I feel so fugly.

I feel so fugly I don’t want to go out. And I haven’t during the whole day.

My skin is breaking out like crazy and of course I haven’t made it any better by constantly picking. I don’t remember when was the last time I felt so consistently ugly for so many weeks in a row. 2016 is a good year so far…except beauty-wise.

I feel so ugly it makes me anxious. I don’t want to go out unless I wear truckloads of makeup and even if I do I’m constantly self-conscious about people looking at me and thinking my face is too caked over.

Thoughts like “He’s probably thinking I’m a ‘butterface'” cross my mind constantly. And the worst part is: right now I wholeheartedly believe I’m a “butterface”.

I’m even afraid of the Russian thinking I look nasty or something, or that whenever he looks at me or kisses me he can see the amount of cake I have on.

My skin was moderately bad as a teenager, then I got some respite during medical school, and now I’m back to being a spotty fugly-ball. What the hell happened?

I just want it to be over already. For someone who was badly scarred by bullying there’s nothing worse than having the cause of your bullying turn on you a second time around. What did I do to deserve this?

Why can’t I just be pretty? Why can’t my face just be…normal?


Shitty shitty. Eh. That’s how I feel.

Nothing much has happened. I’m more relaxed, not as stressed as last week.

But I feel butt-fucking-ugly.

It doesn’t have to do with food. I haven’t purged or restricted for at least a week now and either way, I don’t feel like focusing on food right now. No. It all has to do with my fucking face. I have acne. Terrible acne, like a teenager. My acne back in high school wasn’t as bad as what I have right now.

It’s so embarrassing I don’t want to leave the house and I just want to sit and cry. I’m frustrated because it just sprouted out of the blue. It began around the time of the Match, so I thought it must be the stress, even though I’ve never been prone to stress acne. But it’s just continued wreaking havoc in my face since then. And considering I’m more relaxed now I would expect some relief…but no.

God I feel like a pile of shit ugly.

I have some other stuff in my head right now but I can’t seem to bring myself to post about it. Men-related crap and residency-related crap and life-related crap. Just thoughts….about crap. But I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, I can’t put my thoughts into words. I feel like I’m censoring myself.

That’s never good.

And because I have all that crap in my head I do what I do best: not deal with it and focus on the mundane, in this case, the acne.

I guess I’d rather berate myself over being ugly than think about my life or the men who aren’t interested in me. Mostly the Russian. Fuck, yes, I’m still thinking about that douche and it’s embarrassing to admit.

Middle school. Kids bullying me over apparently being ugly and crappy. That’s all I can focus on right now.

It’s incredible how butt-fucking ugly I feel today.

“I woke up like this.” Indeed.

I feel so ugly I don’t even want to go out. I keep looking at myself in the mirror…the acne that doesn’t seem to go the fuck away, the spots from past zits, the scars, the dark circles from not sleeping very well, the unsightly hairs that my genes gave me…

My face just keeps getting worse. I’d never been prey to stress-induced acne, but since I started figuring out my Rank Order List it’s kind of been a problem. Plus, anxiety has me picking at my face almost daily, which is obviously the #1 contributor to having all these spots and zits.

Why does feeling ugly get me down so fast? Because it takes me back to the worst times in my life: my pre-teen to teenage years.

Plus, it doesn’t help I’ve said no to going out with my mom two days in a row. She suggested we go shopping. I said no. Today she said she was going to the movies and asked if I wanted to go. Again, I said no. On both occasions it was just too early in the day for my taste, plus I’ve had terrible mornings these past days. It also just so happens that both the mall and the specific cinema she was going to give me terrible anxiety. I’ve never tried to explain this to her because she never understands my anxiety. She’ll just brush it off, roll her eyes, and say “Oh, please…” then proceed to think that I just don’t want to go out with her (which ins’t true 99% of the times).

But, going back to feeling ugly. I’m isolating because I feel ugly and I’ve got lots of anxiety. I know it. I don’t even want to go out with friends, and if I do, I only want to go out at night because the anxiety is less. Starting to feel it all bringing me down.

I can’t live here anymore. I think of The Ex. He might be anywhere. He might see me. His wife might see me. He’ll think he did nothing wrong to me. Worse, he might actually be proud of himself for “taking away my ‘virginity’ and being the ‘first one'” (he stated this back in the day…I shudder thinking about this). Meanwhile, she’ll think I’m a w***e, maybe even text me for just being in the same place as them.

