You don't have to whisper when you say I go to therapy or hesitate when you say I have depression or anxiety. I'll say it myself.

I have been diagnosed with Persistent Depressive Disorder (with episodes of Major Depressive Disorder) as well as Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

There's a lot of different kinds of depressions and anxieties.

I've had mine my whole life and they will most likely continue my whole life.

Imagine or draw this chart. It's a y-axis and x-axis chart with a straight horizontal line near the top of the y-axis and a small horizontal wavy line going through it. Slightly below those lines is another horizontal wavy line. Near the bottom, close to the x-axis, is a straight horizontal line. The top line represents people without depression and their usual light mood. The wavy line going though it shows them getting happier and sad (highs and lows). The wavy line below that is people with Major Depressive Disorder. The very bottom line is the constant low that people with Persistent Depressive Disorder experience. Now move that Major Depressive Disorder line on top of the Persistent Depressive Disorder and that's how my emotions look. And Generalized Anxiety Disorder on a chart would be the "anxiety version" of Persistent Depressive Disorder; I'm constantly anxious.

There are a few major things I think about constantly: my loneliness, my shitty love life, my frustrations with my parents and religion, my self-hatred, past trauma, my sexuality, and financial worries.

I cry almost every night. I have headaches and backaches and body aches and chest pain all the time. I sleep for 2-5 or 6 hours max if I even sleep or if I can actually get to sleep, I can sleep a whole day. I stress eat/ overeat. Sometimes, but less frequently, I have no appetite. I feel like my body is shrinking and I'm losing weight and curves. I don't feel pretty. I feel uncomfortable with intimacy. I feel insecure about my sexuality. I feel disgusted by myself. I feel alone. I don't think I'm on the same level of importance to others as they are to me. I don't know how to get or keep people. Sometimes I have no sense of socialization. I have panic attacks. I get self-destructive. I feel insecure. I feel unmotivated. I feel weak and empty.

I want you to take it seriously and be supportive, but also understand that I'm not a freak for having depression and anxiety.

-Cassandra Alexa

I was going to therapy with Ryan. He was the best. My sessions are over though, and now I have to find a new therapist. I'm also taking medication. That missing serotonin sure does make a difference.

I'm working on my album. I'm working on film projects. I've been writing. I'm going to start painting. I have a few movies and shows on my watchlist. I'm planning to update my wardrobe and develop my style. I'm going to read a book (or listen to the audiobook, because who am I kidding with my dyslexic ass?) I've been trying to be an activist. I've been learning new skills and important things.

Of course, my depression and anxiety will never go away, but I do think I've made a lot of progress and I've been managing to keep myself pretty upbeat for the most part lately.

It's an empty, sleepy, positive, healing feeling like leaving a hospital or the day after a suicide attempt.

-Cassandra Alexa

Please stop assuming you know why I'm depressed. I know you think you know better and you think you can generalize and you think you know me better than I know myself, but you don't and you can't. I understand how my emotions work. I'm literally telling you that that's not why I'm depressed. I have many reasons, some are specific things that I think about a lot, sometimes things just affect me more than they would affect another person, and sometimes I'm just sad. I don't have to explain my reasons to you. But just know that I've always had depression and a lot of the time I'm just sad and stressed and that's it. Sometimes it's more specific or because of specific circumstances, but sometimes it's not. And know that I'm serious when I say that that's not why I'm depressed. Please don't tell me it is.

And please stop telling me that I can "get past this" and stop saying things like "when your depression is over" or "just stop being sad and stressed" or "it's all in your head" or "there's nothing wrong with you" and "just calm down" and "it's not that serious".

And stop saying "don't talk bad about yourself" or "stop saying that about yourself" or "don't tell people that" or "people don't need to know that" when I say I have depression or anxiety or go to therapy or when I use the words "mental illness" or "mental disorder". Having mental illnesses doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me. I'm the same person I've always been. I'm not embarrassed and I hope you aren't either. There's no cure to depression or anxiety and I'll most likely have them my whole life like I've been having them and you know what? That's okay. You're clearly the only one who has a problem with it. Not me. That's just something I have to deal with. Everyone deals with different things.

Mental illness doesn't mean "violent" or "crazy" or "different" or "weird". That's just a stigma. There's a lot of different kinds of mental illnesses and people with mental illnesses, and their mental illnesses don't define who they are as a person.

And therapy is an extremely healthy and normal thing to do. Lots of people go to therapy, just like lots of people have mental illnesses.

In fact, I think everyone should go to therapy.

It's fun. I love it. Therapy has changed my life. When I was going to therapy with Ryan, Thursday was my favorite day of the week because I had sessions. It's great talking to someone who understands and cares. It's great feeling like you're taking care of yourself and growing. Therapy really makes me happy and I really miss going. I can't wait until I find a new therapist and I hope they're as nice as Ryan was. Ryan was like my best friend.

(Is it sad to say that my best friend was my therapist?)

-Cassandra Alexa

Sometimes I feel like a baby when learning to drive.

I can't explain it.

If you didn't know, you can physically feel anxiety.

Sometimes I feel it on the top of my head in the form of a headache. Sometimes I feel it in my back or in my stomach or in my hands or arms or legs or in the eczema that mercilessly covers my skin in pink and red when I get stressed, blowing my cover.

When I drive I can feel it in the middle of my chest. Maybe between my chest and my back.

I take deep breaths.

I keep biting my lips.

I want to close my eyes.

I'M DRIVING

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

i'm sorry.

i can't do this.

I can't even fucking drive a car.

I hate myself.

On top of my anxiety and depression, I'm dyslexic and I have left-right confusion and I'm extremely clumsy and I have no sense of coordination and this medicine makes me sleepy and dizzy and sometimes I have headaches, but that might be unrelated. I also have dyscalculia, also unrelated. Anyways, should I be driving?

Maybe I'm just scared to drive.

Maybe it's because I'm so terrified to crash or die or get hurt in general.

-Cassandra Alexa

(Don't read this if you're scared to die.)

I am deathly terrified of death.

It's my biggest fear. Of course, most people fear death. But I don't mean I just have that normal fear of death, I mean I have an insanely strong phobia of death.

It absolutely terrifies me.

I have panic attacks every night thinking about it.

I have panic attacks and cry on planes.

While learning to drive I feel so stressed. I feel stressed just being in a car.

I can't talk about it.

I can't hear about it.

I can't see anything about it.

When someone dies, even someone I don't know like a celebrity or someone on the news, I think about that death for like a month. I think about that person every time another person dies the same way.

I think about these people and situations with every move I make.

I won't go on rollercoasters or do anything involving height or speed or danger.

I think about death all day long.

Especially at night.

It terrifies me to think that one day I won't be alive. It terries me to think I'll be dead. It terrifies me to think of being in a casket. It terries me to think of being in the dirt with bugs eating me and my body being no more. (I also have a huge fear of bugs/animals and dirtiness and, you know, having my flesh eaten away and no longer existing.) It terries me to think of my soul leaving my body and not being able to reenter life. Will I see my body when I die? What happens? Where do I go? It terries me thinking about how I could die or when. It terries me to think of the possibility that I won't get to do everything I want in this life or live a long full life. It terrifies me to think about the end of the world. To know that I'll have to experience this (unknown) process of death terries me. It terrifies me thinking about my family or friends or peers or other people I know or favorite celebrities dying.

When Robin Williams, my favorite actor, died I was depressed about his death for months. I still get sad.

When kids at my high school that I knew died, I was depressed about it the whole year. I still think about them all the time.

I wouldn't even let myself process when my Grandpa Raul died or when any other family member died.

I don't sleep because I'm afraid of dying in my sleep. I have nightmares about death every time I have a nightmare (which happens pretty often when you have depression).

Even as a child I couldn't wrap my head around death in that basic kid mentality: something happens and a person just stops. I couldn't process it or think about it or accept it. I was terrified and thought about it constantly. I've always had an obsession with the very thing I don't like to think about.

And it's not only death itself I fear. I also fear the afterlife. And I don't just mean hell. I fear Heaven too. (I must be the only person that is terrified of Heaven.)

