do you have a secret?

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Ten Thoughts On Pain.

images (3)Lately, my posts have been really pointless apart from like this one poem that I actually put a lot of thought into. The thing about writing is that ranging from a dime a dozen rant on romance to a deep and unique elegant piece, the relief of airing your feelings is a constant. Oh gosh, now I’m thinking about Chemistry and Math and literally any other subject where you need to learn about constants (Y’know, pi, Planck’s constant, the works) Anyways, ON TO THE POST.

So, I’ve always had a rather multi faceted relationship with pain. I mean, don’t we all? It’s just part of being human, or at least it is in my books. Be it physical pain, emotional pain, the kind of numb pain, the emotional pain that hurts you physically, the pain that seems determined to make you an insomniac… I’ve intentionally caused myself pain, (there’s like, a whole category of my blog dedicated to self harm and for the most part self harm recovery that you can check out here ❤ TRIGGER WARNING THO. Take care of yourself :)) I’ve been rushed into a hospital at 2 AM with cramps equivalent to labor pain (no, I’ve never been knocked up xD) and I’ve felt the pain of being unable to accept myself (again, there’s a whole blog section on me whining about and at the same time celebrating my sexuality which you can find here) and the pain of being kept awake with heartbreak and feelings of worthlessness. And yet, I’d feel like a snob if I called myself an expert on pain because I could’ve had all these things be ten times worse. Here are some thoughts I’ve cultured in my mind when it comes to pain, and though these are based on my experiences I sure do hope they make sense to anyone else reading this.

1- Wanting to cause yourself pain doesn’t make it hurt any less. Let’s be honest with ourselves in saying that wanting pain doesn’t make the pain you put yourself through any less painful. (hey, fun drinking game- take a shot every time I use the word pain). You can want nothing more to than to slide razors across your skin, again and again, day in and day out. It could be the core of your wants, but at the end of the day, the only thing wanting pain can create in the long term is, you guessed it, more pain. And that short burst of relief you feel from the pain you just created for yourself? Yeah, that’s not going to take you to the finish line. Wanting to put yourself through pain and following through with self destruction is the emotional (and sometimes physical) equivalent of taking one step forward and immediately taking two steps back. Y’know what, scratch that, because it’s more like taking two hundred steps back. While I’m mostly citing self arm, this could literally go for any emotional problem. I’ve been both physically and emotionally self destructive and the two can and do go hand in hand.

2- If you need pain, there’s a problem, and it’s a HUGE one. I know this should go without saying, but you’d be surprised at how many people I’ve had to convince. I’ve been a volunteer Listener at 7 Cups of Tea and more often than not I’ve had to convince self destructive and suicidal people that their need for pain is a huge problem with massive and catastrophic cause-effect relationships. images (2)

3- Physical pain and emotional pain are both completely unlike each other and yet extraordinarily comparable. While I think this one is fairly self explanatory, I’ll leave y’all with this thought- both physical and emotional pain have caused me endless nights with little to no relief. With the physical pain, I got to a hospital and got fixed. With the emotional pain I needed to  have midnight talks till I convinced myself that I was fixed enough to go to sleep. Both the pains were fixable and unfixable at the same time. The physical pain left me being afraid to go to sleep every night, afraid of waking up to that same horrible unforgettable pain. The same goes for the emotional pain- I’m always running away from it.

4- All pain will warp your concept of “forever”. This point is probably one point that I find really important from all the others on this list. Pain makes you forget all past and future and leaves you with only the horrible present to focus on. The wrenching in your gut and the hot tears down your throat will make you forget that all emotions are temporary. I remember being convinced that my pain would never end, and once I was convinced that there was no escape, I’d make myself feel helpless and powerless. I would create my own despair because pain put me in a time warp.

5- Only you hold the key to destroying the pain that you create for yourself ❤ This point is,Image result for pain motivation tumblr again, self explanatory. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. I’m not comparing all my lovely readers (do I even have readers) to horses, you’re all lovely unicorns, but you guys get it don’t you? They say you can’t keep a person alive once they’ve lost the will to live, and I completely agree with that. I think this goes mostly for emotional pain, and I know that whoever you are, you can totally get through whatever pain you’re facing 🙂

6- Pain is relative. This picture is basically all the 1000 words I wanted to say. What’s poison to you is Starbucks to a white girl (haha, aren’t stereotypes funny?)


