February Confessions

 I am going to Tartarus. And not the one with Crowley either. The place of eternal damnation where you’re forced to do the same thing over, the only hope glimmering just before you fail and have to start over.

 I am no longer a vegan. I’m a lactose intolerant vegetarian. The difference being that I eat sweets with dairy listed as an ingredient. I’ve eaten cookies, donuts, cinnamon rolls and brownies with milk or egg or both. Sometimes it seems like I would eat cow cheese pizza if there weren’t health consequences. 

 I live in a homeless shelter. The vegetarians and omnivores get donuts on the weekends. The vegans get oatmeal. Of two things I am absolutely positive: the first, Dean and Castiel are in love. The second, I would not eat oatmeal if I were starving and about to die. So I eat granola bars with honey in them every morning. I used to be the kind of vegan who was vehemently against honey. No one should take advantage of an endangered species.

 Maybe you don’t care. This is a book blog, and this has nothing to do with books. But this is the kind of person that I am. I eat things that make me feel bad for a few seconds of sweetness. I consider myself a bad person that deserves to go to Tartarus. Maybe I’m already in Tartarus, and that’s why I’m still alive despite all the reasons I shouldn’t be.

 Not telling anyone felt like a lie. I’m not big against sins, but I am big against lying.

 I don’t feel good. I’ve been anxious and depressed for weeks, and it only let up for a few minutes during a walk in the rain before it turned heavy. I’ve been trying to move forward with work and school, but they seem to be making it worse instead of better. I keep asking myself why I don’t want to die. Because I don’t. And it doesn’t make sense. 

 I don’t have a greater purpose anymore. I’m used to being passionate about something. When I was a little kid, it was art. In middle school, it was to become an environmental lawyer and argue every chance I got. In high school, it was my book. In college, it was journalism.

 It’s been a year since I left my 4 year. I’ve just started to take community classes to catch up and go back. But it’s February. And February is always the worst month of the year.

 I know it’s a mental health problem I need taken care of. But it’s so hard to get help. The mental health services at the shelter is run by men who don’t take me seriously. I tried talking to my childhood therapist about getting help, but she’s never believed that I’m sick because I had to keep the worst from her because she was friends with my mum.  

 I’m sick and tired. 

Published by TanyX Goffy

I am an author, poet, and playwright. My current WIPs are a doppelganger Dark Academia and sad vampires. I blog about YA LGBTQIAP+ books, with the occasional straight person book for diversity. They/them Wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/2EVVFTZUX00P0?ref_=wl_share

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