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I’m a feminist. Supposedly.

Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash

May 1, 2018 Email to my Caseworker


How am I? Up and down, like usual. Sometimes I have super good days, but they’re usually followed by two sleep all day days. It’s probably just the manic/depressive cycle, and they’re not really “good days”, they’re manic days. But they sure feel good. They feel normal.

I haven’t done anything on my goals. Well, I’ve been a little better about showering and getting out. I’m still lining up 30 Somethings online for sex. I line them up, get them all primed, then back out on meeting them. I don’t think I’m addicted to sex. I’m addicted to male attention. I don’t like that about me. I’m a feminist. Supposedly. On the other hand, thinking about giving up that pastime is not an option. I really like how it makes me feel. It’s definitely pleasure seeking behavior, but more than that. It’s naked need. And I don’t like it. But I can’t fathom the idea of living without it.

I’m miserable, I’m over the moon elated, I like myself, I don’t like myself. I’m all over. The hospital doesn’t help. They don’t develop an individualized program for me which includes writing. So the only good thing is that I’m removed from my daily life. But even that wasn’t helpful last time. All I did was sleep. Same thing I do at home. It felt like punishment for my half assed suicide attempt. And that’s primarily why I agreed to it. I felt I deserved to be locked up for 72 hours for being a bonehead.

I’m not sure what you can do for me, but it does feel helpful to talk to you for an hour every week. It’s nothing tangible, but it really does help me a lot. You’re part of what makes me feel hopeful. You’re part of why I persist, persevere.

I appreciate you.




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