7- Pain may/may not consist of a series of choices. This one’s kinda difficult to put into words, but I’m Queertastic. These are the feelings I will spend my entire life trying to capture. The thing about pain is that it consists of limits. We may/may not create this limits. When we push limits, they push back, and sometimes we’re left on the floor, breathless, and pretty goddamn screwed over. It’s just the way life works. You made a Image result for pain motivation tumblrchoice to push your limits, and now you’re in pain. Does that make pushing your limits a mistake? Not necessarily. That’s just something to think about. Conversely, as said by John Green, “You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world…but you do have some say in who hurts you”, and I think he’s right. We’re all going to feel pain at some point, so looking at it that way feeling pain is not a choice, it’s uncontrollable. It’s an unfortunate (or fortunate) side effect of being human. Whether or not you control your pain or just let it crumble through your fingers is something you have at least the tiniest bit of control over.

8- One person’s pleasure is another person’s pain. I think for this one I can point you back to my Starbucks analogy. People thought I was crazy about self harming, and looking back it does seem crazy. It seems psycho that I felt so good about injuring myself, but I can still remember the relief it gave me. Is it scary to think of the way I got pleasure fromimages (5)  pain,that my pleasure was pain? Briefly, yes. Elaborately, yeeeeeeeeesssssss. (where is my prize for lamest joke ever? I WANT IT NOW) But what I’ve learnt is that it’s okay to evolve from pleasure to pain to plain old numb, because pain is like that, it grows and changes, and soon your experiences with it will change for the better.

9- Feeling pain doesn’t make you weak, it just makes you human. You aren’t weak for wanting relief. You aren’t weak because you feel pain that literally every other human being on the planet is feeling.

There is no point ten. Point ten is a flimsy excuse for me to give you an internet hug for reading this far. xD Image result for internet hug gif

Queertastic Is Out! (thank you for reading, if you did xD)

Thank you for reading! wanna check out more rants and weird attempts at poems and musings? My blog is open, and if you’re nice I’ll hand out cookies xD Anyways, if you’re currently struggling with depression and are feeling alone, take this free hug(click here and here and here for cute GIF s that send hugs from me to you ^^)and also a few hotlines, just in case.

Vent to an anonymous stranger-

In case you’re feeling suicidal-

Hotlines for Depression specifically-





Romanticizing Self Harm.


There’s a rant coming up, guys. A huge one. Be warned, though, because there will be triggering content in this post and I don’t want to trigger anyone 🙂 There are hotlines and cookies at the end of this post, take care!  ~Trigger Warning~

There’s been  lot of buzz around the self harm “trend” with teenagers these days, and I would just like to express my opinion on that, which is that it’s complete and utter bullshit. I mean, are you kidding me? Making a trend of self harm while there are people suffering in silence? I mean, come on, just look a9191c622808d7cf5e288dc0e3c244eaet the picture I’ve shown here (there are ones that are horribly graphic, they just make me so sad to see) Now, I’ve seen this happen first hand and the memories of it are saddening and almost disturbing. Let’s call this friend X, shall we? Okay, yeah, we’re calling her X. So I had slipped into a very horrid time where I was questioning my sexuality and I got into cutting and self-depreciation and all that shitty shit (whoa, impeccable use of adjectives there, don’t you think?). Now, me being me, I just decided to grit my teeth, slap on a few bracelets, get my trusty hoodie on, and call it a day. Well, call it a year. Because I was a cutter for one repulsive year, ugh. So anyway my whole ‘suffer in silence routine’ was interrupted one fine day when friend X comes up to me on Messenger and she tells me she cut that day. Obviously my first instinct was to give both support and advice, and to tell her I’d be there for her. Up till this point, she had no clue I cut and I never wanted to tell her. Anyway, we get to school and I  go to her in a hurry because duh, I want to fix her while it’s still early. For some reason she seemed intent on showing me her scars, and this was when I noticed it- an almost bizarre pride that she seemed to get from showing them to me. That’s when the shit show began. Slowly she started diagnosing herself- anxiety, depression, even stretching out to suggest she had bulimia. Guys, don’t get the wrong idea, I would never say she was faking it if I wasn’t sure, and that fucked up smile on her face she had when displaying her scars were more than enough for me. As somebody who used to cut, I knew right then it was the cry for a wrong type of attention.

