The Toolkit and First Aid Kit – A Poem

It seems that the more I draw, the more I sketch the sensations that arise from riding this emotional rollercoaster, the more I realise that hands and faces, cannot heal me anymore than my attempts to disfigure the same hands and faces. Self-destruction presents itself in these sketches, and also in starvation, compensation, self-deprecation. It… Continue reading The Toolkit and First Aid Kit – A Poem

This Rollercoaster I Ride

There's this thing about being me. It's that I live on an emotional rollercoaster. I don't know if a particular mental illness is at fault (BPD, I'm looking at you) or a combination of the whole fun package. I can feel fine. I can feel more than fine, in fact. I can be smiling, smirking,… Continue reading This Rollercoaster I Ride

Suicide Doesn’t Seem Selfish To Me

People say that suicide is selfish. And sure, they're right - it is selfish to leave behind bereft family and friends who you cannot support, who will never know your last words and last thoughts, and constantly question if they could have helped, if they could have done more. Keeping me alive is also selfish.… Continue reading Suicide Doesn’t Seem Selfish To Me

These Are Not Flotsam and Jetsam Thoughts – A Poem

These are not flotsam and jetsam thoughts, they do not ebb and flow, they are as constant as the stars and the universe, expanding and contracting like the breath. Tides cannot be turned off, and neither can the tsunami of negativity that swamps me surreptitiously. Caress me Death, I welcome thee, with open arms and… Continue reading These Are Not Flotsam and Jetsam Thoughts – A Poem

Bearing My Battle Scars Before I Am Ready

Aside from running an Etsy store, tutoring high school students, and pouring my heart out on this website, I also work in a bakery. Which requires me to wear short sleeves. I have scars. They are battle scars. Some people don't like to call them such, but I'm fighting a hard fucking battle, it's given… Continue reading Bearing My Battle Scars Before I Am Ready

Sketches From a Psychiatric Ward

They're strangely aesthetically pleasing. In 2017, I was admitted to three separate psych wards, for a total of six weeks. It might not seem like a lot, and sure I had 46 weeks of non-psych ward living, but these were my first three trips to the ER, and first three admissions to hospital for any… Continue reading Sketches From a Psychiatric Ward

An Untitled Poem

Why is it that getting dressed Causes me so much distress? And dresses with pockets are rarer Than any form of self-instigated self-care? Dried blood on my wrists and on my thighs Like a burgundy tattoo that gives me a high. Not to look at, but to feel the pain; This refuge from hurt, is… Continue reading An Untitled Poem