Sometimes I fear nothing will be after this life.

How do you just not exist? How are you just nothingness?

What is hell? What is purgatory? What is Heaven?

Is Heaven just church that never ends, reciting the bible and singing praise non-stop for all of eternity and you can't escape?

Will I not be able to be myself? Will my desire and will and thoughts and personality and experiences and love and sexuality and individuality and mind be burned out of me in purgatory? Will I forever be a polished puppet? If I can't be myself on earth and then I can't be myself in Heaven, does that mean I just can't ever be me because it's not right?

How can it never end?

Would I even be able to make it into Heaven? EVERYTHING sends you to hell apparently. How is there any hope for any of us?

How bad is hell? You really can't make a change and earn Heaven once you're in hell?

What about atheists or people who don't believe in the same God or things that Catholics do? What about them? That doesn't sound fair.

Is there anyone out there as terrified as I am?

My fear of death was what kept me from going through with it that night.

Maybe God let me have this fear of death to protect me from myself. Maybe I have a purpose on this earth.

I don't know, but I treat everyone like it's the last day I'll see them every time I see them: with much love. That's the only good thing that comes out of my fear.

-Cassandra Alexa

These nightmares won't leave me alone. These back pains won't either.

I wish you were here to hold me. I wish you could help me fall asleep or massage me.

I wish I could feel you.

I wish you goodnight wherever you are.

-Cassandra Alexa

I don't have all that serotonin that you guys do. You guys just feel upbeat naturally? Must be fucking nice.

When I started taking my medication I was like "Whoah, what's happening to me? I feel lighthearted. This is so weird."

I can't believe people were just born with and live with an everyday lightheartedness.

I truly love therapy and medication. It's okay to need that boost.

I can't wait until I get more medication on the 15th. I ran out two days ago. I already feel like my mood dropped significantly.

My medicine makes me sleepy and dizzy and makes me have headaches, but at least it boosts my mood significantly.

So I can't wait for more.

-Cassandra Alexa

I feel like there's nothing left to do in life.

I feel like there's so much to do and so little time to do it.

Life moves so fast.

I feel like I'm stuck in the same day and I can't escape.

I feel like there's only one hour in this day.

I feel this same sunken sadness and fear and emptiness that I've felt my whole life.

I remember being a child and feeling like this.

When I was little I didn't know to call this thing I always felt that the other kids didn't "depression".

Sometimes even today it feels like something such a part of me, so internal that it just doesn't have a name.

It's kind of the feeling I get when I think about death.

I just don't feel happy.

I just feel that feeling that lives in the center of my chest.

That's all there is.

Why me?

I started painting today. Usually, I feel calm when I paint but today I felt stressed. I set up this whole mini studio in my room and played upbeat pop music and made sure to take my medicine and I was still stressed. I was expecting to feel like Bob Ross. But I fucked up most of my paintings and made a mess and uggggghhhh. I just put my brush down and stared at one of the two paintings I absolutely failed on. I had two okay paintings (I still fucked them up but maybe no one would notice) but that wasn't good enough.

I needed someone to play with my hair or massage me or something. I needed something to calm down.

I'm at my maximum dose of medication and I still have these nights full of panic attacks and crying and these days where that feeling in my chest takes ahold of me.

I thought I'd be happier.

I feel stuck.

Like I've run out of things to do in a video game and so I just turn it off.

There's too much time to do nothing. There's too little time to do anything.

I'm very individual. No one keeps me company besides me. I write these songs and words for myself. I do these projects for me. I share my thoughts and experiences and feelings with me. I watch movies with myself. I take myself on dates.

Maybe that's why I can't have conversations with people.

He's not here. I have no distraction person. There's nothing to distract me from death or that feeling.

Without you I'm unhappy. With you I'm unhappy.

There's nothing to do. I'm bored.

There's everything to do. So much to get done. So much to get done. Time. Time Time.

It's almost—

-Cassandra Alexa

My sadness annoys people. My stress annoys people. My feelings annoy people. My life situations annoy people.

I'm sorry.

It's not my fault my life and my emotions are all fucked up.

I'd fix them if I could.

I know it annoys you or makes you uncomfortable that my situations won't change and my emotions won't "get better" and that I've gained the confidence to freely talk about my life and feelings, but I don't care.

You're the same people who hate on me. You're the same people who aren't even part of my life and aren't there for me coming up with my art or on good days. You aren't moving along with me so why should I care about what I talk about for your sake?

Honestly, if the earth was empty and no one was there to hear me, I'd still talk because I have something to say.

-Cassandra Alexa

Sometimes I feel like it doesn't matter what I want or who I am or if I try because the outcome is out of my hands, and it's not going to be what I want. There's nothing for me to do except lay there empty. But sometimes I feel such a burning, screaming anger; so much frustration that I could explode because I can't have what I want or be who I am and have people there to accept me for it.

-Cassandra Alexa

I'm coming up with plans to get away to a new place.

What if they don't like me? What if I can't do it? What if I feel trapped? Each question brings another.

What if the reason I'm scared is that my mind takes it as an agreement to getting older, to furthering myself into adulthood, to dying.

Life is just moving too fast.

Life is so short.

Why is everyone dying?

Maybe I'm scared of new places the same way I'm scared of new people.

Even a new desire brings back an old fear.

-Cassandra Alexa

My first suicide attempt was on November 6th, 2019.

I had all the pills in my mouth. I was ready. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I'm too scared of death. I'm scared of hell. I'm scared of my family finding me.

I spit the pills out and cried, gasping for air. My head felt the same way and my eyes were blurred with tears the same way they did the day I cried getting home from school that day in eighth grade when I was going through that situation. I remember that day in eighth grade as the hardest I've ever cried and it felt surreal to be crying the same way again.

I didn't have anyone to call, so I called the suicide hotline.

When I was done talking to them, I locked the pills in my closet; I locked the closet key in the bathroom; and I tied my hands to the bed so I wouldn't try again.

At the time, that was probably the closest I had ever been to death. I had really scared myself and had been scared of myself.

I knew I had to do something.

The next day felt like I was walking on a cloud. Calm and empty, like being wrapped up in a blanket somewhere cold. It felt a little like how I started to feel in eighth grade, how I thought it was funny that other kids cared about shit like turning in their homework or being late to school when I didn't give one fuck about shit anymore because I realized how nothing really fucking mattered; I had experienced something way bigger than these stupid daily tasks that we worry about every single day, but that we won't give a fuck about on our death beds. That's kind of how I felt on my train rides and walks the next day, except, I felt light. Almost happy, or at least happy to be alive. I appreciated seeing the sunlight; seeing the people around me; I always loved looking at the buildings, but that day they were especially pretty. I did, however, have to motivate myself to stay upbeat.

Juno has one of my favorite soundtracks and the songs always make me happy, so I had the soundtrack on loop every day for at least a week. I had to, otherwise, I would start thinking again.

I begged and bothered my friends to stay on the phone with me, all day, every day for a time period, to keep my mind active and distracted. They didn't know why and I'm pretty sure I bothered the fuck out of them; I could tell, actually. But I needed those phone calls.

I started going to therapy and it did change my life. I've been practicing all my strategies and helping myself in all kinds of ways, but I can't just make it go away.

It's still there.

There's been plenty of nights where I plan it out, or I write a note to leave behind, or I try to get myself to do it.

But I didn't have another serious attempt until November 15th, 2020.

This time I took two pills out of the six or seven I knew I needed to take to die.

I had my note ready.

This time I was scared in a different way.

I was scared at how nonchalant it was.

It's almost like it didn't scare me anymore and I was actually ready.

Was it because I was so close to death during my health scare? Was it because I experienced fainting and being just a little blood and maybe a few minutes away from dying, that I was so comfortable trying this time?

The next day I didn't feel any difference. I didn't have that light feeling or an epiphany like I did last time.

It just felt like it wasn't a big deal. Like nothing happened.

That's what scared me.

After that, I'm not going to lie, I still have a lot of nights where I think about it. I haven't had a serious attempt since then though.

I think I'm okay right now.

I'm going to try to find a new therapist on spring break.