How does this all make me feel? Ugly. And the acne. The fucking acne.

Makes me think kids in middle and high school were right: I was a “butt-fucking ugly” piece of shit “bitch”. I feel pathetic thinking about those people from the past while in my twenties.

Why was I so weak? Why couldn’t I just brush the bullying off like other people seem to be able to do? Why was I so fucking sensitive?

And The Ex….The fucking Ex….who still has such a strong hold on my life so many years later…I want him gone. Away. I want him to disappear….into a black hole so that every little bit of mass encompassing him becomes nothing…

I want my life back.




My mom has a bit of a hoarding problem. My grandmother also had a hoarding problem.

I refuse to have a hoarding problem.

She carries so much weight with her. She hoards not only objects, but memories, regrets, and dead dreams. She lives in the past. And for what? Where has that gotten her? Nowhere. If anywhere, it’s gotten her more miserable than she already is.

I have a feeling she wasn’t like this when I was a child. I have a feeling she’s gotten worse over the years, but that’s just my impression. However, I can’t ignore the fact that the garage and my dad’s office area are filled with a bunch of unnecessary crap and it wasn’t as bad before as it is now. I don’t know if dad’s the same. I think he’s just careless and doesn’t clean up his act. But mom? No, she cares too much.

I’ve been home alone this whole week and I felt incredibly light, incredibly free (in spite of my ongoing problems). It gave me a few clues as to why I should leave this place for residency. Today my parents are back and I can already feel IT growing inside me: the ball of useless crap, of negativity, pessimism surreptitiously passed as realism, and the noise. The useless sludge of toxicity is taking over my mind and soul. But I can’t let it.

At one point I decided to throw away a bunch of old crap I had in my room. It’s a bunch of stuff that I’m supposed to look at every year or so and think back to happier times, but mainly they just leave me feeling bitter and heavy. Souvenirs of the past, basically. And some of them I do like, and I kept; but a whole other bunch I’ve just kept over the years because my mom doesn’t let me get rid of them or makes me feel guilty for considering throwing them away. I guess she doesn’t understand the incredible high I get whenever I throw useless crap in the trash bin, especially useless crap that makes me feel bad about myself or my life. Who needs that, really? Throwing shit out and feeling light makes me feel good about myself. I don’t think she can say the same about her hoarding.

I like to travel light in life, with only the essentials. And “the essentials” doesn’t encompass a bunch of crap from when I was in school, like useless participation certificates from useless clubs (The Geography club! The Spelling club!….and many more). “The essentials” also doesn’t encompass a bunch of crap from senior year of high school and documents signed by backstabbing teachers who “adored me” but then treated me like shit when I most needed the help of an adult (during the relationshiT). Finally, “the essentials” doesn’t encompass a picture of a random group of smiling eighth graders, myself included, which was simply taken to be put on display on the class bulletin board. Especially if said picture includes people who made my life a living hell.

So, I was trying to throw away all this crap without my mom noticing, and I was feeling awesome about it. But at one point she suddenly opened the door to my room and saw what I was doing. I instantly saw it in her face, the guilt-tripping that was about to come my way in full force. She sat on my bed and we talked for a few minutes until what I knew was coming came.

“Are you going to throw away that picture?”

“Yes,” I said decisively without looking at her.

“Don’t do it.”


“Just…don’t do it. Don’t throw it away.” It was almost a plea, but the whole time she kept a level tone.

“Why not?” I said, anger boiling inside.

“You shouldn’t throw away that stuff. Dana, don’t throw that away.” And she didn’t say it, but I saw it playing peek-a-boo along the lines of her lips: You’ll regret it later. 

And she left.

But why do I have to keep it if I don’t want to? Why do I have to keep something that makes me overflow with wretched memories? What got me throwing away stuff in the first place was something MM told me. She said: A friend of mine once told me: I’ve never missed any of the things I’ve thrown away before. 

And she’s right. I’ve never missed any of the crap I’ve gotten rid of. I never regret any of my throwing-crap-away binges. If anything, I’ve always thought: why didn’t I get rid of it earlier?

Finally, mom didn’t succeed in her guilt-tripping. I threw the picture away, and I didn’t just throw it away. I cut out eighth-grade-me from the picture and kept it, while I also cut out an asshole who made my life miserable during that time…for an art project. A productive way of dealing with the anger eighth-grade-me couldn’t express.

