she’s distanced herself from the family for the past two months. I have my friends, but they’re not quite cutting it right now, much less since they can’t be here physically. I have no one. In a span of days my mood went from great to crap. My mood was great the day of the interview, but the loneliness got to me now.

And I need that strength back you guys. The interview at the top program is on Monday, the pre-interview dinner is on Sunday….I mean, how the hell am I going to convince them I’m a good candidate if I can’t get that strength back?

I am so worried. And depressed. But I haven’t reached the point of no return. I just have to figure out a way of returning. 😦

Well, since I don’t want to be a complete party pooper, I’ll post some good news first. For some reason I forgot to post this back in September:


And with a decently solid score if I may say so myself. Touché.


Now that I’ve given you the good news, I’ll give you the party-pooping part of this post: I had a nasty BPD flare-up this weekend.

And guess who it had to do with? You got that right! The Russian of course!

Second weekend in a row it happens, actually. And it was the same thing all over again: apparently he was spending the weekend with his parents (who live in a state nearby) and he barely texted or communicated at all. (Whether or not it’s true that he was with his parents, I’ll just have to believe him on that. Either way, we’re not yet at that stage where we’re totally exclusive so…*shrug*.) Of course, he only informed me of this after the fact…after all the borderline-ness just decided to come by and say “Hey dumbass, I’m still here” and create a messy goo in my head.

So, while The Russian was apparently back in his home city for the weekend, I was wringing my hands and going nuts at home. Abandonment. That pretty much sums it up. The abandonment I felt was so terrible, it just got the best of me. My thinking went literally from realistic to a complete gob of black/white extremes and freakish splitting. My head was filled with: Obviously he’s with someone else. Obviously he’s taken and you’re just the sloppy seconds…because you’re always the side-piece, and you always will be. It’s all you deserve because you’re a pile of shit. You’ve got a sign on your forehead that says ‘use and abuse me’, you idiot.

“You’re the sloppy seconds.” That phrase got stuck in my head the moment the Ex’s wife said it to me. And it’s been there for a few years now. Every time I like a guy it’s what pops automatically into my head. Sad, right? I’ve gotten better at silencing the voices of the Ex (and his wife) this year, but the thoughts are always exacerbated by dates, men, or crushes. See the connection?

So, this past weekend, the thoughts of self-harm and dying were at an all time high again. The negativity, the hatred toward myself, and even some symptoms of depression were there. I was angry at literally everyone. Any slight anger I had toward a certain person got inflated into this nasty monster of hate. I was genuinely and irrevocably pissed out of my damn mind at MM for making me feel abandoned with her lack of communication lately, at R and G for canceling appointments this month, at my two best med school friends for being so busy with residency and not having time for me, and at the Russian for just suddenly disappearing. I was kind of afraid of myself to be honest. I hadn’t felt that amount of pure anger in quite a while.

And here is where the embarrassing part comes along: it all went away in literally one second the moment I received a text from the Russian saying “baby”. That’s all it took. One word and one emoji later, it was as though nothing happened. A switch had gone on during the weekend and the moment the Russian reappeared the switch went back off. Granted, I was withholding my texting and calling as a test to see if he even remotely thought of me. And it took just one word on Sunday night to put the monster back  to sleep.

I am so embarrassed. Why? Because I wasn’t able to calm the BPD down. And I’m afraid of the Russian ever finding out what truly goes on in my head. I’m afraid of him (or any other guy I might date, for that matter) finding out I’m not as calm and composed as I look and I have a dark past and present still going on in my head. I’m afraid of that scaring them away, making them think I’m just some “crazy chick”. It’s all funny in the movies and TV, but it’s not at all funny when you‘re the “crazy chick” in real life.

In summary: I’m afraid of ever having to tell a boyfriend/date/whatever, about my mental illness. I’m simply terrified of it. Will they take a step back in horror and run away for dear life? I hate having secrets, but the fear of abandonment is so strong.

I dropped hints here and there at the Russian back in September. I told him I was having nightmares and it was a long story and I was sorry after my tossing and turning one night didn’t let him sleep. He was worried, and said it was ok. But how am I ever going to bring myself to tell him that the nightmares I was having were of him turning into my abuser while he slept next to me?

How will I ever bring myself to tell him that I’ve had problems with mental illness? How will I ever bring myself to tell him that I have problems with chronic recurrent mental illness and that he might have to deal with that at some point if he so decides to pursue a relationship with me? How to tell him that it’s been drilled into your head that you’re a “piece of shit” and “abusable”? How to tell him he’ll have to deal with stuff like depression, suicide, anger, restricting food, purging, terrible self-image, loss of sex-drive, anxiety, fears of abandonment, and company…and that he can’t do much about it except be a source of support?

How do you tell a guy…that you’re incredibly imperfect?

I’m afraid of my mental illness eventually making me lose a guy who’s actually worth it.


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Musings of a 20-Something-Year-Old

Just another 20-something-year-old trying to make it in this crazy world


Let us express the beauty of our hair. Let us chat!

Caroline Saliha

"People who shine from within don't need the spotlight"

The Aspiring Medic

Laughter, tears and side effects

Birth of a New Brain

A Writer Healing from Postpartum Bipolar Disorder (Bipolar, Peripartum Onset)


Life and gripes of a doctor in America

The Medical Intellectual

Part-time doctor, full-time patient

borderline problems

A Journal of Recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder


saving the world, one malady at a time.

syncope student

The subsconscious mind of medicine...well...a deranged conscious mouth of a single medic...(>.<)

Sprout Splice

Root Transplant Repeat


An honest look at living with bulimia.

The Sound of Ed's Voice

Letting others hear Ed's Voice, from a perspective that is not often taken.

burning the short white coat

In search of the ultimate patient experience...

Adventures of a Medical Student

Medical School, Fitness and Fun plus all the ups and downs

Brighton Bipolar

Adult Survivor of Child Abuse and Diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder - Working towards ending the stigma of Mental Illness

The Person Next to You

... we're not alone in the journey of life!

Doctor Psychobabble

Through the looking glass of a psychiatry resident.

Problems With Infinity

Confessions of a Delusional Maniac

Falling down the rabbit hole

Trauma therapy, life after sexual abuse & PTSD


Not-so-random thoughts

Write to Live

I'm just a twenty-something girl with a voice and a pen.

crashing resident

Injecting some humor into medical life