And even though I absolutely loved therapy and my last therapist, I feel scared.

I feel scared that my new therapist won't be like Ryan (my first therapist). I feel scared this therapy might be the kind where they make you choose a goal and try to get you out as soon as possible. I think therapy is something I want and need to have throughout my life; it really does help me more than anything else. I'm scared to have a therapist that's not nice or tries to rush me out or judges me.

Maybe that's why I've been delaying it.

But I do want a new therapist.

And I wish I had someone to talk to in general, a friend I was 100% sure I could always go to and who would say the right things, or a boyfriend or someone who cared about me romantically that gave a fuck about my day and checked up on me or talked to me on the phone every day so I would feel like someone's there and they care and that things are okay.

I can not, and will not now, ever talk to my family about anything personal at all.

So, that leaves God (Who probably sends my prayers to voicemail because I haven't been a good Catholic) and this non-existent/ present friend or boyfriend I desire.

So really, the only person I can talk to is me.

-Cassandra Alexa

Tossing and turning like a maniac, I jump up gasping for air.

It's six in the morning.

Why am I walking around my hotel room in the dark trying to breathe?

I was having a nightmare.

I was having another panic attack in my sleep.

I had a nightmare that everyone knew everything. Everything was on the news. Everyone was talking at the same time.

"How can she like them both at the same time?"

"It's wrong for her to want to be with him while she still thinks about and maybe loves another man and still wants to be with that man."

"It's wrong for her to think about him when she's with the other guy."

"It's wrong for her to compare them."

"It's wrong for her to move on if she's not over him."

"It's fucked up for her to try to move on. What about him? I thought she loved him."

"It's stupid for her to miss him."

"He's not going to date her. And he won't either."

"Isn't this new one with someone?"

"She's a slut. A side chick is all she'll ever be. She can't actually get a man."

"She's a whore."

"She's just sex."

"She's just a body."

"She's not even pretty. She doesn't have a good body."

"I bet she's disgusting. I bet she's just a disease-ridden homewrecker."

"Can you believe she tried to contact him right now?"

"Look what she said."

"She's desperate."

"That's so embarrassing."

"She's pathetic."

"She's a joke."

"Does he know about Mr. ...."

"Does he know about..."

"She's been abused. That's disgusting."

"How could anyone want to be with her? She's been tampered with. She's used. She's unclean and unpure. She's broken."

"Why would someone want to be with her? She's so depressed and anxious? You don't want to be with someone that's so fucked up like that."

"Does he even know about her depression and anxiety or anything that's happened to her or is happening to her?"

"What are they talking about?" he asked me angrily.

...

"What are they talking about? Who's Mr. ... Who's....? Were you really abused? What happened?"

I didn't want to tell him. My body shook and I shook my head and cried; I couldn't breathe. I didn't want him to think of me differently. I didn't want him to leave. Regardless of what I wanted, everything was shown to him on the screen. All the abuse I have ever been through. All the horrible situations. All the depression. All the anxiety. Everything."

"That's disgusting, Cassandra. I can't be with you. That's embarrassing for me. Why would I want you, knowing that you've been through that? You're not mentally stable. You're disgusting. I don't want people to see me with you."

"I thought you were different," I managed to get out.

"What's your body count?"

I hate that question. It's so rooted in sexism and it completely does not take into consideration that survivors of abuse wouldn't like to call their abusers "bodies" like they're people they would choose to have on their "list"; it also ignores the effects of hypersexuality caused by abuse and the impulsivity and destructiveness depression and anxiety disorders (accompanied by other unproductive coping strategies) can cause someone. The sickening situations you find yourself in are not ones you want on your "record". You shouldn't be forced to say "these are the people I wanted to have sex with" when that's just not the case.

And for the men who object to this, I'm going to assume you're a straight cis male, so ask yourself this, if you were raped by a man, would you want to have to consider that a "body" and include him on your "list" when people ask you? No the fuck you wouldn't. Okay, so shut the fuck up.

Also, men are praised for having a high number while women are considered sluts (And what is a "slut" really? Is anyone really a "slut"? Is there really even such a thing? Or is this just a sexist word meant to keep women in "their place"?) and are thought to have STDs or STIs (which, actually, men are the ones who most often transmit diseases and are sometimes unaware they have them, and also a lot of people don't know that there are a lot of STIs and STDs that can be cured by just taking a week's worth of pills) or to not be hygenic (vaginal scent is something often used against some women and people don't realize that every woman has to have their own unique vaginal scent just like every person has their own unique general smell; and also it's pretty fucked up that some men who don't take care of their genital hygine expect women to take care of theirs and critize women about it) or thought to be "loose" (Which literally can't even happen. That's literally just something society has made up to slut-shame women. The only two times the vaginal muscles "loosen up" is 1.) during sex, when the vagina lubricates itself and "loosens" its muscles to allow penetration and then the muscles "tighten" up back to normal after and 2.) during childbirth, and if there was any damage to vaginal muscles during childbirth, kegal excersises could return the muscles back to normal, or if there was a lot of damage done, a procedure could be done. Either way, a vagina doesn't ever just "get loose", like that's literally not how the body works. The vagina, like I just said, will adjust its muscles to sex and childbirth and then right after will return to normal and it's not even a "loosening" the way people imagine "loosening"; it's literally just the muscles not being as tense to allow for these different circumstances not to hurt your body. People like to imagine that if a woman has sex a bunch of times then she won't feel the same or her muscles would be super loose when that's just literally not even how a vagina works. It's just a myth used to slut-shame.)

And don't even get me started on how virginity is a social construct. Virginity is whatever you want it to be, otherwise, it's nothing at all. No one can tell, even from a medical exam (in adults), if someone is a "virgin" or not. The choice to have sex is individual and every person's decisions should be respected.

Let's say you have a woman that's slept with 100 men (one time with each man) and has used protection and birth control every single time and has gotten checked every single time and has never gotten an STD or STI or gotten pregnant and (because it's not physically possible) is not loose and she manages her vaginal hygiene well and she's never cheated on anyone.

And then you have a girl who has slept with one person 200 times. She never wore protection. She never used birth control. She never got checked. She didn't try to manage her vaginal hygiene. Her boyfriend was cheating on her and gave her an STD. And her boyfriend also got her pregnant and she's had his baby. And she cheats on her boyfriend (minus having sex with other guys).

According to your own sexist and idiotic social criteria, who is the "slut" here?

Can you see how fucking stupid your criteria are?

If a woman sleeps with "too few" people, she's a "prude". If a woman sleeps with "too many" people then she's a "slut".

Can you see why (as a woman; a woman who is a feminist; a woman who strives for gender equality amongst other social or world issues; a woman who educated herself on these sexual matters instead of accepting these social criteria; a woman who understands this question's root in sexism and the patriarchy; a woman who is a survivor of rape and other sexual abuse; a woman who's had her reputation ruined before due to people assuming things about her sexual abuse, people spreading false rumors, or because of situations she's been in due to her life circumstances; a woman who has lots of friends and family members who are survivors of their own sexual abuse; a woman who suffers with hypersexuality, impulsivity, and destructiveness due to sexual abuse, two depression disorders, and one anxiety disorder) I would never want to or ever feel obligated to answer this question?

It's not simple.

I don't have to answer that question. I don't want to. I never will. And I don't care who the fuck you are to me. If you were my crush, my boyfriend, my husband, my friend, my family member; I don't care.

Maybe I've slept with one person. Maybe I've slept with 10,000 people. As long as I'm honest with my partner about not sleeping with multiple people at the same time (as to not put any of us at a higher risk for diseases or infections) and not having any STIs or STDs, and I use protection, and I get checked regularly, and I take my birth control, and manage my vaginal hygiene, (and also keep in mind that being "loose" is literally a sexist myth), and I only sleep with people I'm consenting to it with and will feel safe and comfortable and 100% sure with and it's not done because of any effect of hypersexuality and/ or impulsivity and destructiveness, then why the fuck does this "number" concept and specifically my "number" matter to you? You're not obliged to know this conceptual answer. It's none of your business.

