I’m writing this through the lovely and raw filter of my own tears. How pathetic, I know. I sound like a whiny, crying teenager who has nothing better to do than complain. And now, apart from failing school, cutting, and being stupid in general, I realize I’ve always been the shittiest daughter. Constantly lying to them about my boyfriend, always rolling my eyes at them, never being perfect, having too big of an ego to say sorry… I just had a huge fight with my mum, now I feel like the absolute scum of the earth because I made her feel bad. I’m just such a monster! I started a fight out of nowhere and then ruined everybody’s day, all while having too big of an ego to apologize for it. I just want to feel like she’s my mom and I’m her daughter and that’s enough to figure the rest of it out. I want a non-dysfunctional relationship, and why can’t I stop crying? It’s sort of my fault that the relationship is so dysfunctional, I’m the one who’s always lying to them, I’m the one who chooses to keep things hidden from them because I hate sharing. Because I’m an emotionless cruel person who can’t eve talk to her parents without failing them as a daughter. I can’t stop the tears, even though I’m trying to put this behind m I can’t forgive myself for this. I cut, I don’t get straight A*s because I’m dumber than average, I’m not straight but I don’t come out to them because I don’t have the balls to.. I’m just a mess up, hell I even go around talking to my secret boyfriend without them knowing because I can’t communicate wit them, and it’s all my fault that w have such a dysfunctional relationship and that they have to live with a daughter that is a complete disappointment to them. I hate this, I absolutely hate this mess of emotions, I hate that I’m so weak that I can’t stop crying ad I hate that I don’t have that magical power that apparently some other people have where they can just get over somethings. I hate that I can’t give my mum what she wants, a healthy relationship. I hate that I just feel incapable of that kind of love. I HATE IT. I detest being a horrible daughter to them.
I’m terrified, but I don’t know what to call it.
I’ve always harbored a fear of heights, but now I find myself falling.
I’m exhilarated, but I can’t give it a name;
it’s like making a beautiful mistake, but without all the shame.
It’s striking how it comes in waves-
and yet I beg it to stay.
It is almost funny how I think I have control
It’s hysterical how I just can’t let go
I’m terrified, but it’s a feeling I can’t place;
I couldn’t possibly label it
with a time or date
and so follows a shaky diagnosis
made by a mind whose pretexts are untitled.
made with thoughts that haven’t been thought out
and words that don’t need to be said.
It is love.
so, that was another shaky attempt at a poem, I hope it wasn’t embarrassingly bad xD I jut needed to get some emotions out about how I might be ~in love~ because, I have issues with commitment and I like to write poems that make my emotions seem more dramatic than they really are. JK, I’ve always been a drama queen xD Wanna see my last attempt at a poem? (it’s cringe-worthy) click here! ooh, and here’s my rant on love and falling into it. Actually, I have a lot of rants on romance, all of which are cliche ridden. You can find ’em here. Thanks for reading!
This is going to be a huge, huge, rant on the stigma surrounding mental health and how massively suckish it is. Ugh. Mental Health is that one issue my school never talks about (oh, along with the LGBTQ+ community, but that’s a whole different post, guys, don’t even get me started on that one) It’s just so frustrating that in my school there’s never been any conversations on mental health. I’m not even gonna bother trying to bring it up, either. Because once I tried to start up an assembly on bullying against LGBTQ+ youth and I got shut down faster than you can say “I’m gay as hell and I love it!”. I think it’d be safe to assume that an effort to start a conversation on mental health would be shut down in a similar way. I’ve been a first hand sufferer of depression, and self harm, and I know self harm isn’t a mental illness, but there’s stigma surrounding that too, so yay, added bonus! (-.-) I just wish that there was less of a stigma surrounding mental health in my society, because if I had been able to talk about my depression, things would’ve been completely different for me. Instead, I’m locking myself in the bathroom, breaking down and then pulling myself back together before getting the hell out of there and acting normal.
