I'm a what? Rosie, you are a poet. I'm a what!? A poet, Rosie. I'm a poet! Yes, Rosie, you are a poet. Me, a poet? But I'm just Rosie! Well, "just Rosie", you, are a poet. No, I'm just Rosie! Listen here Rosie, yer gonna get yerself a fountain pen, yer gonna go in… Continue reading Yer a poet, Rosie!
M, yeah, not much I can do with this, sorry. Aren't discriminatory doctors the absolute worst? They see me as three letters, as my abbreviation; they see me as the negative adjectives in my notes, in the words "aggressive" and "sedated" and "self-inflicted". They don't see me for what I am: hurting, and in need… Continue reading Declined
In one of the many stories I have written, I describe how a character stitches her own foot close, and the black thread that wobbles across her heel like a tree branch, because she couldn't stop her hands from shaking as she sewed herself back together again. It's a chilling detail, but recently I imagined… Continue reading She’s a deep one
I was able to go five weeks without self harming. It would have been 35 days tonight. 35 days of urges. 35 days of urge surfing. 35 days of ignoring the buzz of sharps calling me from afar, from the kitchen, from my desk, from the toolbox. It would have been 35 days if it… Continue reading Broken streaks and bloodied sheets
I've just been busily working away at another project, another outlet to channel the relentless onslaught of emotions through. This project is... A book! It's not the first time I've attempted to write something of a decent length with the hope of having it published. Oh no, my hard drive is full of unfinished manuscripts,… Continue reading hi! hello! yes, i’m still here!
The urges rattle my bones as if there were an earthquake beneath my skin. Clenched fists hang at my sides as if the harder I press my fingernails into my palms, the easier it will be to win this fight. The thought consumes me: to cut or not to cut? That is the only question.… Continue reading A Surge of Urges
As most of you may or may not know, I'm currently in my third year of university (or college, if that's your thing). This semester, I decided to give myself a break from science to look after myself and focused instead on the literature part of my degree. One of my courses is about a… Continue reading Learning German: The Bildungsroman
It took a deep breath and sighed, I've been waiting my whole life for this. Slowly, slowly, I begin to reclaim my body. I reveal my scars in short sleeves and shorts, and I hide them beneath floral tattoos and deep quotes. Slowly, slowly, I am learning to define myself beyond my mental illness, beyond… Continue reading Dear body, can we be friends?
I was never supposed to be the girl who gave up. The girl who struggled. The girl who was trapped in cycles of self-destructive behaviours. I wasn't expected to be the one to end up in hospital, to end up with scars, to go from underweight to overweight and back again. I was expected, for… Continue reading i’m not who you think i am
I wrote a thing; a Virginia Woolf inspired thing. It's for uni, but I'm super happy with how it's turned out and wanted to share it with some other lovely people. If it's italicised, then it's quoted from VW. And it's semi-autobiographical, but not entirely. Here's my attempt at scribing life: Several violent moments of… Continue reading Scribing Life