I connected with 3 high school friends on the facebook site tonight truly connected deeply...poured out the story of my life to them, in all its pain, all its merciless uprooting of a normal teenage girl they knew me as to SUDDEN and utter madness of awaking in the psychiatric wing at the age of nineteen...

I told them of the pain of exactly how each employer that chose to fire me did just that, pulled me to the back rooom to say something was different about my expression, my voice, I was too damn strange and they were firing me on the spot....................

By the twenty-eighth time that happened I began to lose hope in society NOT MYSELF

The fifty- ninth employer had no problem with me, I was actually his best worker in the whole three years I worked there. Always doing extra things to help etc etc

My family hated me, hated my illness.

The pressure in this town, the richest of all the suburbs to be something not only successful but madly successful is too much to handle for any one soul...

My mother would scream at me that I was delusional weakling, that I would amount to nothing etc etc

So these friends they go to church and they urged me to do the same, they said I must have saw how my family was and chose to be different.

I have not talked to my mother in 2 months and she's finally getting the picture.

Her superficiality runs deep, don't know if I ever could have a real talk with her.

Other family members blaming me.

My mother denies she ever said anything.

She seems to hate anything real, any true personality, true eccentricity, if you are emotional she will attack you verbally.

What place do I have for her in my life? My friends are deep people. I always loathed talking to her anyway. Part of me enjoys that I have hurt her, the way she hurt me over and over.

Am I blaming her for my illness? I am angry about my illness! I felt my high school friends reaching out to me, and that felt true and real. I have been crying tears of a life lost to the illness. Thirty-three years of emptiness I cannot even begin to describe. An emptiness so black and bleak, I used to stare at the clock and pray to God it would move faster as time itself seemed the enemy of all enemies..

I see my friend's pictures on facebook, and they have families now, have peace with God, have simple things to talk about, not complex.

I feel them reaching out to me yet all I can feel is bitter jealousy.

I see exactly what this illness IS and it's ****ing ugly.

I can go about my day and yes I can appreciate that the worst is over, that I have had my latest job for another three years and that I do not appear strange anymore, I have honed it down.

I guess these days one can be put in jail for being strange, for my 1st thirty-three yeasr were jail, a mental jail, a mental preparing for exactly how they would fire me next.

It feels good to cry, to let these things come to the surface.

certain people still try to pigeonhole me, to keep things surface when things run deep.

I hate the superficial people in the world.

My childhood friends were reaching out to me tonight, and I wonder why it is too much to ask for the average person.

I see people walk right past someone that has fallen and hurt themselves, I see apathy, I see arrogance, I see people who never struggled for anything.

This kind of hate eats me up each day...no one shares how they FEEL one has to go about this world with thick skin, with a cold heart, with selfish distance from the next person, who is actually sitting right next to you.

There is nothing I can do about how severe my illness once was. Nothing. I feel and seem 100% better.

But part of me knows I can never get those screams of wanting my life back to silence.

I have been cutting out people in my life, one by one, informing them of their shortcomings.

Am I too ideal?

I sit here and the last tears have left my eyes, ready to put the mask on and go on pretending.

That's all life is, pretending.