Depression is enough baggage to carry already. Bisexuality is hard enough to accept on its own. Self Harm is something I’m already beating myself up about. The fact that there’s so much stigma surrounding everything just makes my life harder than it needs to be. I’m not ugly, society is. (I know, its an overused tumblr quote, but it’s actually true) I’ve been told by a friend to “just get over” my Depression, and what makes this burn particularly sting is that she’s actually a genuine friend whom I know only means the best for me- but
she’s got no clue what Depression is, not even in the slightest, and how am I supposed to blame her? she mean well, but we grew up in a society that shunned mental health issues as ‘not real issues’ that weren’t worth validation. I now live in a society where my self harm scars mean I’m crazy suicidal and a freak. I currently have to be so burningly conscious of my scars everywhere I go. I get it, I made mistakes, but the stigma surrounding those mistakes makes them less like a part of my past and more like a cancer foo my present, which is so fucking counter-productive, thanks a lot, stigma. And don’t even get me started on the people who are constantly romanticizing mental illness. You, yeah you, if you’re one of those people, hi, let’s sit down and have a conversation about how cute it is to have anxiety, or how tragically romantic it is to cut yourself, or how bad ass it is to be depressed, how anorexic that girl looks, I bet it must be soooooo thrilling, right? Because they’re not metal disorders anymore if you keep trivializing them and making them less of an issue than they actually are. And that is a huge problem, because when people who are actually suffering gather up the courage to cry for help, all they’ll get in response is “you’ve been looking at too much thinspo, go eat a sandwich” or “hush, it’s just teenager angst”. And jut like that, their experiences will be invalidates. There’s already so much stigma, and now you’re romanticizing something that never got proper widespread recognition in the first place. I cannot just get over my Depression, and recovery from self harm is not as easy as counting to ten.
Some things just need to be said, and some screams for help just need to be heard. Living in a society which constantly invalidates experiences related to mental health goes against this. I remember one particularly terrifying night, I was up until 4 A.M. unable to sleep, ad I was tossing and turning and I felt as though the sky was inexplicably heave, collapsing into me. I felt as though I was breathing in liquid lead, as though my slightest movement was enough to send everything crashing down. I felt so low that I thought I hadn’t just hit rock bottom, I was rock bottom, and while words can’t fully articulate the emotional fatigue I felt that night, one word in particular comes to mind, every single time I think of that night, without fail- heavy. The night was unbearably, excruciatingly heavy, a weight of worlds unknown to me, a weight that greeted me like a malicious stranger, a sadistic opportunist. That was a night where I felt as though I needed to be heard, to be listened to, to be validated, because the inexplicable and unrelenting heaviness of my situation was one that I couldn’t possibly come out of. every single thought that plagues me that night was black, as though even my own mind had succumbed to madness and had devoted itself to my downfall. That is the type of unadulterated horror that I have to watch being romanticized, trivialized, and coldly dismissed. Stigma, don’t fuck with me.
I am unapologetic. Unashamedly unapologetic. Because I used to feel as though an apology was always in order for everything, but that isn’t the case. I’m sorry if y not being sorry offends anyone. I’ve been going back and forth the whole year, I’ve been saying sorry and I’ve been feeling rather trapped in my own mind. That ends here. I’m not sorry for wearing a shirt that shows my scars. I’m not sorry for being bisexual. I’m not sorry for not being normal, and I am not sorry because my happiness takes a little bending of the rules. I’m not sorry. The whole year seems to have played itself out into one big apology, and that eds year. 2016 is not an apology.
