Get Those Creative Juices Flowing.

Something that seems to be common with writers is an introverted lifestyle. That is putting the stereotype lightly. Like writer’s just lock themselves in a room and just stew in self pity and alcoholism. I feel like sometimes people associate writers with mental illness because writer’s tend to isolate themselves to focus on their writing.
Some writers do have a mental illness. Some famous writers have been open about or people assume they struggled with mental illness due to their lifestyle. Of course some have resorted to suicide. 
I think this is a double edge sword. In one way, people who write are creative. And people who tend to be introverted are more thoughtful in a creative aspect. Some of the best ideas I have had with my novel is just sitting with my notebook doing some free writing. I love being in a quiet, cool room to concentrate on my ideas. 

On the other hand, being isolated can promote depression. Then though I love being alone, I have to socialize. As humans, socializing is an important element. If we didn’t socialize, we would be feral. We wouldn’t know how to function if we met other humans. We probably wouldn’t live long because of the lack of human contact. When I’m alone for a long period of time, that depression sets in. 

It’s a complicated idea. When I tell people I’m writing a novel I can tell some, not all, have a weird expression after I tell them that. Like I have something seriously wrong with me. Others look at me like I’m a genius.

I assure you, I’m far from genius. 

I feel like we need to hold people who are introverted, not just writers, in getter regard. I dread being around people. It freaks me out. It’s not that I don’t like people, they just make me nervous. But after I get out and socialize, it’s not so bad. I freak out over saying the wrong thing, but that’s just how I’m wired. I hope one day people will see introverts without stigma. 

Not everyone can be a social butterfly.

Escaping Reality

The past week has been tough. Absolutely rough. Life is just fucking me over right now. I’m trying to not be a negative Nancy, which is so hard for me to do.

Good news is that it was therapy week. One thing that stuck with me during this session was my inability to be in the moment. When discussing this idea with my therapist it seemed I didn’t know how to do that. I don’t actively stop and smell the flowers. I worry about the future; I never look at the present to reflect. Then she pointed how that I do, in a way, celebrate the present. I don’t worry about anything, I just enjoy the moment.

I do this through walking, writing, cleaning, etc. But what really stuck out was video games.

Lately, I have been playing Persona 5. For those who don’t know, it takes 100 hours to beat. Not to mention even longer if you want to be a completionist. On top of that, it’s a JRPG (Japanese role playing game). It’s a complex, story-driven game that is just amazing.

I hate JRPGS, but I love this game.

The role that this game has in my life is giving me a door to escape to. I can immerse myself into it, and just enjoy the moment. All this time I had been stopping to appreciate life. Just not consciously.

I have had so many people tell me I’m wasting time playing video games. That’s it’s childish. It makes me feel horrible, like I have to be productive all the time.

These days, I stop myself from thinking that way. The same people that tell me I waste my time sit in front of their television; mindlessly watching. The hypocrisy is there.

Escaping into a video game helps me cope. To forget, at the least, of the issues I deal with.

On top of that, I’m an adult. I don’t feel like it because I’m constantly treated like I’m not. I’m almost 26, and I still am told what I should and should not be doing.

Last time I checked, I have a full time job, able to pay all my bills, and have goals in my life.

If video games are a waste of time, so be it. But they have always and will continue to get me through the day.

‘Wouldn’t It Be Better If it All Just Blew Away?’ – Mike Wazowski

I’m a day behind. With everything going on in my life, I didn’t have one thought about my blog yesterday. I have so much in my personal life going on, such as buying a house, and my on going journey to conquer my depression. And what’s worse, today I really don’t feel like writing anything.

I have this horrible cycle I go through. Something will happen, something small. It could be a slight on social media or some asshole in traffic. I just get triggered. It just oozes into my daily life, and I feel completely useless.

I feel like my blog is useless. I feel like my novel is useless. I feel like everything I do is useless.