Society is going to think what it does. People think I'm a slut without even knowing this "number". People are going to make their assumptions and talk shit and treat you like a "slut" or a "prude" no matter what.

For the record, if I did decide to claim this "list". I'd have two names on it. The man who I considered my first and who was the first man I loved, and another man who I felt sure and safe with (and this one BARELY just happened and it was with a crush/ friend of years).

Am I still a slut?

Whether I say two like I actually believe my "number" would be to me or I say 50 or 100 or 0 or 1,000. It doesn't fucking matter.

Do you understand?

It's just an aggravating and fucked up, sexist question. That's why I won't answer.

But continuing with the dream....

He asked me what my body count was and I wouldn't tell him and he got mad and assumed I was a "slut" just like everyone one else does when I don't answer. He started telling me some very hurtful things about how he viewed me as disgusting.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

"I thought you were different. I thought you were going to save me. I thought you were going to be my shot at a relationship and a good man. I thought I'd get an answer and I prayed for a good one."

I tossed and turned and felt hot and cold and like I couldn't breathe. My chest hurt. I have these mini-heart-attack-like pains when I get stressed. I felt nauseous. I wanted to rip off my skin.

I woke up.

It was six in the morning.

I couldn't go back to sleep.

This happens often. I even stress and have panic attacks when I'm asleep.

-Cassandra Alexa

I'm having those mini-heart-attack-like pains in my breasts like crazy right now. I'm doing my breathing exercises, but they won't stop.

I'm getting so stressed that I keep getting close to throwing up and I feel so nauseous.

I'm stressed about getting my school work done and my grades on the work. I'm stressed about not getting a response from him. I'm stressed about funding my album. I'm stressed about the pandemic. I'm stressed about the effects of this winter storm. I'm stressed about being at home and the same shit I always deal with. I'm stressed because I hate my body and when I look in the mirror, I still can't see my curves. I'm stressed about money. I'm stressed about whether or not I can have my adult, independent life I desire. I'm stressed because I don't have my noise-canceling headphones and my sensitivities to certain sounds are acting up. I'm stressed because I don't have anyone to talk to. I'm stressed about everything.

Everything's piled up.

I feel like I want to rip out of my skin.

I feel like I want to scream.

I feel like I want to run away.

I feel like I just need a hug.

I feel like I just need someone to talk to.

I feel like I need to cry, but I have to hold everything in until very late at night when everyone's asleep. And because of this storm, no one has work or school and so they don't go to sleep until very late. Anyone who knows me knows I'm awake at all hours of the night. Text me at 2-6 or 7 in the morning and I'll be up. That's the only time I get to cry. That's the only time I get to let my emotions out. That's the only time I get to live.

So, I'm not really getting much of that time right now.

I feel so stressed.

I just need a break. Please.

-Cassandra Alexa

I am very passionate about mental health. My own and just mental health in general. I want to be able to do my part in educating people and helping people and getting conversations going.

I love the concept of phenomenology. That and my motto "Understand how you feel. Feel it. Express it." are how I'm trying to live my life.

I think it's vital to feel your feelings and to analyze them and to express and verbalize them.
There's such a stigma to mental health issues.

People don't have the conversations they need to. People don't speak freely about their emotions or show their emotions like we should all be able to.

I always try to take the time to understand my feelings and to express them and to allow myself to feel them.

I think some people are uncomfortable with it or they're just not used to it or they don't like it.

I'm sorry if that's how you feel, but that's how I am and that's how I plan to live my life and I'm not going to stop talking freely about my emotions and expressing them.

So, I'm sorry if you think I come on strong when I express my feelings to you. I don't mean to, I just think it's vital for me and for everyone to express our feelings.

Conversations are the only way things get changed, things get done, and peace is attained.

Conversations and feelings are so important.

So, I'm sorry if you don't like it or you think it's weird. Honestly, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. But please try to understand why we should be talking about our feelings.

Especially in a "romantic" situation, nothing will be resolved if we don't talk about things honestly and express our feelings. There's no point in holding things back or hiding things when that will either make the problem worse or those emotions will build and eventually come out in a bad way.

All I am intending to do is create an understanding and resolve the issue. I'm sorry if it seems like a little much to you.

-Cassandra Alexa

For now, my mind just runs wild.

Did I do something wrong?

I didn't.

Right?

Or maybe it's some quality about me?

Maybe he doesn't think I'm pretty or that I have a good body. Maybe he doesn't like my personality or who I am as a person. Or maybe he doesn't enjoy our physical stuff?

Maybe I just annoyed him or he thinks I'm nagging or asking for too much.

But I don't feel like I am. Plus, I used to allow that to be told to me by bad people, and it was never true.

I don't know.

Maybe he found out about all the shit I've been through and what a shitty life I have behind the scenes.

Maybe he wouldn't want to be with me if he knew about all of it. Even though it's not my fault and it doesn't affect me as a person.

Maybe there's just something wrong with me and that's why no one's ever asked me out.

I can't help but think that.

And I shouldn't feel like that.

And he shouldn't make me feel sad and mad either.

So far, he's made me cry much more than he's made me happy.

But the times he made me happy, it was the happiest I've ever felt and it meant the world to me.

It was genuine on my part, but the problem is that it probably didn't mean anything to him, and he's probably gone anyways.

I smile thinking about him, but then I get sad because I'm not experiencing that happiness anymore.

What can you really do when you're already crumbling?

-Cassandra Alexa

This has nothing to do with him; let's clarify that before anything.

But I just think I'm done both having sex with anyone and trying to date anyone. He was my last try. My last shot.

I determined that before I even did anything with him.

And it's not about him.

Of course, I do really like him, and he's the only one I like or who I would be interested in dating or doing anything with. And if it ended up working out with him and if he for some reason was the one and he's the man I marry and have kids with and all that; that would be great. But that's highly unlikely and besides him, I don't want anyone else.

Sex is a very hard thing for me.

There have only been two consensual, safe, good, non-traumatic situations I've ever been in. One of them was him. He is my last.

When all you experience consistently throughout your life is abuse and abusive treatment from men, you begin to hate men and to genuinely fear them.

It's so hard for me to be intimate with someone.

I don't like to be touched unless it's by someone I really do like, which applies to only him at this time in my life.

I don't want anyone else to hurt me.

I don't want anyone else to see me or touch me.

I don't want anyone else to have access to my feelings anymore.

I don't want to even like anyone anymore.

And when you try your whole life to date and in the end, no one ever dates you and that's how every single situation in your entire life has ended, it feels like that's just how it is for you, and maybe God just has it set in his plans that you aren't supposed to date anyone or have romance; maybe you're just not made for it.

But then why do you have such a desire for it?

Maybe it's just because you've never felt it in any part of your life and if you had one special person who loved you, you would feel like you found what was missing.

I'm just tired of trying to be in a relationship. And I'm not interested in hooking up.

I'm tired of being emotionally and physically hurt.

I'm tired of my mental health deteriorating because of the trauma men have caused my body and mind.

Even with him, the happiest and safest you ever felt, you still have flashbacks; you still have to fight that uncomfortableness away and get yourself to just relax.

It still scares you. And it's still hard for you to trust him.

I'm just done with romance and physicality.

I'm at my maximum capacity for my experiences with abuse.

I can't handle anyone, in general, touching me anymore.

I can't handle the process of hoping someone's going to date me and they never do.

My heart and my mind are just so fucking broken at this point.

It feels like I'm just laying down and giving up.

It feels like the night I fainted. I was in the shower and I remember just giving up. I didn't keep trying to yell for help; I just let my eyes shut and didn't even mind dying.

That's how drained I am.

I'm just so tired of everything. I'm so tired of feeling hurt and nothing ever changes.

It's not about anyone but myself.

I just choose to give up on romance and physicality.

I'll just live my life without it I guess.

I want this decision to be final.

Maybe if he comes back I'll give him a chance if I think he deserves it.

But regardless, I'm not going to add anyone new to my life for those reasons.

-Cassandra Alexa

I used to think I was way too skinny and short and that I had no curves at all. Because other kids would make fun of me for that.

Now I feel like I'm fat. But I don't think I have the right curves still and I still think I'm too short.

