I found my old book of thoughts from my time in intensive therapy. Thought I'd share my first entry, which is the memory of a trauma I went through when my best and only real close friend left without giving me any notice.

This is from several years ago, reading it is hard, but helpful with keeping me moving forward. I've been so happy with the way things are going here at DT that I'm comfortable enough to share this with anyone who chooses to read it. Maybe someone will recognize the emotion in me, and know that they're not alone because I've been there too.

Here it is

I woke up with the sun today.

Watching it peep through my windows and crawl a long linear path up onto my bed made the day feel surreal, even though it had only just barely started.

My entire body is made of concrete in the mornings. I can feel it being pumped out into my limbs with every breath. I sure if I let myself settle I would be as still as stone for the rest of eternity. Heavy, rough, and untouchable I could imprisonme within myselfand never worry of being disturbed.

It is my sadness that creates the concrete within me. I can feel it weighing me down when I walk, or speak, or think, or try to smile. Recently the whole world has turned toto bleak, hard, stone.Life is seeping out of the world around me.There is no pulse in anything for me anymore. The walls of my dorm room seem to reflect a past in which I lived and was the star. The posters show me a girl who foolishly clung to a notion of justice that she would never know. An eye for an eye, blood for blood, sins paid in life. Hurt would be countered with hurt in her world, nothing beyond or above, just enough to make people see how much there is to lose in the world that she wanted to live in.

I miss her

Books on the shelf reminded me of myself. Books of war, hatred, passion, humour, mystery, history. Everything that I thought defined me Many coloured spines collected dust, hiding titles and words that once knew how tobring me comfort. Stone cannot be defined by words on the pages of these books that were once a possession of mine. I've lost everything that once made me a person, that made me someone to anybody else.I have floated into apathy, and feel no notion of love toward my books which I once cherished about all other things. To read, to know, to possess and apply knowledge, those were the things I wanted in my life. Knowledge was my power until my own mind turned against me.

They want me to think about what made me fall out of love with the world. I remember loving and wanting so many things. But I stare into a mirror and see that person trapped on the other side, silenced by glass, and cut off from the world. Slowly, she's dying more and more everyday. I've become a shell of me, and there are a million reasons why. I remember…I remember so many things that hurt…there are so many days to think about where I can look back and watch the life crawl out of me, replaced by pain, and soon, not even that.

Sometimes when I listen closely, I can hear the back of my mind whispering the thoughts of my old self. How it longs to play baseball and soccer, to sculpt, to sing so loudly that the neighbours would notice and compliment on the unbreakable alto who lived next door, singing old shanty tunes, or new age love songs well into the night. "Just pick up the guitar" I whisper to myself so often. The older version of me can't stand to have let my love drift out of my life as it did. But I know now that if I do not love it, it cannot leave me again. Some days I long for the comfort of steel strings digging into the tip of my fingers, prickling pain as the callous builds up, the true sound as the strings pluck together. A comfort of singular tones ringing first alone, and then together. Every note had its own colour andswirled in the air aroundme. There was nothing more beautiful than the first formation of a new song between friends, old and gone. These sounds were lost to me as I watched my best friend take that last step off of my porch.

Abandonment is only as hard as you let it hit you.

I let it consume every piece that was left of me.

From that day on my fingers were the stone that would soon settle inside me. I left myself behind when I went forward. Without him, there was nowhere to go. The music that gave me life had been taken away from me, he was my music. My mouth closed and my voice faded from the neighbourhood. The alto was gone because her voice had been stolen from her.

I'll lay down with the sun again.Night provides the cover I need to grieve for leaving myself behind on a front doorstep, hoping to see a face that wouldn?t return to me. My music fell from the earth that day and I vowed it would not resurface. The night time hides my longing for "The Scientist" and "Wake me up when September ends"."Rocketman" and "Goodbye yellow brick road" rock me to sleep as the memories of my music haunt me, and abuse with me the knowledge that it'snever coming back.

End Day 1

Well, that was my first entry in my journal for my program. Long and winded I know, but that's always been my style.

I'm so glad DT is here for me to share. Thanks to anyone who took the time to read. Now it's here and at least someone else knows how I felt.