That’s the first time I’ve seen self harm romanticized on a level that was very up close and personal. I won’t say I’m not guilty of scrolling through the tumblr quotes with pictures of sad girls and black and white blades. I have looked at them before, trying desperately to wrestle some beauty out of my misguided coping mechanisms. Here’s the catch- in no way did these sites ever influence me to start self harming, I can’t blame them for that mistake that I made. I started cutting all on my own, and that’s not the most pleasant thing to take credit for. However the romanticizing on these sites was from a community of misguided people just like me. A bunch of self harmers trying to justify their mistakes, their addiction? Yeah, there’s no way for that to end well. They gave me something to relate to in the most negative way possible, telling me it was okay and even beautiful to cut. It is not. What’s really beautiful is recovery, nothing can be more beautiful than that. Sure, call faded scars beautiful- they are a sign (mostly) of an attempt at recovery. but to tell the 15 year old girl who posts pictures of her open, bleeding self inflicted cuts on Instagram that her injury is beautiful is just going against her recovery. While I can’t emphasize enough that I am all for people accepting and loving their self harm scars, I cannot stand when people don’t accept that it was wrong of them to make those scars in the first place. Was my self harm something I regret? yes. Will I let that eat at my self esteem? no. But that philosophy is nowhere to be found on the sites of teenagers who want to romaticize something that is undoubtedly a problem.

tl;dr- Self harm is not cool, not a trend, and more importantly, never something to be proud of. Self harm is an unfortunate coping mechanism. To any self harmer who may be reading this, I love you and I can tell you you are worth recovery ❤

Thank you for reading! wanna check out more rants and weird attempts at poems and musings? My blog is open, and if you’re nice I’ll hand out cookies xD Anyways, if you’re currently struggling with depression and are feeling alone, take this free hug (click here and here and here for cute GIF s that send hugs from me to you ^^)and also a few hotlines, just in case.

Vent to an anonymous stranger-

In case you’re feeling suicidal-

Hotlines for Depression specifically-


Things I Wish They Told Me About Recovery



Trigger Warning- I’ll be discussing self harm and depression recovery in this post. If you’re easily triggered, you might want to skip to the last paragraph of this post, where I’ve got cookies, hug GIFs, and hotlines, take care! ❤ 

Well, I’ve had myself caught up in the whirlpool called recovery for quite a few months now. I’m almost six months clean now, and it feels like a bittersweet trophy to house in my head. I’ve learnt a lot, lost a lot, and overall I’m still trying to convince myself that choosing recovery was a choice that would put me on the right track. Entering the experience, though, there were so many things I was unaware of. Looking back at the person I was before recovery , (y’know, broken and sad and constantly crying and collapsing in on herself? yeah,  her. I don’t identity as much  with her anymore.)  I realize that there were so many things I had no idea about when getting into recovering. I realize how sadly misinformed I was before strapping myself in for the roller coaster that was recovery. I can’t say I look back at making the commitment to recovery with no regrets, but I will say that over time my sounds have started to slowly heal, and for that I am grateful. So, without further yippity yap (yes I just made up a word) here’s a few things I wish I knew before I started the journey to recovery.