I’m not trying to be ‘Oh, woe is me.’ It’s how I really feel. So why the hell am I writing today if I don’t feel like it?

I have to push myself. I have to think that someone is reading this and getting something out of it. I have to think that my novel will be finished one day. I have to persevere through this.

Now, the nihilist in me feels like this is pointless. No matter what I do, it’s not really going to change anything. That if I died tomorrow, no one will be affected. We all die, and we are all forgotten about eventually.

It’s not the depression talking, it’s just my perspective. I feel like it’s realistic. People that work so hard to have this legacy after they die are foolish. Legacies don’t last. They never do. That’s just, you know, life.

This duality is hard to curb. Especially when you have a indifferent nihilistic perspective, then you have a depressive nihilistic perspective that sucks away your willpower.

I will never be a positive person. Never. Can’t do it. I feel like I’m not positive because I’ve been fucked over by life so much.

So the best I can do is just keep pushing through it.


Follow me on Twitter: @earthhboundgirl

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All By Myself

These past two weeks have been tough. My depression has been hitting me hard. I’m in the process of getting my medicine modified.. again. The up-hill battle of finding the right medicine for depression is so hard. There is no cure-all pill. When you do find the right one, even then you have to push yourself into a self-care routine. 

I’m slowly crawling my way out of the pit. 

It sucks.

The one thing a person needs during this time is support. Which ironically, is the hardest thing to get when you deal with mental illness.

Let’s be clear: I have had one person in my life that has helped me with my depression. One. 

That’s not an exaggeration. My parents took me once to get treated for depression. I was in the 8th grade, and I couldn’t even be 100% honest about how I was feeling. I felt too ashamed to say I was having suicidal thoughts. That’s all the support I had growing up. 

With school, in general, I had a tough time making friends. I was an outgoing child, but my family moved during a crucial time of social development, then moved back during my junior year of high school.

I have one friend from highschool I still talk to and another that is significant other now. 

I had friends who I called family. But, in the end, I was the only one who was loyal. 

I don’t mean nonsense like they found another best friend or some melodramatic bullshit. I mean, I was there for them during their crisis, but they weren’t there for me. My depression was gross to people. I couldn’t be open about my paranoia or my mood swings. I had to make excuses for behavior sometimes. Like I was cheerful because ‘I was tired’. 

I think my bad luck was due to my trusting nature. However, I’m not a saint.

I have done some stupid and damning things, but in these scenarios, I gave my all in these relationships. Because I so wanted a friend on my level. I wanted a friend to say ‘It’s okay, I’m here for you. Talk to me’. 

I understand it’s hard for people to openly care. When I say ‘openly care’ I mean, we don’t want to hop over an emotional wall because of social awkwardness or lack of empathy. 

And part of me wanted to fix people: I had a friend who was popping pills, had an eating disorder, and suffered from depression. I was always there for her, no matter what. But I never got the same treatment. She was an asshole, plain and simple. She, obviously, had problems. But when my problems came up, she ignored me. She steered the conversation towards herself. She was a master manipulator, and it made me so anrgy that she treated people this way.

This is only one example of my failed friendships. 
I have a few friends in Minneapolis. They seem to have their shit together. Which is a nice change of pace. As for people back in Kentucky? There are a few I still talk to. There are a couple who would do anything for me, and I keep in touch. 

But my only best friend is my significant other: Dillon. He is the only one I can rely on. He knows all my dark corners, and accepts me. And I try to support him back. 

I try to tell myself I don’t need quantity over quality. It hurts that I have been fucked over so much. 

Let me be clear: I’m not trying to play the victim. I have done some things that have caused rights and problems in friendships.

But at this point, there is not much I can do. I have apologized my shitty behavior. But regardless, I have cut the toxic relationships. Sometimes you just have to forgive and move on. 

Hopefully, I can open up to another person again in my lifetime. 

I guess we will see.


