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in hopes that I do not bore everyone on the planet by droning on and on about the intimate details of my life, I will skip to the important stuff. aren't you in for a treat. if anyone actually read this far, that is.
I have had chronic depression pretty much my entire life. I mean, it has always been there, it simply never surfaced quite as horribly until my sophomore year. but depression has always been there for me. what a great pal. not only did that control my life, but OCD played a wonderfully huge part as well. I curse the day I heard that stupid child's rhyme step on a crack, break your mother's back. I really was not honestly worried that something horrible would happen if I did. I simply cannot make myself step on them. ever since I can remember. I have to time my steps. make really small or huge awkward ones in order to avoid those horrid little lines. yet not only the visible ones bother me. I create lines from corners. painted lines in the pavement of a parking lot. doorways. they are everywhere and they taunt me. horrible things happen when I step on them. horrible things happen to my body. I break out into a sweat. I feel the horrible need to scream. I clench my fists until my fingernails nearly break through the skin. and then I run.
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