I don't know what I believe.

In the mirror, I see myself shrinking and still super scrawny.

I see the tags on my clothes with much larger sizes now and others tell me things like that I have big boobs or something and I genuinely can't even physically see that when I look in the mirror.

I can't see how my own body actually looks.

I try not to look in the mirror that often.

I just get sad.

If I see myself in pictures or videos I just feel like I'm looking at a stranger.

I get scared to post because I know they always say something mean.

And as much as I try not to think about it, people's comments just stay in my mind and I begin to feel more insecure.

I wish people weren't so mean.

I wish someone thought I was beautiful.

I wish I thought I was beautiful.

I buy outfits I like and do my makeup and I still don't feel pretty.

I don't feel pretty naturally either.

I just hide from the mirror.

It just upsets me.

I just don't want to think about it.

I don't even know what would make me happy when it comes to my looks.

I guess I just want to be able to see my curves and feel like I have the right ones and also feel like I'm not too fat or too skinny and that I'm not too short and I have a pretty face and that I'm beautiful.

But how do I get to feeling like that?

And would anyone ever think that of me?

-Cassandra Alexa

What do you do when you don't want to die, but you don't want to live?

What do you do when you want to talk to someone, but no ones there?

What do you do when you want to escape, but you can’t?

What do you do when you hate yourself, but can’t be someone else or erase yourself?

What do you do when you want to feel like the most beautiful girl and like you have a perfect body, but you never hear that and when you look in the mirror you never see that?

What do you do when you were created as a burden, but don’t want to be one?

What do you do when you have dreams that fill you, but you can’t ever reach them happily?

What do you do when you want to be healthy, but can’t escape sickness?

What do you do when you need to afford things that you can’t?

What do you do when all you’ve ever wanted was love, but whatever forces may be won’t allow it?

What do you do when everything feels so hopeless?

When you just hold it all in and can’t do anything but cry

What do you do when there’s nothing you can do?

I hate me

I want to erase me

I understand now

Now i’m there

I hate my voice

I hate my laugh

I look in the mirror and see myself shrinking and sinking in and i see myself on video or look down and i think i’m fat

I don’t feel pretty

I want to be told i’m beautiful

The most beautiful

The only one and the best of them

I hate my person

I feel i cant be enough

Or do enough

No matter how big i get there's not enough to grow to

I want to talk because for so long no communication was normal

-Cassandra Alexa

Why did God make me? Why does my life have to be like this?

Did I wrong God before time started and he vowed to make me suffer?

Why am I so underserving of love?

Why am I so deserving of abuse?

Why can't my circumstances change?

Why do I have to feel the way I do?

Why do people have to be mean to me?

Why can't I just have a friend?

Why can't I just feel close to someone?

Why do I have to hate my body?

Why do I have to have these fears?

Why is there always another girl better than me?

Why does everyone leave?

Why doesn't anyone want to be close to me?

Why do I not have any close or loving relationships at all in my life?

Why do I have to face these health battles?

Why can't I be happy?

-Cassandra Alexa

I get up in the morning.

I eat. I shower.

I get ready.

I put my makeup on.

I put my outfit on.

I go out and do everything on my to-do list.

I might do something for fun, maybe...

I listen to music.

I watch a movie or a show.

I do some writing or maybe screenwriting.

I paint something.

I act.

I sing or rap.

I work on personal projects like my music, film, or writing.

I costume design.

I play a game.

I play with my baby cousins.

I look for things that make me laugh.

I eat the things I want.

I dance around and shout the lyrics to my favorite songs because I can't hear myself with my Beats.

I smoke.

I color or draw.

I make my lists.

I make playlists.

I look at fashion and makeup.

I do my breathing exercises.

I take my gummies since I can't take my medication anymore.

I might take something to sleep.

I take breaks from my phone.

I'm proud of myself.

Because even though no one sees it, and most of the time I don't even acknowledge it, it is hard for me to get through the day with my depression and anxiety, especially when I get into those deeper, darker time periods and thoughts, but I do push through the day and try to comfort myself. So I'm proud of myself for those small steps I take every day.

I hope I can just close my eyes and keep pushing myself.

-Cassandra Alexa

I'm going to do something bad if I can't escape.

I'm going to do something bad.

I cry out for help like I'm hiding in plain sight, but no one seems to hear what I'm saying.

I'm alone.

There's no way out.

I can't keep doing this.

I need help.

But no one can help me.

I'm stuck.

I need to be taken out of my situations.

I need to get out.

I can feel myself shutting down.

I need to get out fast.

If I can't then I know I'll do something bad.

I'm crying out.

Nobody hears me.

Sometimes I wish my mom or another family member would just hug me and listen to me.

Especially my mom. I think I should be able to have that.

Sometimes I wish a friend would just ask me how I'm doing.

Sometimes I wish a man saw something in me more than just my body and actually gave a fuck about how I was doing or where I'm at mentally.

I can feel myself giving up.

-Cassandra Alexa

I was born dreaming.

I was born believing that dreams were reality.

I've had these dreams my whole life.

I have such ambitious goals and sometimes I just feel scared and like I can't do it or that it's impossible or I don't have the skills.

I feel scared it's not going to be what I really want.

I feel scared to be held in a lifetime of walking on eggshells and stressing if I do reach my goals.

Recently, I just think that maybe dreams are just what they are, dreams.

But then again, when I feel that rush of emotion when creative ideas hurry through my head and when I feel such an in-love joy when I complete a project the way I want, I do believe in dreams.

I have always believed I was born dreaming for a reason because I have a special feeling that this is my purpose.

And so I get worried.

What if I can't do it?

If I'm being honest, sometimes I just work on long-term creative projects so I don't attempt suicide again. So I have something to keep pushing me or something to stick around for.

Because sometimes my art is my only friend, my only love, my only family, my only anything.

It's there for me.

But what if I can't do it?

Sometimes my art is the only thing left I care about.

If I can't fulfill my dreams and purpose with my art, what other motivation or reason do I have to stay alive?

If I can't have the one thing that makes me happy and keeps me company?

I have one goal I've been working on for a while now and I already feel proud of it and I can't wait till it's finished.

But at the same time, I'm terrified of things going wrong.

This particular project means so much to me.

I've poured the last few years of my life into it.

I hope everything works out perfectly.

I hope I reach my goals and I stay happy if I achieve them.

I hope it's still fun.

I'm just really scared about these dreams.

I always find my stomach filled with a sinking feeling; I don't want to spend my life feeling like that.

-Cassandra Alexa

I don't know why, but I've been thinking about it a lot.

I don't know why but the men that hurt me stare me down in my dreams.

I've been thinking about all of it a lot.

Maybe it's because my whole life I haven't really let myself deal with it.

Maybe because it always and still is such a constant and huge part of my life.

Maybe it's because I don't want to acknowledge how scared I am of men.

How terrified.

Maybe it's because child me is still crying herself to sleep at night because no one is there to truly comfort her through what she's going through.

Maybe because I'm still in the same place.

Maybe I just need to tell someone everything that has happened.

But what's the point?

I don't want to be a burden or make people uncomfortable.

I thought about maybe telling him if we actually got into a serious relationship and I felt one day that he loved me and wouldn't judge me if I told him all the things I've been through and still go through. But he left.

I don't really feel like I could tell anyone.

I don't want to go through the stuff I've been through before, so I don't want to get them in trouble either.

I just can't deal with it.

I hate to accept it, but it's still making me crumble today.

I put on a brave face about everything in my life around others.

My home life, my hospital time, my abuse, my attempts/ other thoughts from my depression and anxiety, my body negativity, my self-destructiveness, the bullying, my financial struggles, my loneliness, all of it.

I pretend like I'm stronger now and it doesn't affect me and I don't need help.

But I think I do need help. And soon.

I'm looking for a therapist, but who knows how long that will take.

Maybe I do need to go to a hospital. I'm scared though. Plus I can't have any more hospital bills because my parents would be mad and I'd have to figure out how to pay all of it off by myself like I did with these last bills.

I do need to find someone to be there for me in general too.

I do feel hurt.

I feel hurt every day.