Still, my mom’s hoarding problem affects me to the point where I had to go to the trash bin while she was taking a nap. I can’t let her see me throw the crap away because she’ll try and stop me in my tracks. And for maximum security, I made not one knot on the plastic bag containing all that crap, but four. I’ve thrown away stuff before that comes back to haunt me because she snatches it from the trash bin and decides to keep it for herself….disregarding the fact that I don’t want it around. It’s an undercover mission.

Do I regret it? Not one bit. I plan on continuing the throwing-crap-away binges little by little.

I have enough problems as it is. I don’t need to keep dragging all that SHIT with me.

Had other plans for this post. Was originally going to leave an update stating I’ll probably be MIA for the next two weeks, as I have A LOT of studying to do (so much that I’m deeply afraid). But something happened and I think it deserves to be put out in the internet, even if it’s just in my little blog.

Previously, I mentioned how I have a lot of trouble making calls, how it gives me severe anxiety and I avoid them like the plague mostly (unless I’m incredibly relaxed, which almost never happens, or I’m under direct supervision of someone or a patient’s care depends on it and have no choice but to do it then and there). I mentioned, in passing, how I had to call a patient’s mother to set up an interview for a case presentation and how I avoided calling her for almost a month because it gave me such horrible anxiety. I had no problem having an impromptu session with the patient’s father and meeting with him and the patient twice. I was very anxious and it resulted in a “bad day” but was able to manage. Still, calling the patient’s mother was something I couldn’t get myself to do on time.

So, with the pediatrics rotation coming soon to a close, time is running out for the case presentation, which hopefully I’ll have ready for tomorrow. Now, I have to present this case to an attending who’s a big gun at my school’s pediatrics department. She’s a very strict person, but I honestly believe she has the student’s and resident’s best interests at heart. She told me, back in January, that she was probably going to want to meet up with me more than once for the presentation, so I had to give her time to fit me in her schedule.

This all was a huge roadblock anxiety-wise. The simple fact that she’s a big gun really freaks me out, and on top of it she’s really strict and serious. So, that got me off on the wrong foot. Add to that my inability to call the patient’s mother on time because I spent almost a fucking month working myself up to finally be able to do it, and things turned sour pretty fast.

I previously saw this attending in one of the hospital’s hallways and I pulled her aside so I could apologize for taking so long in preparing the case presentation. She seemed to accept my apology and told me to make sure I had the case ready before the end of the rotation. Fast-forward to yesterday and I have the case almost ready, so I emailed her to set up a date for the presentation and discussion we’ll have. In the email I again apologized for my tardiness. I am really embarrassed I had to do that, as it’s honestly never happened to me before. I’ve never before had a problem with deadlines in spite of having anxiety issues.

She responded this morning, letting me know that her agenda was pretty full, and that we would probably be meeting by the end of next week. Her next paragraph is what got to me:

“Remember it’s really important that you separate the dates for your case presentations a few weeks in advance during your rotations. That way, you can guarantee that both you, and your attending, can fulfill your obligations and dedicate the required time so that the case discussion can be a fulfilling experience. The ability to make plans with time in advance is extremely important in our medical profession due to the multiple responsibilities we have; it’s because of this that you should develop it during your medical training and make it a habit.”

Ouch. That really really hurt. Being responsible is something I pride myself in.

I’m still in shock, but I was expecting a response like that, to be honest. I know she’s going to make medical student soup out of me and gobble me up within 5 seconds of beginning that case presentation, whenever it may be. I just have to make sure I don’t break down crying, that I get a passing grade, and don’t get referred for a professionalism concern. That last one really scares the shit out of me because professionalism concerns can destroy your career.

What I feel is a mixture of frustration and anger, but not so much towards her, more towards myself. I know she’s right. However, I can’t help but feel this incredible frustration because if I hadn’t been dealing with anxiety this wouldn’t have been an issue. All because of a stupid phone call.

And to think, the course coordinator (who knows about my hospitalization), told me back in December to reach out were I to face a problem during the rotation. Does being so anxious I start thinking about ways to kill myself count as an acceptable problem? Unfortunately, no.