For all the times I snuck out of the house and had to lie about who I was with and where I was going, I don’t think I was wrong. I am not sorry. Because I am happy, and will not apologize for lying to maintain sanity, I will not apologize for loving him. I don’t think I ever want to apologize for loving him, because they may find it wrong, but I’ve never felt anything more right before. Yes, I’ve been lying just to be able to see him, but I refuse to feel guilty over that stolen happiness anymore. Maybe I’m too young to know what I want, but right now I want him, and I know he will make me happy. He’s mine, and I’m not sorry about that either. Maybe I should be, that’s a matter of opinion, but I can assure you I choose not to be, because it’s gotten to the point where apologizing for my own happiness has become second nature. I’m not going to settle for that anymore. I’m not sorry, by the way, to the nurse who had to give me a blood test that day in the hospital. I’m not sorry that you had to look at my hideous self harm cars on my wrist. They’re just clumps of scar tissue, and if I’m over it it should be easy enough for you to get over to. I’m not sorry you had to see them, especially after you asked me whether or not I was crazy. I’m not sorry for my sexuality, because that is who I am, and that can’t be changed. I’m absolutely unapologetic about the fact that I can, and have, and will, fall in love with both boys and girls. That’s just twice as many butterflies in my stomach, but I’m not sorry.
Today was one of the weirdest days for me, but in the kind of way that was,oddly enough, enjoyable. Ah, the butterflies in my stomach. Why don’t they ever quit? For those of you who are wondering: this is a post about falling in love. Gah, I know, that last line was cringe-worthy, wasn’t it? I’ll admit that I feel slightly pretentious writing about love, and from an outsiders view it’s easy to see how I’d look like quite the idiot. A fifteen year old, blogging with starry eyes about what she thinks is love? Sigh, I’m such a cliche, and I know it. But I think I’m in love, and since I’m practically a fetus, I’ll admit- it’s a scary thought to consider. Me? In love? gosh. That’s just…. huge. It’s not magic like I thought it would be, but it is scarier than anyone ever bothered to warn me about. Well, to start off with, nobody bothered to issue me a warning about anything at all regarding love and how it tends to be…. addictive, strong, striking, terrifying. I’m just scared, and I don’t know if it’s normal for the mere notion of love to be scary. I hope it’s a normal thing, because I am in love, this would be my first love.
I’ve heard a lot about first loves, and how they tend to burn out very quickly, how they are plaintive and how they are infatuating more than anything else. I’ve been with my S.O for a little over a year now, which I guess is pretty long, maybe not in the scheme of things, but to a clueless fifteen year old, it’s long And a year was a pretty long learning journey for me, my first relationship taught me so much and shattered so many of my expectations. I’ve learnt to find beauty in all the imperfections that come with having a human relationship- the jealousy, tears, fighting. Because all the nasty stuff is what comes with the awesome stuff that makes us human– loyalty, gestures, and love. The year has been amazing, but I think what’s been even more amazing is how throughout it all I was calmer than I expected. I wasn’t in a constant state of daydreamer-esque delirious happiness. The relationship came with tears and fights ad conflicts, yet somehow the fight and conflicts seemed to be totally outweighed by the love and the wonderful emotions. I couldn’t tell him, “I am in love with you” even though I knew, somewhere deep down that I was. But I couldn’t really say “I am in like with you”, ’cause who does that? This feeling I feel, if it is love, is very soothing, re assuring. It doesn’t seem to bear any resemblance to the crazy, starved voice of infatuation that I’ve heard quite a few times before. Love seems to be the voice that whispers in the back of my mind “I am here. I do not complete you or define you, but I definitely accept you completely” This foreign feeling is not one filled with fireworks and wonder- it doesn’t send mental sparks flying every time I think about it. Unlike the flames of infatuation, love seems to peacefully co-exist with me, no questions asked. I’m just so scared. I was scared when I realized I might be in love. I couldn’t possibly pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love, that would be impossible to do. I can tell you that it was somewhere in between the day he kissed my (self harm) scars and the time we had the huge argument and he just wordlessly opened his arms to me. Somewhere in between there, or maybe earlier, like the day I set eyes on him, almost two years ago. I really can’t tell, because there are so many moments that could’ve made me fall in love. It’s just so terrifying to have one person out of seven billion mean so much to you, to have your heart to involuntarily commit you to something so grand, without having any guarantee of getting anything in return. What’s scarier is that my heart doesn’t seem to give a fuck whether or not it gets anything back in return, it seems content with just loving. It’s exhilarating to know he’s in love with me too, gosh. It makes me wonder what I was missing all this while.