And some nights I think about making my decision final and I look through my contacts, all of whom wouldn't answer if I called.

When I need to talk to someone, I don't have any real options.

So I just have to calm myself down and spit the pills out and cry myself to sleep.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

I just feel like what's the point?

I don't talk to my parents or family. I don't have any friends. I couldn't get a boyfriend to save my life.

Who do I even have?

Who the fuck would even care if I died anyway?

I mean I'm probably not gonna make it with my art because what are the realistic chances of that happening?

And other than my art, I have nothing.

Why just go the rest of my life like this?

I don't think anyone would care if I died.

Because they don't care when I'm alive.

I want someone to hug me and tell me they love me more than anything in the world and mean it. I want someone to tell me they're proud of me. I want someone to just be there.

That's all I've ever wanted.

-Cassandra Alexa

You don’t care and I think that’s the thing that might hurt the most.

You don’t care that I miss you.

You don’t care to come back.

You don’t care if I wait for you.

You don’t care about me.

You don’t care how I’m doing.

You don’t care how I feel.

You don’t care that you hurt me.

You took what you wanted and left, and I’m not significant anymore.

And that’s it, I guess.

I’ve been hoping you’d come back.

Last time you were gone for three months. This time you’ve been gone for seven months.

I doubt you’ll say anything. I doubt you’ll date me. I doubt you’d ever treat me the way I dream about being treated.

Maybe it just hurts so much because I liked you for so long and I thought you could like me too, or that you did and were trying to be with me. I thought I would have my first boyfriend. I thought, for once in my life, I could eventually feel loved. And, for once in my life, I felt happy and truly excited.

As bad as this might sound, and as bad as it actually is, the way you treated me and our situation was the best treatment I’ve ever received from a man and the best situation I’ve ever had with a man; the closest I’ve ever been to a relationship.

I thought we’d be a good match. I thought I found something worth fighting for.

The idea of "love" has always been sort of like a dog treat on a rope making a dog chase after it, even if it won't be able to get it. It felt good knowing that I could feel safe and at ease now that I was going to have an actual and healthy and happy relationship, which wasn't the case.

I really wanted you to be the end of it all.

And now maybe you're making your final distancing gesture to show me you’re gone and that you don’t care. And the ache I feel is eating into my sides and my heart.

I think about the way you kissed me and it felt so passionate, and the way you held me and made me feel so happy and calm, and the things you said to me and the way you made promises (which I now know were false) about the time we'd spend together and how that made me feel so hopeful. And now I have to look back on it knowing you didn't even mean any of that shit. You knew I liked you. You knew I felt something kissing you and laying with you. You knew what you were doing. You knew I'd perceive it romantically and you knew I wanted to be with you.

How could you do this to me?

I would never even think about hurting you. I would have never walked away from you. I actually cared about you. I would’ve given you everything.

I can’t ever walk away from a person. I can’t ever walk away from memories and emotions. Sometimes I wish I could or I wish I wasn’t so goT damn sensitive and I didn’t feel so much.

Sometimes I wish I could do what you can do.

But I can’t.

I wouldn’t have walked away from you when I thought things were going to go good and I can’t let go of you now, because I still care about you. Even though you’re a fucking asshole.

And you probably know I’d let you back in again. I’ve already given you two separate chances.

I want to wake up and have everything be different.

I want to hear from you.

I want you to swallow your pride and to not let that ego of yours bite you in the ass and have you miss out on having a woman there that actually gives a fuck about you.

I want you to say you’ll change and that you want to be with me.

And what’s the use of that want, really?

It feels over and like it shouldn’t be; it just started, anyways.

The last hope I had was that you’d say something to me and come back. And now I don’t think I have that chance or that hope anymore. And that hurts me so much.

Hope is what I live on. I live in a world where I’m alone all day and I dream of escaping my reality or perhaps my life and that hope of a change, of someone being there, of a different and free life, of happiness; that hope keeps me alive and moving.

That’s why I hold on to hope, or people, so much. I have nothing if I don’t have hope.

And there’s nothing I really want.

I just want to feel loved and I want to escape and I want to make my art and be happy.

I really doubt I can do those things. All the hopes I had have burned out.

I feel like there’s nothing pushing me anymore.

I feel horrible.

And this isn’t just about you; don’t think you have that much power over my heart.

I don’t care if you don’t read this. I’d prefer you not to.

But I also don’t care if you do read this.

I don’t care, because why should I care if you don’t care? I at least deserve to feel and express what I’m feeling.

It doesn’t even matter anyway.

-Cassandra Alexa

I have a wild imagination, I guess. Because I have these wild fantasies in my head.

Maybe to other people, they aren't such rare fantasies or maybe they wouldn't even think of them so much to even call them fantasies; maybe they're not enough to need to fantasize about.

I fantasize about having my own place to live. Whether that be my own apartment, preferably (and financially unrealistically) somewhere in the city, as I adore the city life and the city itself; whether this place is Sundance Square, New York, San Francisco, or Chicago, any of those would be perfect. Or perhaps I have my own house. A nice house. A house in a rich neighborhood so I can say "Fuck you, I made it." to everyone who never expected me to be able to leave the hood (or to be living in their neighborhood). I want a beautiful house, with space, in a nice area. I want a safe car.

If I actually did get famous for my art, or at least very successful, I would have a mansion here and other smaller places where I need to be working, or in the cities I love.

Honestly, my fantasy begins to sound unrealistic by just thinking "I want a place to live on my own and I want a car I can drive."

I want someone to like me romantically. I want someone to ask me out on a date. I want someone to ask me to be their girlfriend. I want someone to have a relationship with me. I want them to give me a serious relationship. I want them to propose to me. I want them to marry me. I want to have kids with them. I want to be able to balance my work, my love life, and motherhood. I want stability. I want, for the first time in my life, to feel loved.

This is one of the most unrealistic things on my list.

I've never even had someone like me, let alone ask me on a date or ask me to be their girlfriend.

I can't even date even if I want to though. I can't.

In my situation, I can't get out; there's no way to.

And that absolutely crushes me.

There's nothing I want more in life than love.

And I will never have it.

It's just something I dream about because I know that's the only time I can try to create the feeling for myself.

But after all the dreaming, I have that sinking, empty, hurtful feeling, knowing that no one has and probably won't ever like me like that and that they haven't ever and probably won't ever want to be in a relationship with me and that, at the end of the day, it's not about what I want, because I can't escape the situation I find myself in. I can't. So that means I can't ever be in a relationship.

And that means I can't ever be a mother either.

Some part of me has always wanted to be a mother.

But I can't even take care of myself; how am I supposed to be okay enough to take care of them? And I'm afraid I'll mess up and ruin their lives. I'm also afraid I won't have time for them or my spouse with my career. I don't want that for them. But I wouldn't know how to manage everything.

I want to be successful in my art. I want to be employed and be able to make a living off of my art and get a meaningful amount of recognition and appreciation for my art. I want to do everything I want to do careerwise. I want to change the world and the world of art with my films and my music and acting and different forms of writing and any other career paths I chose to dive into, whether it be other film positions or something having to do with makeup and fashion (perhaps my own brand). I want to be able to live my life in the clothes I want and the makeup I want and to always have opportunities to costume design. I want to be able to paint and write for fun. I want to participate in all my arts for fun for the rest of my life. I want to spend the majority of my life just making art, as it's the only thing that's ever capable of truly and stably keeping me happy.

But what are the odds I can make a living off of my art? What are the odds I'll always be able to afford my fashion and makeup and art supplies? I feel sometimes that I'm not even talented in my arts. I also don't think I could handle life as a celebrity and the toxicity all around.

I want to have true and many friends. I want to be close to my family. I want to be close to my parents and have a good relationship with them.

I want to be close to God. I want to be a good person.

-Cassandra Alexa

I remember baby-me standing in the kitchen, bawling my eyes out because you had said mean things to me and yelled at me and were giving me the silent treatment/ ignoring me, and I just knew you were mad and that was my punishment and I begged for forgiveness because I didn't want to have you mad at me.

That's how it's always been.

