Sista Clinik

One afternoon in early 2009, I sat in the bathroom of my small apartment, holding a pregnancy test and crying. I had been crying for several days; the pregnancy test was just an additional reason to do so. All week I had been crying and screaming and smashing things on the ground like water glasses and eggs. I knew something was wrong with me, for my usual depressive episodes were usually not this intense and out of control.  I had been going to psych therapy and taking antidepressant medication for about three weeks. Now, holding the fateful pregnancy test in one hand, I knew for sure. I was pregnant, and somehow it was driving me out of my mind. I tearfully reported my findings to my husband at the time, who had come to wear a permanent scowl on his face due to pressures from school, work, and now his wife's erratically destructive behavior. Later we both sat on the bed, his scowl having melted into a look of weariness.  It was as if the situation had physical weight

So many stories to tell. I am a blogger myself, however I appreciate the voice your page carries. When I was in 4th grade, after school, we went to the store for something; chips or a soda, something. I had on my school uniform, white blouse plaid skirt. The cashier was always nice, me and my mom came to this specific store often. He asks to show me something and I'm like "Ok." He shows me his boost mobile phone with a picture of his penis on there. I didn't really know what it was at that age so I didn't think anything of it. My mother was livid. She threatened the man, she bought people to the store. She went OFF! We never ever saw that man again, in life period. My friend’s name is Nora. We are girls so one day she's using the bathroom while I'm showering. Before she flushes she turns the light off, bad habit she has. So one day she says she was in the projects at a party and she went to the bathroom. Again, before she flushes the toilet sh

The truth is, this brokenhearted 23 year old woman knows me well. She's seen me survive the most crippling depression that claimed most of my young life. She is quite familiar with my social awkwardness too. The inconsistency. The starts with no finishes. The deserted hopes. The self-dug graves. The rock bottoms. The dismal fails. The discovered and lost dreams. The words siting unfinished in my drafts folder. She knows me. She is after all the best friend. The accusation stings only because I know she is right, that is who she knows.   I can't go back or erase the memories. I sit quietly, but bothered by a simple sentence 'You know you never finish anything you start.' A statement that seems to ask 'Why am I kidding myself? What would possess me to think I can commit myself to such overwhelming responsibilities that are obviously above my capabilities?' 'She is right, she knows me.' I remind myself quietly. Maybe she has forgotten, b