It makes me wonder whether or not he’s scared, too- every time his fingers are laced with mine, every time he plants a kiss on my forehead, very time he just hugs me, every time he’s cried in front of me? Is love what he feels? During the kisses, yelling, crying, creaming, and silence? Is this love? Damn, I wish I had an answer. They always say you will know when it’s love, and somewhere deep inside of me I know that it is love. That’s what I think it is, but I’m a first timer in the business of loving and being loved. Maybe I’m trying to convince myself out of the idea that this is love. This is terrifying, but it’s an enjoyable ride.
I just need to vent right now after having a huge fight. With my boyfriend. And I’m wondering at the back of my mind if the scenario would’ve been any different if I wasn’t Bi. I’m in for a good session of doubting myself, get ready, WordPress! This is the same boyfriend that I absolutely love and adore, the one that means the world to me. We’re over it now, the both of us were able to move on pretty quickly. But unlike him, I just need some time to recuperate. I don’t want it to seem like I’m dragging the fight on, though, so I’m just going to have to manage with a few private moments of recovery from something that’s already been resolved, just to let all the feelings die down a little. I don’t have any reason to be hurt, that’s just the way I am, feelings take a little longer to escape my system. I was debating over what to title this post. “Vent”? Or “Does Being Bisexual Affect My Relationship”? Or even just “I’m So Done Right Now”. That was an unnecessary bit of information that I might edit out later, or I’ll keep it in just for the reader to laugh at xD basically, word got out from his friends that I was sitting on one of my (female) friend’s lap.
This probably sounds really weird already. Let me explain. I’m not publicly out as Bisexual yet (the reason why? That’s a whole other post, but let’s just leave it at the fact that I’m terrified) and when I sat on my friends lap (she doesn’t know I’m Bi) it was literally just a joke, and I didn’t even give it second thought. Well, he was talking to his friend and it was all fun and games ‘till they told him I was sitting on a girls lap the other day. His friends didn’t know I was Bi, but he sure as hell did. Apparently he got up and stormed out of the room. I wasn’t in the room at that time, I was outside just chilling with my friends and he looked at me and he was like “I need to talk to you, I just really need to talk to you” and gave me this dead serious look before storming away, throwing his bag down to the floor in the process. Gosh, he was pissed. Unrealistically pissed. So pissed, in fact, that I thought he was playing a prank on me, because we’re the type of couple that plays these weird pranks on each other a lot. I was shocked when I realised he wasn’t playing a prank. For a few minutes, we talked and we were dead serious. Not just dead serious, he was like I’d never seen him before. Jealous. Angry. Disappointed, at something I didn’t even give a second thought to. If I wasn’t Bisexual, he wouldn’t be angry. This was his natural response to me sitting on another girl’s lap, but I was so weirded out by the fact that I couldn’t see what was actually a very clear boundary for him. I had no way of knowing, he didn’t have any intention of telling me, and today it all got let out. We both got angry, and I asked him “do you really think I’d be that type of person to hurt you, to want to see you like this?” And he said “well, I thought you weren’t”. From then, all hell broke loose from my side. Surprisingly though we ended it by concluding that we still loved each other enough to admit that we both made mistakes and both deserved apologies. I’m still trying to get past the fight, because despite the fact that we differ so much, I really do love him. There was a moment, where I’d just finished the end of a long speech about how I never wanted to hurt him ever and how he was totally undermining the fact that he meant the world to me, where he was just really silent for a while, and the he opened his arms out and I just flew into them. We hadn’t officially made up yet, but in that moment I knew that like a strong couple we were going to get over it, I think venting just helped a lot. I already feel better 🙂 It’s only now that I realise that when you’re in a relationship with someone who is your complete opposite, things get really tricky and you’ve got to learn to deal with that together ❤ I’ve had my fair share of drama for today (seriously, the whole grade was gossiping, I hate public fighting) and now I’m just gonna sign out and maybe hit the gym, get some coffee, read a book, and get over the fight so we can have a kickass date tomorrow. Yup. Thanks for listening, Internet.