I wasn’t counting on realizing my being abused for 5 years would happen during this past December. I wasn’t counting on that aggravating my already present problems with men, aggravating my anxiety to sky-high levels I’d never experienced. I wasn’t counting on any of that happening, but shit, life has a way of kicking you in the ovaries. And I’m actually patting myself in the back, more than having self-pity, because I’ve made it this far with those issues in mind without breaking down into a mess like I did last year.

I’d love to excuse my behavior. I’d love to tell this attending, in colorful and unnecessary detail, exactly why I took so long. Not to gain some pity on her part, or her sympathy, but to defend the fact that I am NOT a lazy good-for-nothing medical student who doesn’t know how to plan things in advance and fulfill her responsibilities. Funny thing is, she probably wouldn’t give a shit either way, because as soon as you reveal your inability to be fully responsible was due to “personal reasons” and not some devastating illness like cancer, they don’t give a shit and simply assume you’re an irresponsible liar.


And this, people of the blogosphere, is what I would love to tell her in person….brace yourselves:

Hello Dr. Big Gun:

I wanted to address my seeming lack of responsibility recently. I don’t expect you to understand, I simply want you to listen intently to what I have to say, because I can’t accept your well-intentioned criticism without putting up a fight. Sorry, I’m a very defiant little person.

I’ve been struggling with depression for most of my life, but most recently since 2011. I was hospitalized last year due to having a suicidal plan. In December of last year I went back to med school and had no problems dealing with all of this. However, also in December of last year, I finally admitted to myself that I was a victim of abuse.

Seeing as you deal with a lot of young patients who have unfortunately been victims of abuse, I would expect you to empathize and know that recovering from this is very difficult. In my case, the process has resulted in me having some really bad anxiety issues, to the point where I tape my curtains to my windows so neighbors won’t point and laugh at me sitting in my bedroom. I also still get triggered very easily, the most recent example being last Friday when an attending mentioned the words “sexual abuse” and I had to take a bathroom break and cower in a corner because I started having flashbacks.

This has extended to my difficulty with making phone calls. I have always had problems with this, but this recent development in my life has made it practically impossible for me to make phone calls. Thus, my inability to call so-and-so patient’s mother on time so that we could schedule an interview. To put it bluntly, I spent a month mulling over something you do fifty times a day from your office or smartphone with no difficulty whatsoever. Why, you may ask? Because in my case, making phone calls reminds me of all my deeply ingrained insecurities, thanks to past bullies and even my family’s lack of understanding from a young age.

Now, going back to the abuse…I’m sure you, as a human being yourself, have your own set of personal problems to deal with. Mostly, they don’t affect your everyday life, but sometimes they do, right? In my case, this has been a problem as of late, seeing as I was informed of three cases of sexual abuse in the ER while I was rotating there. That’s three cases in two weeks, and those are only the ones who actually file a report. Usually, I don’t have a problem dealing with this, but lately it’s been affecting me too much, seeing as I identify a lot with these patients and I am only beginning to process my own experience of abuse. In the future, I’ll be able to deal with it more efficiently, and responsibly, as you so eloquently put it, but not now. Right now, what I need is a bit of self-compassion in this recovery process.


I don’t expect you to understand my having a really shitty and anxiety-laden day after getting triggered and thinking of my abuser taking my hand and putting it down his pants so I could feel his disgustingly moist and erect penis at the tender age of 16, confusion and fear running through my mind as he tilted his head back in his egotistic pleasure trip. I don’t expect you to understand my being triggered and having flashbacks of little kids, big kids, and even adults, calling me ugly or a slut behind my back or to my face. I don’t expect you to understand how I was berated by my abuser for not being able to swallow his semen and how he made it a point to make me feel pathetic and insignificant for having feelings and emotions. I don’t expect you to understand what it feels like to not want to have sex but keep “going with the flow” because you’re afraid your abuser will hurt you emotionally. I don’t expect you to understand being completely naked inside a parked car in a parking lot while your fully clothed abuser fingers you, feeling incredible shame and wanting to run away. Unless you’ve been through the same things, there’s no way you’ll understand, and that’s ok.

What I do expect you to do, however, is to have a little bit of compassion and empathy for me, because I am going through the first stages of a very difficult process. I will accept your criticism graciously because I know I was wrong in letting this anxiety issue fester and not calling for help. What I will not accept is the not-so-subtle subtext of your email where you practically state that you think I am lazy and irresponsible and that is why I haven’t been able to keep up with the deadline. Sorry about that, I was too busy thinking about the times my abuser shoved his penis inside of me without my consent and I had to push him off.

