I'll try harder this time.

I checked myself into therapy a little over a week ago. It would be heroic if it wasn't so damn overdue. I don't know exactly when I snapped, or even if I snapped. Maybe mental illness isn't a sudden spark of insanity, and that's the most frustrating part. It surfaces slowly. It lies just under the surface of your skin and begs for you to itch it until, finally, you give in and scratch. You expect relief but relief never comes.

The thing about mental illness is that it never leaves me the fuck alone. It has shown it's ugly face many times. It entered every aspect of my life and I didn't even see it come in. I can't pinpoint it. I don't know why I can't handle being alone, but still feel tense around people. I don't know why getting out of bed is a battle, but sleeping is a struggle too. I don't know when I stopped caring who I am, who I was, who I could be. I don't know when I stopped being normal or if I ever was. Hell, I don't know when I chose the worst coping methods on the face of the fucking planet.

I want to get better. I want it now. I crave normalcy. I need help, I need help, I need help.