Gosh, here I go with the weird, slightly cryptic titles again xD I’ve got my huge finals around the corner, piano exams coming up, and a relationship turning long distance anytime soon. Oh, I’ve also got recovery from self harm. So as you guys can imagine, it’s a a little rare for me to have a good day, y’know? Yesterday, I decided to cut off half of my long lazy curls and get a “lob” cut, and on a whim I decided “oh what the heck, throw in some blunt bangs” and now I’m dealing with the aftermath of this weird hair transformation. It makes me feel completely different, in a good way, and I feel like the impulse was more than just an impulse (am I reading into this?) This whole transformation thing was possibly and external reflection of the transformation I’m trying to make internally, the much tougher and less glamorous one- on the road to recovery from self harm.
When I first got the big cut, I did kind of regret it- I’m not going to lie. But waking up this morning, I felt somehow more confident fun and light. As though I was turning a new leaf. And I like the new me, the girl who wore her sunglasses with pride, walked down the street looking oh-s0-boho-chic, and most importantly, had a smile on her face. YAY! However, I’v yet to get through the weekend, and I’ve yet to show up to school on Monday: Nobody knows I’ve made this huge cut, so I’ll be getting tons of questions and looks, but I feel like I’m ready to do this! I’ll keep you guys updated on how the week with bangs goes, but I’m already loving it 🙂 I think what makes my bangs a particularly huge step towards my recovery is the fact that I loved to blend in so as to not be noticed- this was, for the large part, because of my scars. The logic I followed with this was that if nobody noticed me, nobody would notice my scars either. But now I’m ready to change that, and not be afraid o stand out. Fuck what they think about my scars, I’m healing and I can’t change that part of my past. I’m ready to stand out and j be noticed. I’m ready to get over my fear of judgement and the fear I have about my scars, I’m just ready to be normal again, and I’ve got to start somewhere, right? I hope that soon enough I’m able to take this change to heart ❤ l’ll keep the updates rolling in whenever I can, lol.
this is the first poem I’ve ever uploaded, and I’m kinda nervous, and I hope it’s not too big of a fail because I’m really not too sure whether or not I posses poetic abilities. I wrote this one around a year ago, originally as a song.
and other things
I’ll try to fly
And try to sing
If I can’t find my voice today
I’ll fix my broken wings and fly away
Trying to fit in
Too many voices
But nobody’s listening
And when the conversation ends
Someone opens it up again
Same old empty arguments.
& other things
Just pour me another drink
This Saturday has been a tough one for me, and today seemed kind of overwhelming, so I thought “hey, why not blog about it?” and well, here I am. Hey there blogosphere, nice to see you again. I’m feeling upset, and kind of just emotionally fatigued, so I shall now vent into the vast wide internet and remind myself (and whoever is reading this) that people get lonely a lot but just because we feel lonely doesn’t mean we’re alone. You, Me, Us? We’re never alone. Never. Just a heads up, this blog post is going to be me trying to be stronger than I actually am, and this blog post is me trying to be more positive than I could ever actually be as of now.