Trying To Fight The In-between

When I found out Chester Bennington (lead singer of Linkin Park) committed suicide, I was struck with sadness. I think people asked the question ‘why?’ or ‘how could he do that to his family?’ Some even saying he was selfish. 

This pissed me the hell off.

When I was a teenager, I had no way to express myself. I was not close to my family in an emotional sense. They didn’t understand what was going on, and it was hard to explain. Now looking back o those years, I realize that I was dealing with depression. On top of raging hormornes, trying to define who I am, I was dealing with untreated depression. 

Music was one of my few outlets during this time. my music was heavily monitored, so any music that had cursing or anything explicit really, was off-limits. I was allowed to listen to Linkin Park, despite the screaming involved. I was able to identify with this music. I was able to see I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. 

When it comes to the subject of suicide, I have attempted it once. And trust me, the last thing you think about is being selfish by committing the act.

You feel selfish for living. 

You feel alone, incapable of being loved, you feel like you are in physical pain from sorrow, you feel like you are a failure, you aren’t good enough, you’re not perfect, you have too many flaws.

It would be better for everyone if I was gone.

Don’t come at me with how selfish it is when the person feels like it’s the ultimate selfless act.

Obviously, suicide is a horrible act that should happen. I’m not justifying it. But people who have no idea what it’s like going through something so painful, don’t need to judge. 

I hope Chester found the peace he so desperately needed.



Guys, I have a new article up, check it out:

And Now For a News Update..

For the few that read my blog, I’m going to be more consistent with my posts. I absolutely love writing, and I want to put more content out there. I hope what I have done so far has benefitted from it. So, here’s what’s going on:
Every Saturday: Mental Health blog focusing around my personal experiences

Every Monday: Music Playlists; I listen to alot of music while I’m writing and working. I would like to share what speaks to me musicially. 

Every Wednesday: Video Game Collection blog; All the pieces will be from my collection, and I’ll briefly describe what it means to me. 

Monthy Updates: I am a contributor to for a website ( I’ll post whenever I do a review. I focus on podcasts, and I do 2-3 reviews a month. 

I will be posting more photos on my photography page. Mostly of the landscape here in Minneapolis, maybe some childhood photograhs, and yes, cats. Alot of cats. 

Thank you to everyone that reads my rambling words. I hope it brings some form of entertainment to your life.

1 Sheep, 2 Sheep, White Sheep, Black Sheep


I know it’s been a hot minute since I did a blog. I want to apologize; I have been struggling with a change in medication, and it’s taken a toll. I’m slowly getting better though.

You just know when you are different. There is a disconnect between yourself and who you are interacting with. 
Last night, I had a dream that I was trying to fit in with people so unlike me. I could feel their judgement. I tried to shape myself in their image, but it was no us.

Growing up, I questioned everything. Especially religion. To this day I question it. 

If I had to label myself, I would consider myself agnostic. 

If I had grown up differently, I might still be Christian, but when something is thrusted upon you, you tend to reject it. Christianity wasn’t a choice..

It was the only way to live.

This played a part of a complex puzzle. As a result of not having autonomy, I looked for an outlet; I rebeles in my interests, my clothing, my music, anyway I could.

The other part of this puzzle is my reserved nature. It’s so hard for me to develop deep relationships. I feel like I truly succeeded in one relationship, but that’s it. Partly because I put my empathy and trust into terrible, selfish people, and partly I don’t want people to see under that hard shell. 

I don’t want the soft inside to show.

This is why I’m a black sheep.

I don’t like getting close, I reject the inablity to make life choices, and I’m more interested in counter culture. 

I grew up in Kentucky, but I hate it. I hate country music, cowboy boots, hunting, camp, religion, backwards thinking, and lack of opportunity.

I am not wanted there anyway. I don’t fit in with what little family I interact with. It’s always been that way. I feel like me being born put a thorn in some people’s sides. Like I was an asshole for just being born. Or, they came to the conclusion that I’m a snob. They mistaken my shy, reserved nature as a me being a bitch.