I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to hear, but it’s the truth. I am a responsible person, and I take deep pride in that. However, I am sorry for having faltered this one time and giving the impression that I was careless.

Trust me, “careless” is not a word that describes me at this very moment. Unlike your other medical students, I actually took the time to meet up with this patient and his parents twice, called his mother to make sure I had every detail about his history down to a T, interviewed his teacher and his nurses, and went through every page of his 4-inch wide record (outdated lab reports included). Unfortunately, much like the patient you assigned me who has a life-threatening “physical” illness, life has dealt me some shitty cards, and I’m trying to make the most out of them. I’m sorry in my case it took a little longer than you wanted.

We are all human, after all, and my current inability to fulfill your strict standards doesn’t give you reason to judge. I will not accept your subtly accusing me of laziness. If I were lazy I wouldn’t even have bothered with apologizing for my tardiness in person and via email. 

I know you have your story too. This is my story.

PS: Like I said in the beginning, please excuse my random posting lately. Things will hopefully be back to normal the 1st of March, long-promised posts included.

I’m not exactly happy.

I haven’t been taking good care of myself, haven’t been writing in my diary consistently, haven’t been studying….I’ve basically neglected myself entirely, hence my lack of posting these last few days. Sorry about that.

It’s quite embarrassing to put this into words, but….I don’t think a second date is going to happen with that guy. I feel like such an idiot. I should have seen this coming. If there’s something I’ve learned about life since being hospitalized it’s this: much like Newton’s third law of motion, for every down there’s an up, but for every up there’s also a down.

So, like I said, the date seemed to go well, at least on my part. I texted him a while after he dropped me off at home, saying I had a great time. He said he too had a good time, and that there would be a second round.

But since then he’s made absolutely no effort to contact me. I texted him on two occasions, the first was three days later to ask him how his studying was going and the other was a play on a joke he posted on facebook. Both times led to a 5 minute short, cordial conversation. But both times I was the one who reached out (and that’s not to count the fact that I was the one who asked him out).


I’ve been cutting him some slack because like I said, he’s studying for Step 2 CS. But still, I’m not stupid. Maybe the date didn’t go as great for him as it did for me.

Either way, I’m really frustrated, because I have quite a track record for attracting the weirdest, awkwardest guys out there, to whom I am not remotely attracted. Surprisingly, I’ve done more heartbreaking than having my own heart broken, simply because I’m a weird-guy magnet (and I’m not proud of that, because it’s never easy to tell someone that you don’t like them that way). But then this guy pops into the picture….a single, male medical student, who I like and who seemed to be interested in me (at least at first)….and who seemed quite normal. That’s never happened. Ever. So I’m pretty frustrated.

I’m taking it pretty hard because, like I’ve said countless times on here before, I have zero experience with dating and men. And lately I’ve been thinking I’m not that bad looking, then maybe it’s my personality…. I don’t know, I feel like an idiot. I shouldn’t have gotten excited in the first place.

All of this just aggravates my depression and emotional baggage. I’m not a mess, I’m not down in the dumps, because I know this is something that happens to everyone at one time or another….but I’m not exactly a ball of joy, considering my only “experience” was abuse and I really like this guy.

And on top of that, I was working with a toxic team at hospital, that made me feel completely inept and pathetic. The cherry on top was when I handed a resident a patient note and told her I filled it out as best I could, to which she responded “I don’t care what you write.” without even looking at me. And this particular resident reminded me of bullies I had as a kid, so yeah.

Back in square one. All I have is my dogs and my books. Guess I should learn my lesson already and stick to those.


I fucking hate it. And yes, using the f-word was absolutely necessary.

This week has been an anxiety-fest constantly pounding in my head. Actually, there’s an anxiety fest pounding in my head always, every second of every day, but lately that fest has gotten quite….feisty. As a result, I have a nervous tick in my left bottom eyelid now. Great.

Like I’ve said before, dealing with everything that has to do with the relationshiT has exacerbated my anxiety. It has resulted in my lately having some very strong negative feelings attached to men of a certain age and up. I’ve unfortunately generalized the whole experience with The Ex to every man out there. But I’ve got enough insight to know that this is something I’ve got to address and work on. Add to that the realization that I have to study, and have a bunch of things to do relating to the pediatrics rotation and, well….I feel shitty, basically.

