A house should look lived in, and I consider it clean as long as I don't stick to it and it doesn't give me cholera.

A house should look lived in, and I consider it clean as long as I don't stick to it and it doesn't give me cholera.

In short? It is exhausting being me. Pretending to be normal is draining and requires amazing amounts of energy and Xanax.

When someone writes something hateful and threatening I respond with something like, "I want to be so much like you; I want to wear your skin." By messing with them in that way you change what they're selling. They won't share it. And it halts the conversation. Or I'll change it to "Jenny, you're like a rose bush that grew a watermelon." They come back pissed off and write, "I didn't say that!"

I was having problems with depression and anxiety disorder, and it felt like not blogging about it was creating a false history. When I did finally share the problems I was having, I was shocked - not only by the support that was given to me, but also by the incredible amount of people who admitted they struggled with the same thing.

One moment I'm perfectly fine and the next I feel a wave of nausea, then panic. Then I can't catch my breath and I know I'm about to lose control and all I want to do is escape. Except that the one thing I can't escape from is the very thing I want to run away from... me.

I very much own the fact that I'm a misfit. The Internet makes everyone realize they're screwed up.