Even in these odds, there’s irony.

Everytime I was mocked, not invited, made fun of, put down by family, taken for a bitch, told I need to pray to Jesus, told I was vain, aggorant, given a sideways glance, an eye roll….

Those assholes made me more convinced to not give up.

To not let them see me knocked down. To show I’m not what they tried to mold me into. To show they couldn’t break me. To show it’s my fucking life, I can so what I fucking want to do.

I have to rise above it, or let them step on me.

Being a black sheep sucks, but it sure as hell beats following the flock.

And How Does That Make You Feel?

For the first time in almost a year, I had a therapy session. I dreaded this so much. An hour before my session I almost cancelled. I could feel the dread creep up my neck. It gripped me, I felt a pit just grow in my stomach.

I tried to focus on my commitment.

When anxiety starts to set in, I remind myself how my actions effect other people. It’s one of the few techniques I use to get through the day.

There is something relaxing about spilling your darkest secrets to a complete stranger. Socially, it is easier for us to divulge personal  information to someone we have no established relationship with. There will be no repercussions, nothing will damage the dialogue.

The beauty of therapy. 

I speak so frankly about my experiences. I probably concern my therapist. But that’s my problem: my attitude. I am so apathetic. Not necessarily towards people, but towards myself.

And that existential feeling of the world ending eventually.

I seem to have my life together; with goals and financially stable.  Which isn’t bad for a millennial. But, as cliche as it is, I wear this mask. All my energy is put into keeping up my life in other aspects, but emotionally.

That’s why it’s so hard for me to relax. It’s hard to even sit still.

This first session was already an eye-opener, and I felt so….light afterwards.

Hopefully, I can keep this up.


What Keeps the Monsters Away

Depressions is well…depressing. It’s hard to claw your way out of the dark pit that forms beneath you. It’s like a sticky, black substance just covers your body and suffocates you. 

There is a flicker of light I can hold onto though. It’s not hope, but a way to feel to prick my emotional finger, and feel something besides apathy. 

The only way I can grab ahold of this ‘flicker’ is through my writing. I believe every person has some sort of passion. It varies in everyone’s lives, hell, some lose it completely. But at one point in time, each person was passionate.

Writing is the only way I can feel it.

The way I retain it is making myself write every week. I keep a mood journal. I try to write down how I feel, mentally, physically, and emotionally. I especially have to do this when I switch up medication. 

I am working on a novel. I’m 30,000 words in, and it’s a very special time when I work on it. It’s my creation, completely my own to mold into my vision. It’s a very unique feeling when you create a world with characters that you give a life to. 

The best thing I have done, recently, though is writing on a professional level. I am a huge geek. 

I LOVE video games.

When I say love, I mean I spent $100 on a original cardboard game box for a Super Nintendo game. 

That’s so damn dedication….at the least.

I started writing for a local geek website. And I am looking for more opportunities in this realm. I got my first article published this past week. I was so proud of myself. I actually created a decent piece of writing, and people seemed to enjoy it. The podcast that I reviewed even shared it via Twitter.

I was estatic. I know it’s small, but I felt a sense of pride for the first time in a long time.

If you are struggling, try to find that passion. I know it’s tough. It’s hard to get out of bed, it’s hard for me to hold a pen in my hand and make myself write something down on paper. But if you don’t try, you will never find that passion again. You can’t control your depression, but you can swim those dark waters.

UPDATE: I now have a Twitter: @earthhboundgirl

My article that I mentioned:

Paranoid Android



Sweating excessively

Stumbling over words

Skin becoming red/blotchy

Hands shaking

Heart Palpitations

Head Aches

Low energy


These are all symptoms of my anxiety, and this is just some of them.


Last Night….

I live in the middle apartment of a 6 apartment complex. I heard noise from all sides. So, there was very loud music above me. I was home alone. We have a quiet hours policy; 9 on the weekdays, 10 on the weekends.