I woke up this morning with that damn-I-don’t-wanna-get-outta-bed feeling that is all too familiar to those who are struggling with depression. You guys know what I’m talking about. Then I did something I’m ashamed of, I looked at thinspo, and I know I shouldn’t have and it made my day a lot worse. I feel almost ashamed to look at those thigh gaps and wish that I had them. I know, they’re not healthy nor are they a measure of beauty. All bodies are beautiful, and I feel like crap for even looking at thinspo and wanting to be thin. I remember looking desperately for my blade, only to remember that I lost it. I remember fumbling around for a kitchen knife, only to stop myself at the last minute. Gosh,today was messed up. I remember wishing I was straight, and as you can probably tell, today was one of those days where literally every little burning insecurity came back to haunt me. I regret looking for that knife, and I regret that if I had my blade I’d still be bleeding out instead of writing this post. I regret looking at that god awful thinspo, and gosh, do I regret wishing I was straight. What was I thinking? Seriously, what the actual eff was I even doing with my Saturday?!?! I won’t deny that being Bisexual has it’s own cons and that sometimes it’d be easier to just be straight, but I didn’t fight the uphill battle of accepting myself just to regret my own identity. I don’t ever want to regret my own identity. I don’t ever want to be ashamed of who I am. That being said, my scars are a part of who I am, right? And I’m ashamed of them. But I’m more ashamed of how weak I was today, it’s left me feeling exhausted and disappointed in myself. But I’m only human, and humans are supposed to have bad days. Days where everything shoves itself up your ass. Days where everything seems to drown you. The day has turned into a night of drinking chamomile tea and being so endlessly tired but unable to sleep. Gah. I hear you thinking- is this whole post just going to be a whiny teenager ranting? Nope. That would be unproductive, and I’ve had enough unproductivity (is that a word?) for one day.
So, to whoever you are reading this, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I’m mainly writing this to feel less alone, yes, but I might as well feel less alone by talking to the internet and telling whoever is on the other surface of the screen that they’re not alone. Feeling alone sucks, feeling empty sucks, sometimes just existing sucks and you feel insignificant and like nobody actually gives a flying fuck about you. Yeah, I’ve been there. And I’m not alone in being there, thousands of others have hit rock bottom only to come out stronger than ever. You may be overwhelmed right now, but life is only throwing things at you because it has nobody else to pick on. You don’t get a say in what happens to you. You don’t get to choose whether or not you feel pain. So many of us feel alone in whatever battles we’re facing but we’re not. We’re not alone, we’re just lonely, all of us. I the suicide attempts, in the self harm, in the wishing I was straight, in the crying at 3 am, I’ve felt endlessly alone, isolated, a freak, but I’m not alone. To whoever is reading this, regardless of what battle you;’re facing, I can promise you that you are not alone at all, you just feel lonely, the way i do right now. And that’s okay, that’s part of going through the motions and you’ll live with it, survive with it, conquer it. Because we all have days where we fumble for our blades and feed our addictions. We all have bad days where we let our demons take over now and then. The bad days don’t define us. They won’t define us, because we all have them and we’re all human. The bad days, the tears, they make us human. They are part of recovery, and recovery is an uphill battle. I’m not happy with today, but today is one day out of the rest of my life and I can’t dwell on it at all. You may not have been happy with your day either, stranger, but you’re not alone and you won’t be alone ever. Trust me, somebody out there can relate to feeling like you’re drowning and nobody can save you (I know I can). I’m tired, this rant was borne out of frustration, but i feel like I had to put this out there.
To whoever is reading this: you are not alone.
The following is something I wrote a year ago about what it felt like to be depressed and completely lost. Currently, I’m working on recovery, and I thought I’d post this as a reminder to myself what it was like in my darker times. This might be triggering to a few, so if you’re easily triggered please exercise discretion while reading this 🙂
Right now, I’m so done. I just feel pathetic, and lazy, and ready to give up. I want to cry, but I can’t, and this horrible and inexplicable misery seems to be attacking me in waves. Nobody has ever understood it at all. Right now, my poker face doesn’t seem to reveal the chaos going on inside my brain. I’m weak, I’m wounded, I’m desperately lost. Today I’ve only been able to have about 30 minutes of stolen, forbidden happiness, which didn’t even last a few seconds more. Just half an hour talking to him for a while, where the Depression seemed to recede in its attacks. But these days, any smile that isn’t fake seems like a sin, as though the whole world is working against my happiness. I’m not even allowed to be meeting up with him, but we love each other and he makes me briefly happy. I’m not allowed happiness anymore, anyway. The depression just seems to have eaten me whole. Now I’m here, almost in tears, drowning and ready to lose the fight. Exams coming soon, everyone hates me, my work is overdue, and I already know I will disappoint everyone.
