Psyche is powered by Vocal creators. You support E McNeal by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Psyche is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

December Diary

A Month of My Depressed Thoughts


Today is the day. I’m going home. Everything I own is once again packed into boxes and bags and put in the back of the truck. I should be relieved, but I’m nothing short of terrified. This is the sixth move in the past two years. I am craving familiarity and comfort now more than ever. My family and I no longer talk and considering the circumstances surrounding this holiday season I’d say that’s not a bad thing. My father has never been so disappointed in me, and my mother has never avoided my life so blatantly. Nobody wants to ask how I am doing because everybody knows the answer. Everybody knows I have little left to live for. They know the burdens and pain I carry on my shoulders, and how little more I can take. That doesn’t stop them from piling more in the form of disapproving glares, avoided phone calls and isolating me on holidays.

But today is the day. I’m leaving. I’m finally going home.


I’m exhausted. My bedroom is littered with dirty clothes and photos torn out of picture frames. I’m finally alone in the house, everybody else is at work. Good for them. I can’t seem to find a job, which only adds to the stress and frustration of this move. Not only am I living with my in-laws once again, but I am here living off other peoples hard-earned income. I feel like a failure. Like I’ve failed in every aspect of my life. My relationships are unraveling, I have no job, no money, credit card payments are due, and I can’t pay them. My dog barks too much, and that’s a small problem, but right now I am so full of small problems they seem unbearable. I never sleep anymore. There seems to be more wind storms on this side of the mountains, which isn’t a bad thing. At least I know the trees are restless, just like me.

I’m exhausted. But I won’t be getting sleep any time soon.


This holiday season is taking its toll. I cry daily, and nobody knows what to do. I find comfort in very few things. I’m looking forward to the point in the night where I run out of tears to cry and I go numb. All these emotions carry too much weight, and I get weaker each day. I find the things that used to bring me joy fall short this year. The snow seems more of an annoyance, and the lights are too bright, they’re more a nuisance now. I prefer the cold, however. I find it’s the only thing that makes me feel something. I feel the crisp air finding its way to my lungs and igniting the small spark of life left somewhere deep in me. But all is quiet at this point in the night. I’ve finished watching my traditional movies and I’m trying to fall asleep, trying to have hope for a good day tomorrow.

This holiday season is taking its toll. But I will make it.


I’m going to survive. The holidays have ended, and I can barely get out of bed, but I will survive. I’ve eaten my weight in bread pudding and cheap stocking stuffer chocolate. There’re about 10 empty bottles of wine in the recycling bin, I haven’t had the motivation to run it to the recycling plant, but it makes me feel worse to sit and stare at it. I never thought much about my attachment to alcohol until right now. Any time I needed relaxation or to get away, my first reaction was to reach for the closest bottle. It makes me rethink the season and my coping mechanisms. The unhealthiness of my depression expresses itself in more forms than one. Every bad day looks different. Sometimes I can’t get out of bed. And sometimes I get drunk at 11 AM. And on the worst days I sit in the bathtub and cry alone while reading old text messages from my parents. Back when they used to remind me daily how much they loved me and how much they wanted me to get better.

I’m going to survive. But it’s going to take work.


This year is coming to a close I am huddled in my bedroom in the dark waiting for the fireworks to go off. The lights in the sky not only signal the end of this year, but the beginning of a new one. Maybe in this new year I’ll find peace and comfort. Though I’m not holding onto any hopes, I do carry a want to do better this year. I want to heal, and I want to find myself.

This year is coming to a close. And I’m holding out for a better year.

Now Reading
December Diary
Read Next