It was past 9. This isn’t the first time this has happened with the above apartment. They woke me up once, granted, months ago with their loud TV. I took a broom and banged on the ceiling out of frustration of being woken up in the middle of the damn night (I get up at 4AM for work).

My anxiety kicked in. We put up with their loud music, TV, exercising equipment, etc. and I had it. I started to sweat, my heart started pounding, my head started to hurt. My body was shutting down. When this happens, it is so hard to function. I don’t know how I get through work, honestly. So, I sat there for a minute, just hoping they would stop.

It didn’t.

So, I called Dillon (my significant other). He is my lifeline. He is the only person I’m 100% real with. I don’t have to worry about embarrassing myself, and I’m not afraid to ask him anything. He tried to calm me down, “I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” (He works nights).

So, I think ‘Okay, we will get this figured out.’

But, part of me, was like ‘No, this is so disrespectful. Maybe they don’t know how loud they are, maybe they don’t care. Regardless, they need to know.’

So, I took the broom and banged on the ceiling. Twice.


I go towards my front door, and I can hear the music very clearly. It sounds like their door is open. I heard girls giggling. This goes on for several minutes, then the door closes.

I put my house shoes on and marched up the stairs.

Let me pause for a moment.

I have been told, and it’s true, people are intimidated by me.  Why? I present myself in a very mature way. People think I’m confident, people think I’m vain, people think I’m a bitch. Let’s just say it. People think I’m a bitch. Not just strangers, but past friends and family members think that of me.

I’m the complete opposite.

Holy shit.

I have no confidence. I don’t think I’m pretty, I really struggle with my self-esteem. As a result, I used to cut myself. I felt like I needed to punish myself for being ugly. But on top of that, I never dressed in a conventional manner. I was the alternative kid. I’m still alternative.

Give me an old pair of chucks, and a leather jacket ANYDAY over a colorful dress.

I really don’t like color. Most of my wardrobe is black. I love it.


This intimidation has really crippled me before. Especially, as a woman, men feel threatened by me. Not only because of my demeanor, but I don’t put up with shit.

Once I grab on to something, I’m not letting it go till I’m ready to.


So Back to Last night

I knocked on their door, with Dillon still on the phone, mind you.

A man opens the door.

He was young, probably around my age.
I simply said “Hi, could you please turn your music down? It’s really loud in my apartment.”

He looked taken back. His eyes were a little wide.

“Oh, sure.”

I thanked him and went back into my apartment.

Dillon was like ‘Did you just go up there..?’




Now, you would think I would feel better because I confronted my problem. I overcame my anxiety, even with my heart pounding, and faced it.




I was worse after the fact. I had the symptoms listed at the top. Times ten. I was trying to take deep breaths, I tried listening to soft music, etc.


Nothing worked.


I took my anxiety medicine. It took over an hour to kick in. That’s the kicker with my medicine, it will hit me between 5-60 minutes. And it hits me hard. I have to sleep after I take it.


But the one symptom I didn’t mention:




This is the worst symptom because it triggers the other symptoms. I am so worried about every word that comes out of my mouth. I’m worried about how I walk, how I pass someone (Do I look at them or no?), greeting someone, just holding a conversation. I am so paranoid I’m going to get embarrassed.

Even if I don’t do anything weird, I still think about it.


So now, I’m worried about how our neighbors are going to react to us. To sum up my thoughts: ‘Do they think I’m a bitch?’

I’m so afraid this is going to have consequences. I’m thinking of the extreme: Are we going to get evicted? Are they going to play their music louder now?

I’m getting anxious just thinking about it.


This is just a facet of the problems I have because of my mental illnesses.


I have to keep pushing through though. If I don’t build myself up, I’m going to get to a point where I will never leave my apartment or just be able to drive to the grocery store.


I know for a fact my anxiety has gotten worse in the past couple of months. But I gotta keep fighting.


Oh, and yes, they turned down their music immediately.