Oh, how I try to be as ridiculously positive as I can, with my fake smiles and my forced laughs and my terrible jokes. Who am I kidding? Seriously, who? I’m just pathetic these days, I can’t even take the slightest critique. Everything I say seems to come out wrong, I might as well just not talk at all. I might as well just not wake up at all, what even is the point if everyone hates me? Not that I blame them, because I hate me too. I always feel stupid, unwanted, and alone. Oh, so miserably alone. It’s awful. It takes the air out of my lungs, choking me. It’s a slow painful death that is numb but scalding all at once. I’m raw and exposed and I’m too wounded to cry, scream for help. I can’t talk, I don’t feel like telling anyone I feel like I’m walking on a broken tightrope. I don’t want to talk to any friends, or that laughing boy who claims he loves me, or my parents or anyone. Nobody gets it, at all. I’m not worth their time, I’ve never felt like I was. I bet they all hate me behind my back. I’m just a fool, running around in circles and tripping over herself. Worthless, numb, alone. I’ve already committed emotional suicide. I’m just so tired of having to wake up every single day and exist, wake up everyday and be myself. Actually, scratch that, because I can’t even be myself, not without fucking something up big time. I’m tired of having to endure every single day with a nonchalant mask on my face when all I want to do is curl up and cry, when all I want to do is explode into the emptiness. I keep quiet a lot more, each day now is just a silent blur for me. I sit back and don’t say anything, because everything I say comes out wrong, everything I say will make people hate me. In fact, I haven’t been speaking much these days at all, because I’ve got nothing useful to say, my voice wouldn’t be heard anyway. What have I turned into? am I a monster? Is that why I feel like everyone hates me? Whatever I am, I know I’ve changed. Something’s changed, for the worst. I’m tired, I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. Every week is pure hell, every day is torture. Nobody would ever validate me over my depression. Nobody would ever acknowledge it, I bet they’d think I’m faking it, do they really perceive me as weak enough to fake this horrible illness?
Heck, throughout my whole existence I’ve gotten used to feeling like lesser than. Bisexual in a heteronormative society, I’m placing a target on my head. The constant and casual homophobia I receive everyday makes me wonder what I did to deserve this. Why do I need to be this way, where nobody believes in my identity? where I’m crazy? I still remember the acute, burning shame I felt in class when they were making self harm jokes. I remember the tears threatening to spill out as I anxiously tugged down my sleeves and stood silent in a corner. I remember when someone spotted my scars and grabbed my wrist and made a spectacle out of them. I don’t forget, and it’s in these moments that all the memories come flooding back and leave my feeling more and more like a directionless, pointless wanderer who is hopelessly lost. It’s not worth trying to be happy anymore. Everybody hates me, at least that’s how I feel. And honestly, I hate me. I keep trying to stay positive. Keep my chin up and work for myself. think for myself. Smile for myself. Lately though, everything has been wrong, wrong, wrong. I feel like such a disappointment, I’m supposed to be working but I can’t, I’ve just been trying to be strong but I’m not, I’m really not strong at all, not strong the way I wish I could be, and I’m ashamed of that. Maybe if I wasn’t such a disappointment, maybe if I was more perfect, this wouldn’t be happening. This is a Student, Depressed. And she’s trying not to let her own mind strangle her.
Sidenote- Things have gotten a lot better since the last time I wrote this, thankfully 🙂 I’m still working on recovery, but now I can see things a lot more clearly. Surprisingly a lot has changed in one year, and hopefully more will keep changing for the better. Till next time, thank you for reading 🙂