  1. The road seems endless, and it’s so much longer than you thought. If you thought recovery road looked  impossibly long before you started the marathon, you’re in for an even nastier surprise- it’s so much longer. I thought the road to recovery was impossibly long even before I started to recover. I realized, around 5000 obstacles, trips, and turns too late, that the road is much longer than it looks. It will test you and trip you up, and you will push your limits to find that you limits push back. Does it sound scary? Well, there never was anything easy about recovery. Even the decision to recover is one that is hard to make. Recovery, especially from self harm, means that you are battling your demons head on, which is often the very thing you were running away from. It means facing up to your addiction and fighting countless battles in an attempt to win a war, all while you go on with your daily life.  The already long road is made longer by your attitude to taking on the marathon, and eventually there will come a point where even those of the strongest emotional willpower will find themselves having a shitty attitude towards recovery. I will admit, I was skeptical about my recovery as well, and my attitude towards recover made the whole thing so much more goddamn difficult. Now, I’m trying to change the way I look at recovery, and that starts with my conscious mind. While I can’t help that sometimes I dream that I didn’t throw my blades down the sink,  can control the way I consciously think about relapse and self harm. I’m really trying to be as strong as I can be, and I think I can slowly see the climb to recovery as one that’s become less torturous and more rewarding. It takes time to heal this, but now the way I’m approaching my battle is so much more helpful. If me from a year ago read this, I’d roll my eyes at myself. It took me time to realize that everyone who gave me cliched advice about recovery had a point.
  2. It’s a 24/7 commitment. I know, this is one that seems obvious, but I overlooked how much of a commitment recovery really is. (hint: it’s a huge one) To be honest, it struck me so hard that I can’t just ‘take a break’ from recovering. Whether I’m asleep, awake, crying, laughing, angry, doing nothing or being incredibly busy, I would not stop being in a state of recovery. In a way, it was like a persistent empty check box on my mental to-do list of all the shit I’ve gotta do to pull myself back together. It’s not really a check box that will just leave, either. It will always be around, and one you’ve committed to recovery you will always be recovering.  I can only imagine how obvious all of this may seem to anyone who has never had the experience, but I guess if you know what this is like you’ll understand what I’m trying to say over here. I wish somebody told me that recovery is more of a commitment than I ever thought it would be.
  3. It involves guilt, lots of it. Yep, I said it. You shouldn’t ever feel guilty for putting yourself first (self care for the win!) but that’s not the kind of guilt I’m referring to. I’m talking about the burning guilt I feel, even now, when I look back to a week ago where I had a breakdown and tried to smash the blade out of my sharpener just because I needed something to harm myself with. I also feel guilty because a week ago, I discovered that kitchen knives are much more blunt than they look. Oops. That’s right, Internet, I almost relapsed and I’m a crazy fucking psycho because I decided those sharp, big-ass kitchen knives were not as vicious as they look. I stuck around to discover how sharp they were, because I get crazy, (I am crazy sometimes) not to mention crazy guilty later. I feel so guilty typing that and admitting that I have my moments of weakness where I feel like I needed a blade to get through. I’ll always be guilty about relapse and about how somewhere deep inside my twisted brain, I wish I could still run to the safety of the blade. About how much I still think about going down the dark route. Even thinking about relapse makes me guilty, and all of a sudden things started to take a turn for the worst in ways I didn’t see coming. My boyfriend could literally kiss my scars (read a post about that here if you want a clearer picture on the relationship between kisses ad self harm scars) and I’d feel guilty. I always feel like by being weak and having my weak spots I’m doing a dis-service to the people who love me. My self harm took an emotional toll on the people that are close to me. I remember my friend telling me I was underestimating how much my relapse had impacted everyone close to me, and how my boyfriend had tears in his eyes when he realized I relapsed. All I feel looking back is burning guilt that scorches down to my soul and rubs it raw. Even now, it makes me feel selfish. I couldn’t even be strong enough to resist relapse. I was selfish enough to disregard the emotional cost my relapse would entail, one that would have to be payed by people who loved me and cared about me. People were getting hurt by being close to me, all because I couldn’t control myself. That’s the kind of guilt that came with recovery, and it felt and still feels pretty bad. Nobody warned me about the guilt that came with having a support system. I’m so incredibly lucky to have a amazing support system with amazing people, and honestly I couldn’t have imagined that they’d be a source of guilt. That being said, if you learn to handle that guilt properly it can actually be quit useful– some people would possibly let the guilt break them down, and it’s easy to see how that could happen, or at the very least let the guilt bruise them, or cause their beings to collapse. When the guilt came flooding in, it wrecked my walls. It’s easy when you’re in the vulnerable state of recovery, to just let the guilt drown you. With me however (while I won’t pretend that I didn’t have weak moments) I somehow learnt to use the guilt to motivate me, because I knew the guilt came from a good place. I wanted to get better, and I was guilty because I couldn’t. I slowly learned to be patient with myself ad to not feel guilty for making such slow progress. Rememberforward is forward. We all have our own pace, you should never feel guilty for not being able to scale a mountain in one day, sometimes molehills are huge enough to climb as it is. Believe me, I know. ❤
  4. You will have emotional ‘explosions’. More than you thought you would. Seriously, the amount of emotional explosions I’ve had were shocking to me. I’d find myself crying for very small things, like an argument with my mom which I would’ve otherwise been indifferent to. My explanation for this was that the bigger things had been building up so much, and I had to vent out my anger and frustration through the smaller things. The smaller things began knocking me down because I was privately fighting a much bigger battle, silently trying to fight a raging fire inside of me. As a result, there were a few weeks where I’d just get super emotional over everything simply because I was mentally begging for release, the kind of release I used to get from self harm. The midnight crying sessions were exhausting and lonely. I felt like a freak for constantly exploding, as though I  couldn’t keep anything in if I tired. While I’ve been recovering, I’ve been predictably vulnerable. Like a feather, I felt as though the slightest emotional wind was enough to knock me down. I’m slowly trying to get over this. To stop over analyzing, start getting stronger and coping with things healthily. It will be tough (Rome wasn’t built in a day!) but  guess what? I’ve learnt that recovery is about gradually regaining that emotional strength so that you’ll stop needing to turn to  the blade every time you want some validation. You’ve got to learn to be patient with yourself. Let yourself cry over stupid things, let yourself get emotional.. Give yourself time to feel things and go through the emotions, because this is recovery and you will make it eventually, just be patient and know that these times won’t last. So, to anyone who’s new to the whole recovery thing- expect some outbursts. They don’t make you weak, I promise. They just make you human.

