Christmas, Best Friends, And Coping Mechanisms

Christmas was pretty tough for me. I spent hours crying that night ๐Ÿ˜ญ and feeling incredibly alone. Mike had went to bed early that day ๐Ÿ›Œ and I was left all alone with the nothing but the depressing thoughts in my head. I was so incredbly low that I started to get these horrible intrusive thoughts on how to end it all. I think I honestly may have went through with it if my beat friend hadn’t distracted me with a text about how miserable her Christmas was.

She’s going through a tough time right now I just hope that she’s gonna be okay. I love her death and wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her. ๐Ÿ˜š We figured out that it was fate that we became friends because if I would have never failed first grade (haha I know ๐Ÿ˜‘) I would have been a grade ahead of her and we would have never met in Ms. Salters class back in sixth grade. I really do believe that some things do happen for a reason whether we realize that reason or not.

I wanted to text my mom on Christmas night so bad. I asked a few people if it was bad idea to make contact and everyone said yes and not to do that. Even my dad suggested that it would be a bad move because while things could turn out good, things could have also a negative impact as well. I understood why everyone was saying no but I still felt so incredibly horrible.

I recently just posted the first poem I have written in almost a year and have to say, it actually felt good to get back into poetry and release some emotion in a healthy way. Lately, I have been using the main (unhealthy) coping mechanism that I know of that actually works. But I get ashamed of the scars. I need to get back into healthy coping mechanisms such as poetry, journaling, or just writting in general.

I have so much that I want to do and accomplish that it would be such a shame to leave this world or to spend my time here feeling nothing but depression. ๐Ÿค” ๐Ÿ’ฏ



Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.