What I feel is so much anger, because anxiety means the most mundane day-to-day things are ridiculously difficult for me. And when I say mundane, I mean as mundane as sitting in my room writing this post. I get tired of the irrational thoughts swirling constantly in my head: Are the neighbors looking at me? I feel someone is looking at me. Someone must be looking at me. Looking at me and laughing at me, thinking how ugly I am. They’re all laughing at me right now. Or they’re all snooping on me, looking through the inch-wide space between the curtains and windows.

Ugh! I want those thoughts to stop! I can’t take it anymore! It’s all interfering with my life, interfering with my general functioning, with everything.

To give you a general idea, here’s a list of things that provoke serious anxiety in me:

  • Walking around my neighborhood, especially by day (that’s why I simply cannot walk the dogs)
  • Going shopping
  • Walking into a room filled with seated people, like a restaurant, or a classroom
  • Walking in any and every public place. This translates to: anxiety when I’m walking around the hospital, anxiety when I’m walking across a street, anxiety when I go to an art show, anxiety when I’m taking public transportation. Anywhere and everywhere public, and the more people the worse the anxiety.
  • DRIVING. Wow, this one is seriously getting to me lately, especially driving without sunglasses on. I literally cannot drive without feeling constantly on edge because I feel the whole world is looking at me, pointing and laughing.
  • Waiting for my dance class to start.
  • Whenever I’m at home and there’s an open window or curtains, especially if it’s dark outside. That’s why lately I’ve been keeping the windows and curtains in my room completely shut, which is frustrating because sunlight makes me feel better sometimes.
  • Any situation that involves wearing a swimsuit.
  • Eating alone in a public place, or also when I’m not alone but less so.
  • Talking on the phone while other people are listening. I usually make calls hidden inside my bedroom, that is….if I even get to make the calls, which brings me to-
  • Making calls. Yes, any and every call that doesn’t involve extremely close family or friend makes me anxious. I avoid it at all costs. An example: it took me a month to finally force myself to simply call a patient I had to interview for a case presentation. Granted, if the deadline had been earlier I would have forced myself to do it earlier, but that’s the whole point: If there’s nothing forcing me to do these things I end up procrastinating because they make my mind and body go haywire.
  • Sitting in the middle of a room, classroom, restaurant, etc. I always choose to be close to walls or corners.
  • Talking to a boss, attending, resident (although less with residents), etc.
  • Having to interact with someone from my past, people who went to school with me, teachers….
  • And many more…..

At the end of the day, I end up forcing myself to do a lot of these things. But that’s the problem; why the hell should I have to force myself to do something as simple as walking the dogs? Why the hell should I have to work myself up to do something as stupid as making a phone call? Why the fuck should I have to feel this horrible dread within me, tension building up in all my muscles, anger boiling because I have to put up with this shit, and thoughts running incessantly through my head when I’m driving? Why??? Just,  WHY???

I would give everything to walk down a street at broad daylight without a care in the world. I want to do it. It almost makes me cry.

The other day the anxiety was so much I woke up in the middle of the night and in my groggy/half-asleep state I started reviewing random medical facts in my head. That hadn’t happened in quite a while. It’s happened to me before, since high school, and it always happens when I’m having trouble anxiety-wise in my life. It always means I’ve reached the anxiety threshold. And I hate it because in my incoherent state I don’t have enough insight to say to myself Ok, this isn’t important now. I’m in pediatrics right now. Usually, it takes at least an hour for me to wake up enough to realize what I’m doing and go back to sleep.

And last night I had a terrible nightmare, family and blood involved. It was bad, and that’s really rare for me. Again, provoked by anxiety.

These are the times when I just want to throw a few benzos in my mouth and be done with it. Xanax, Ativan, Valium…hell, I’ve even thought about alcohol to lose a few inhibitions, and I barely ever drink! Anything to get rid of the anxiety, for chrissakes, I’ll do anything.

And I haven’t mentioned this but….anxiety makes depression worse, and depression makes anxiety worse. Yay for me.

I’m sorry, I just feel like crying (but of course, no tears because: hello depression!). Those of you who don’t have anxiety problems, just be thankful, and please don’t make fun of those of us who do.


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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.