For me, the hardest part of recovery is needing to find a different coping mechanism apart from self harm whenever I’m emotionally overwhelmed and feeling low. Y’know, for those nights you have where you just can’t take it anymore? Yeah, those. I found it so tough to cope with those in a more.. well, healthy manner. (anyone who’s experienced depression will know what I’m talking about, it’s pretty brutal and emotionally intense). When I’m overcome by these emotions in this manner (click here to check out a post I wrote on how it’s like at night for a person with depression if you want a clearer picture) it’s hard not to turn to my blades as a solution. It is hard to slap myself in the face with cold, hard, reality, and tell myself to stop thinking those thoughts.

While recovery is undeniably scary, here’s the last thing I wish somebody told me about recovery…

6. It’s 100% worth it. YOU ARE WORTH IT.

That’s right, you’re 100% worth the ride to recovery, and it may seem scary (I apologize if I’m making it sound super scary) but it is a step towards a better life for you. Recovery’s  a challenge that I know you can face and you will kick ass at it eventually. Will you slip up a few times? Yes. Take a few wrong turns? Yes. You’ll make mistakes and learn while you recover, and sometimes it’ll feel more like a punishment than like healing, but it’s something that will make you a much better person in the end. You will be stronger, happier, healthier, and you’re going to look in the mirror and finally like what’s looking back at you. You’ve got to hurt in order to heal, and recovery is allowing yourself to acknowledge the negativity and deal with it in a way that leaves you stronger. You’re amazing, and you can recover. We can images (2)recover.

Thank you for reading! wanna check out more rants and weird attempts at poems and musings? My blog is open, and if you’re nice I’ll hand out cookies xD Anyways, if you’re currently struggling with depression and are feeling alone, take this free hug (click here and here and here for cute GIF s that send hugs from me to you ^^) and also a few hotlines, just in case.

Vent to an anonymous stranger-

In case you’re feeling suicidal-

Hotlines for Depression specifically-

Depression Is Not A One Night Stand. warning- this is a descriptive about nights with depression. If you are easily triggered, you may want to not read this, and if you are currently feeling extra low, maybe skip to the last paragraph where I’ve inserted cookies, hugs, and hotlines. Take care.<3

I remember the initial butterfly kisses that the shadows left, almost daintily, on my fragile shoulders the first few nights. The coaxing voice of my Depression, lurking somewhere in the big, vast  howling tavern of nothing. I can vaguely remember my attempts to run away from the twistedly alluring call of Depression. I remember the night it let itself into my mind, where I began what I thought was a one night stand- only to realize my Depression would follow me around like an uncontrollable plague.

Since then, I’ve had countless different types of nights. Some nights, I get the grace of sleep. Where my emotions of sadness are so overwhelming that my mind gets tired. These are the nights where I don’t sleep feeling safe or happy, but I sleep with the want to escape, shut myself down. These are the nights where I feel like my body is trying to hibernate, only to realize in the morning that it has not stopped resisting, it has not stopped its foolish insistence on fiercely continuing to exist. These are the nights that I recall like static, grey and insignificant as they orchestrate my painfully indifferent attitude to my own life. Then, there are the nights where the burdens on my shoulders weigh down on me like boulders, where my demons emerge out of the shadows, almost flirtatiously torturing my self-image. As though they are teasing me, they languidly float across the shadows, in and out of my mind, leaving a trail of sadness as they go. As the night passes, the demons get more and more excited, until they can’t stop exploring the deepest darkest corners of my mind. Suddenly, their trails of numbing sadness are replaced with something much more horrifying- fear. Coming out from the corners of my mind that I had been running away from. Fear of failing, fear of falling, fear that all good things will end. Every lie I’ve ever told, every lie that’s ever been told about me, every single mistake I’ve ever made, and every word I’ve ever spoken that’s come out wrong and misunderstood. Every single time I failed. The fear only worsens as it becomes pure and unadulterated, and I flood with these thoughts, these mistakes, these unanswered questions. I see Depression’s lips curled up into a smile. I know I should be stronger on these nights, but that simply isn’t something I can do. I know that on these nights I should try and look at all the times I’ve flown instead of fallen, but on these nights it seems as though I can only think the thoughts that Depression wants me to think. I can’t control the negativity, the emotions of hate and anger and unfounded resentment. Looking back on these horrible nights, I hate myself for not being stronger. For not being able to fight against my own thoughts.  The war in my mind is almost pathetic. But I can’t just be positive, and trust me I want to. I, more than anyone else, want to escape this hell I have created for myself, but it does not work that way, and it’s nights like these that remind me of that cruel reality.

