Yea Yeah McDevitt.Melissa is still smoking February 22, 2020
I love cigarettes. I can’t stress it enough how I love them. I feel frustrated that I cannot seem to shake this dirty habit. I believe that I’m all messed up today. I don’t know why? I feel I have had emotionally abused as a small child. Perhaps I’m frustrated and was frustrated by my mind.
What I’m about to write is not easy for me to tell, and write out. I feel I need to get this down, hopefully, get some feedback from someone. This entry is what I’m thinking and feeling since I was 16. I haven’t changed much since age sixteen mentally; however, emotionally, I feel very mature.
I lost track of how long It’s been since I haven’t blogged. I love blogging. I was going through a slightly manic episode with my bipolar disorder.
Did you know that I kept some crazy sounding journal entries that I had for years? I’m thirty-six now. They were interesting. I love the fact that I have upwards of sixty journals. I’ve had those sixty dairies while moving around eleven moves in the course of my life. Part of me liked to move to other houses or apartments, except I was always afraid that I would lose them the journals.
Writing has always been a great deal in my life. Being a writer was and is the only way that I felt I could express myself, and I still believe in that. I have always thought that I couldn’t be honest with anyone other than my therapist. Or any doctor for that matter. The reason is confidentiality, the therapist or doctor cannot tell anyone what I’m saying. Privacy is essential to me. The only reason there’s no confidentiality is when I voice my massive set plan to kill myself or anyone else.
Back to the cigarettes, they’ve got to go. It’s a disgusting, filthy habit, and it needs to change. I need a change. Writing in this blog every day makes me realize how badly I need to quit smoking. The only way I believe I can stop is going to visit my family in the south and be away from my environment here, and then I won’t be feeling that I need a cigarette so badly. Today I smoked one cigarette, but I also smoked a black and mild cigar.
As the day went on, a fellow commuter, while waiting on the train platform, gave me two cigarettes. I felt this was wrong, but it seemed ok for the moment.
I am currently writing to inform you about my mental illness and say life is what you make of it. I’ve learned to walk around without much money, and I’ve learned to manage the funds. I learned to make new friends despite my situation of having so little of everything.
See, I live in the mental health system. The mental health system is complicated to explain. It’s not time to go on and on about it. I will tell you all about it in the posts to come. Feeling like I’m coming out of my fear of people knowing I’m mentally ill. I have bipolar disorder, and I’m not scared to tell anyone anymore. I’m not ashamed and cagy about my condition. It is part of me, just like someone who has any disability—almost feeling like coming out of the closet this year in 2020. So far, this has been the best year of my life. The best moment right now, also.