I live my life in constant extensive fear that you will be mad at me. Every decision I make, every waking moment of my life.

I think about when I couldn’t get out of bed and you called me a pig and when I needed help and felt sick, so you called me a slut. And now I know that I can’t get help. I can only be perfect.

As much as I hate them, sometimes I just wish I felt comforted and loved.

Everything is about them. Everything.

Every decision I make, they’re right there at the top of my head.

I have no life of my own.

My life is a series of anxieties.

I cannot imagine escaping them. I cannot imagine a life where I’m happy and I have things that make me happy.

There’s no concrete escape plan.

It drives me so crazy I want to die.

I just need help and I can't talk to you.

I try to tune you out and be silent, but at the end of the day, I think about everything and I shrivel into pieces with the knowledge that you're mad at me for one reason or another.

I can't do anything right.

I can't do anything at all.

And now, because of you, and because of a man I once had a situation with, I'm extremely afraid of anyone who gets mad at me.

I've shut down and let my life slip away. I can't do school or work. I can't cook something. I can't clean up my room or bathroom. I can't drive. I can't get out of bed. I can't sleep. I can't stay awake. I can't send an email. I can't make a phone call. I can't talk. I sit in the dark and I can't move. I can't think. It's just a boring nothingness. My hopes and dreams are slipping through my fingers. There's too much to do alone and not enough time. And everyone else can do what I can't. Everyone else is not me. I'm not talented. I probably won't get employed or be able to get a place to live. I'm stupid. I can't have anyone there. I can't work out. I eat and eat and eat and eat and I can't stop myself because I feel so bad. I can't look at myself in the mirror, because I don't feel beautiful. And I just accept and know that, even if it makes me sad. I can't finish my art. I can't make conversation with people I have to meet. The cuts on my fingers and on the back of my hands are growing more and more and eating my hands away, and blood and cracking skin follow them and the sting pains me all day. I can't do anything. Am I losing my mind? They think I'm crazy or weird or I don't know how to interact with people or I get obsessed with certain topics. Obviously, everyone thinks something is wrong with me.

Maybe there is. Maybe that's why no one talks to me. But I don't know what I did wrong to anyone.

I need help either way.

-Cassandra Alexa

I can’t handle school. I’m not smart enough. I can’t function. It stresses me out. I can’t see myself handling work or my career in general.

Everything builds up and destroys me. I can’t do anything. I’m just stuck there. And I hear papers screaming at me. And I feel everything falling apart. And I feel I’m to blame.

And I know they’ll be waiting. And I can’t run away.

-Cassandra Alexa

I destroy everything I touch.

Why do I even have wants? Why want something when I can’t ever have it? Why can’t I just have something to myself that makes me happy and that stays? Why can’t I feel loved? Why can’t I feel happy? Why can’t I be free?

Why get a fish when it will just die? Why tend to a flower when it will just die? Why make a friend when they’ll just die? Why care about someone when they’ll just die? Why have a baby when they’ll just die?

What is anything really worth?

I’m always trying to find happiness and love and a reason to live, and there’s nothing.

I can’t deal with it.

I’m too scared to die. I don’t want to be dead.

But I think about jumping in front of the train as it comes.

I think about opening my window and letting myself drop fourteen stories.

I think about cutting myself. I got a couple good scratches, but they faded away.

I think about taking a bunch of pills. No one would know until they find me. I can only take a few.

I think about jumping in front of cars.

I think about overdosing.

I don’t have anyone here with me, anyone I feel genuinely close to. No one has ever loved me in a romantic way. I won’t even talk about family. And I cry out to God, for what?

If you can’t escape, why stay?

I can’t get myself out of bed. I can’t make myself talk. I can’t do my homework. I can’t go to class. I can’t go to the grocery store. I can’t eat.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I’m just waiting for the other fish to die.

And it did.

One right after the other. One day after another.

Why is that always my misfortune?

I feel scared to see dead things.

I feel scared I won’t get help fast enough.

I feel nothing.

Why choose to live if I’m just going to die?

Why read this if I’m just going to die?

Why read this if you don’t actually give a fuck anyway?

What’s the point of what you’re doing today?

-Cassandra Alexa

No one sees all the things I’m thinking about when I lock myself in my room for months and I won’t speak and I just cry and gasp for breath and I think about very dark things; they don’t know all the experience that cuts into my skin.

I’m searching for something deadly. Something close to dying, but not quite death. Snowflakes, magic mushrooms, tea, and pills, anything to make me feel alive and happy, but to also make it seem like I wasn’t trying to take my own life if something goes wrong.

I want to feel the moment I’m living in; I want to leave it behind too.

I’m just out of options. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who to tell. I just can’t take it.

-Cassandra Alexa

These ignorant ass rich White kids at my school make me so fucking mad. When we talk about race or about Mexican people specifically, the things they say and do make me embody a screeching teapot. Every day butterflies angrily chop at the insides of my stomach and I feel an anxiety and a sadness and an anger so powerful that it disturbs my whole world. It’s the ignorance of their words. It’s the lack of care and appreciation for my people. It’s the entitlement of the White man. It’s the erasure and exclusion of me and my people. It’s a screaming to be recognized and heard and empathized with. It’s the money or the mark of hood that divides me out of a room or out of a screening. It’s the desire to leave and be one with my people and my neighborhood. It’s arguments. It's subtle racism making People of Color The Boy Who Cried Wolf here. It’s not being counted. It’s stereotypes. It’s a lack of representation. It’s a lack of acknowledgment of our history and what makes us who we are in our blood and the suffering we face. It’s being their token. It’s being the odd one out. It’s feeling too stupid and too hood and too poor and too ethnic to feel like I belong here as a scholar or as a filmmaker. I feel so belittled sometimes. I feel so angry.

And I know it’s not my fault and that I should believe I deserve to be here and I deserve to be here just as much as the next kid and all this, but I don’t truly feel that sometimes.

I come back to my apartment and I just cry or I can’t figure out how to get my anger out.

-Cassandra Alexa

I’ve never had money. And now I feel extra responsible and I know I shouldn’t feel like that, but expenses create an ever-growing anxiety that makes me fear them more and more with every item I need. And I need these things and I don’t want to be a burden. So I have nothing.

-Cassandra Alexa

I really want to get this video done. I really want to get this album done. I really want to make a film that's good enough to get that internship.

"Can I really do it?"

A question that haunts me and stops me dead in my tracks.

-Cassandra Alexa

I hope there's an alternate universe where you love me and where you're the one. A place where I'm happy and I don't have to worry and where everything falls into place.

A place where I'm your wife. And I exist away from people who trap me.

I escape to that place sometimes.

I'll be so fucking high, on whatever it is I choose to do, that time as we know it stops or changes. I can walk in the same place for hours, days, years. I never move. This big land area, yet nothing gets bigger or smaller as you get closer or farther away. And nothing gets closer. You haven't even taken a step. Minutes and hours jump every time you turn your head to the clock, yet you sit down to wait for a train and it feels like eternity.

In those times, I feel happiest.

In those times, it's the only time I ever feel happy. The only time I can breathe.

I choose to break myself away from this structured idea of time and reality we live in. I choose to live in The Alternate.

I feel rushes of happy memories that become my present.

If I'm high enough, I can be with you, and I can feel you, and I can feel loved.

If I'm high enough, I can be free.

If I'm high enough, I can see a whole other world.

If I'm high enough, I can be happy.

I hope I create a fork in the road, one where I'm alive and where you come back and be with me, one where I can escape.

I wish I lived in my alternate world. And I wish you were with me there.