There are the nights which I remember as a lucid buzz. They are faded and dusty, of no value or importance. I do not sleep on these nights, but you would hardly call the state I’m in awake. I’m simply there, and here’s one thing they won’t ever tell you about Depression- not only is it not a one night stand, it’s also overwhelmingly boring. Sometimes it is not in the mood for a passionate attack on your soul. Sometimes, it is simply in the mood to lurk around in the corner in a way that establishes its presence in a way that is specifically intrusive in a way that will bring you to your knees- it will not scream, but at the mere whisper of Depression, your mind will bend itself over and twist itself around as commanded. These nights are the ones where you are bored as fuck, but also alone and heavy. And what is your malicious lover, Depression, doing? It’s right there in the corner of your conscience, watching, but not speaking, because it does not want to intrude on the symphony of your misery that it so carefully commanded. The silence buzzes and hums in a monotone, and the numbness will stab in the most painful way possible. Your urge to get up, do something, anything, will be met with resistance from your mind and body. There won’t be any hysterical sobbing, because that’s hardly torture. There will be the choked up feeling of waiting to scream but not being able to. The feeling of watching yourself sink into grey and not being able to swim. You are drowning, and your gasps for air are somehow invisible. Perhaps everyone who is watching sees your desperate gasps for air as an exhale. Depression whispers a slightly different hypothesis- they see you, but they don’t care. These are the nights you have with Depression. A continual, misleading one night stand that has overstayed its welcome. Most nights are a mix of these, or just one exaggerated version of these. Depression isn’t a one night stand.

Thank you for reading! wanna check out more rants and weird attempts at poems and musings? My blog is open, and if you’re nice I’ll hand out cookies xD Anyways, if you’re currently struggling with depression and are feeling alone, take this free hug (click here and here and here for cute GIF s that send hugs from me to you ^^) and also a few hotlines, just in case.

Vent to an anonymous stranger-

In case you’re feeling suicidal-

Hotlines for Depression specifically-

A Rant On Stigma.

tumblr_n3od02otx31tsrp81o1_500This 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 9840569_orignot 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.


Dear Whoever You Are, You’re Not Alone.


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.

Yours Truly, “That Freak Who Self Harms”.


~ Trigger Warning, Please Don’t Read If You’re Easily Triggered ~

At first glance, I get how I wouldn’t seem like the type of girl who sits down and thinks ‘damn, time to self mutilate’– after all, I’m decent with my studies and have a boyfriend and friends and a reasonably wide social circle, so why cut?
Gosh, if only it were that easy. I mean, I’ll be honest, I’d love to stop cutting and just completely recover. I’d love to look back on the day I lost my blade and have no regrets about it, but dang, I still wish I hadn’t lost it. Like, there’s a twisted part of me that kind of wants to own a blade collection and is jealous of the art student in my grade who own a full collection of shiny blades. I know, I’m not supposed to be thinking that way, but let’s just be honest. Read More

“Haven’t You Heard? Kisses Heal Scars“

mantra2If you clicked on this post expecting romantic drivel, well, you wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but you wouldn’t be entirely right either. Like so many things in life, your assumptions about this post aren’t wrong, but they aren’t right either. It’s the textbook cliched romance story about self harm that has tumblr drooling (no offence, but you & I both know what I’m talking about xD)

I’ve often been one to roll my eyes at cliches, especially ones about romances. Yes, there is magic enfolded within every kiss on the forehead, within every butterfly in your stomach. Read More