-Cassandra Alexa

I felt the floors were unstable and tilted in the opposite direction I stepped, like a see-saw. It was moving within itself like I could feel the plate tectonics. I floated around in the stars as an angel sang to me. I was the princess of that universe. I danced all my moves out of my system, with pure energy, effort, and joy. I felt so beautiful as I walked the runway with my music engulfing me in the party of a fashion show. My hangers moved as if someone had hit them. My chair and table grabbed me, trying to keep me in my room. I opened my door and the floor was moving. The walls of my apartment and everything inside them were shifting around like a rubrics cube. I began to see layers upon layers of worlds, multiverses, and alternate realities of my world for the rest of the night. I could see myself like I was starring in a movie about my life. I saw myself in the other worlds. I did different things there. Things happened differently in different worlds and the same in others. I walked the hallways for eternity and never moved. I was standing in the same spot. Everything was the same. I kept crashing into the walls as they turned. If I touched the wall, my hand would sink into it. I would sink inside the wall and my legs started to melt, then all at once, my whole body melted into the ground. Someone peaked around the corners and doors and walked around. I saw clear lines forming figures sticking out all over the walls; some were lower, some were higher, some were closer, some were far apart. I couldn't tell what some were. I saw a plaid skirt. I saw a mannequin. I saw a woman's naked body. All in one. I saw diamond bead curtains hanging all over the hallway. I was in a store. I was walking through an aisle of a smoke shop or a local grocery store. I could fly. I flew everywhere. I was floating. I felt wind. I heard boats. Every picture looks blurry or rippling in a kaleidoscope way. Every light looked brighter and had colors streaming off of it. I could reach inside the stove. I could reach inside the wall. I saw swirling colors in the patterns. Time existed in the past, present, and future, all at once. Yet, time didn't exist at all. It just was and is. I saw so many galaxies, planets, and stars, and many that were exploding. They floated at the ceiling and they were in front of me too. They were also in the palm of my hands. My palms swirled and my hand moved in waves and twisted and got smaller and longer. My hand looks like a flesh kaleidoscope. There were patterns in my hand and on the floor and in the walls and in the ceiling that all moved like a kaleidoscope and waved. Some of them were in bright colors. I saw colorful dots floating around. I saw two of the same roommate. One of her was on the computer and the other one was doing the dishes. I couldn't feel myself eating or drinking. It started off as genuine happiness and excitement then quickly became terrifying. Sound was distorted. Everything sounded like a chopped and screwed voice or a robot or an alien or something deteriorating, or sounded electronic or high or low or fast or slow, or was in tounges or not making sense or was very loud or quiet or silent or in a crazy or evil voice. Sometimes things were added or subtracted or changed from what people were saying. Everything I heard or said echoed and echoed and echoed and overlapped all the other things echoing. It's my birthday, isn't it? Someone was knocking on the door. There was no one there. Again and again and again. I heard doors opening and shutting all night. I heard people calling my name and calling me to them or to go to wherever they were or to open the door for them. I heard sirens, a tornado warning, police, firetrucks, fire alarms, smoke detectors, horns, bells. There was an emergency going on and I was in trouble and everyone was coming to get me to get out of here. And the sound never stopped. It was extremely loud. It wouldn't stop. Everything was overlapped. The things I saw wouldn't stop either. I saw rats running across the floor. There were people watching me in the bathroom. My eyes were in pain, I could feel and see the dilation was huge. I had no control over my mind or actions and I felt afraid. There was a weird nasty taste on my tongue. I saw sparkles. I saw snowflakes and a winter wonderland. I gradually started seeing more and more people. They were everywhere. They were walking around. They were grabbing me and pulling me (off my bed too) and calling me and screaming at me and clawing at me and touching me inappropriately. I felt sad and I felt water on my face, so I thought I was crying, even if I wasn't. I cried these diamonds that were liquid globs. I had water all over my body and clothes. I looked in the mirror. I was pregnant with the Antichrist; it was kicking and moving around. I looked pretty sometimes and other times I didn't. I saw deeper worlds in screens inside of mirrors and mirrors inside of screens running for eternity. I heard scary whispers in the hallway. I could hear every sound that exists and doesn't exist in every multiverse all at once. I heard the amazon, and the city, and animals, and voices, and thuds and bells and bangs and yells and explosions and doors and footsteps and everything. I saw a rainbow that swirled from time to time. I saw skeleton paper snowflakes kaleidoscoping in the ceiling. Everything was dripping in colorful goo and water. I saw my childhood and I saw myself in the present and I saw myself as an old lady. I saw bugs crawling on my bed and on my window. Maggots and worms. I could hear things and see things and people inside of people's rooms who were on the other end of the phone. I was having false memories and truths. My pillow has a heartbeat. I heard people saying mean things to me. All of my rapists and harassers came into the room and raped me. I writhed around, gasping for air and pushing something off of me and trying to pull my legs away from them and my back away from my bed, yelling for help. My bed and sheets and wall were eating me. There was someone in my covers and outside of my covers pulling my legs and clawing into me. My body turned around and I had several distorted demonic hands and feet with claws that I dug into myself with. There was blood on my wrists and cuts on my legs too. I yelled for help for hours and no one heard me. Is someone here to help me? I saw A$AP Rocky! I was so excited! I'm so in love with him and here he is! What's that noise? Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Chandler Bing! Chandler Bing walked into my room. Then Joey, then Phoebe, then Rachel, then Monica, then Ross. Why is the cast of Friends in my room? I saw a teddy bear that kept changing. I was in Santa's Workshop. I saw elves. I closed my eyes and I was in a video game. I was in a racing game in the dark and there were lines and lights and candy falling. I heard lasers shooting in the video game. I was in Looney Land. I was at Six Flags. I saw plants and trees and flowers in my room. I saw the same man outside walking up and down each street at the same time all night. Water was filling up my room. People stood over me while I slept and watched me and called me. I saw several of my roommates and several other people and they were trying to get me. I was hot. I saw him. I laid on his chest while he held me again and he kissed me. But he wasn't answering me when I talked to him. I was scared. I was terrified. Is he okay? Is he safe? What's wrong with him? Why isn't he answering? Someone told me that wasn't the real him and I couldn't believe it. Because I remember feeling the same things with him in real life. I thought everyone was hurt and being watched. Everyone, even in the other buildings, was staring at me and looking at me. I saw I was in the hospital again. I saw death. I saw Saw in my lights. I saw pretty colors stretch off of my lights. I saw pixie dust. I had wings and a mermaid tail. I saw the ring girl. I saw horror movie characters. I saw a blue smoke everywhere and I smelled smoke. I felt like I was suffocating and my heart hurt and was racing. I cried. I was panicked about being in trouble. People were mad at me and yelling at me. People screamed in horror. I could hear the cries from hell. Someone needed help. It's a trap; don't trust them. I felt nauseous. I felt so sad and alone. I was overwhelmed. I felt ashamed. I was terrified to be alone. I couldn't tell what was real. There were patterns on my window and walls. There was a spider on my wall. There were holes in the wall. I thought it would never end. I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't and who I should believe. I needed to use the bathroom, but I didn't know how to get out. I looked in one direction and saw somewhere else. I could hear someone coming. I saw that I threw up everywhere and I gasped and yelled for help. I didn't actually throw up I guess. My music sounded crazy. The beats were going crazy. "House of Balloons/ Glass Table Girls" kept playing over and over and over. My door and everything in my apartment was bent. I heard the wind chimes that used to be on my grandpa's porch. He knows I haven't been praying for his soul lately. He's coming to get me. I'm underneath the computer table from my childhood. Everything was so loud. What if I accidentally take all my Tylenol pills? My mouth and lips felt dry. I saw myself without clothes even though my clothes were on. I could reach inside my chest into my body. I could see the bones and meat in my hand. My veins were moving and big chunks of something, maybe rocks, were stuck in them and were also moving through my veins. Someone laughed evilly in a chopped and screwed voice. My feet were burning. I was having an anxiety attack. I thought I was going to be insane or die. I was afraid because I didn't know what was real and if it was going to end and if I was in trouble. I was alone and they were trying to get me. My shirt is filling up with air. I felt my body was much fuller and it felt good. I hear glasses breaking. I heard electronic sounds. My head stays in place while my body is twisting around like crazy and moving and breaking and changing. Sometimes my head would spin too. I hear fire trucks and police cars; they're here to arrest me. I hear ambulances.

The next day I was very paranoid. I still heard and saw some things. I was very anxious. I feel hungry, but I can't eat. My head hurts today. My eyes hurt. I hardly slept.

Yesterday my senses were able to do things I shouldn't be able to do. I believe now that it is a portal I opened.

-Cassandra Alexa