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
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
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 slipped. I broke down. I went to emergency, where, just like humpty dumpty, they glued me back together again. (FYI the glue didn't hold a day. I was insisting on stitches, but the doctor wouldn't listen) I don't have any words. I don't know what I'm supposed to write here anymore. It's not that… Continue reading Humpty Dumpty
Not sleeping. Not eating properly. Discovering alcohol. Which, as it turns out, makes me 1) not sleep, and 2) suppresses my appetite. So it's both a problem (because I'm more exhausted than ever) and a solution (because I don't want to eat anyway). Self-harming to punish myself for not eating properly and discovering alcohol. My… Continue reading Some Struggles of Late
Alcohol. In that single word I can see all of the mistakes I've made in under a month. I have been sober my entire life, despite growing up in a town with a heavy drinking culture, despite desperately wanting to fit in at university where it seems damaging your liver remains the best way to… Continue reading Whoops, guess what I discovered?
I need to draw to calm my anxiety, but I'm shaking so badly I can't hold a pencil steady. I need to stop shaking because it's freaking people out, but I'm so agitated I can't stop. I need to look after myself, but a worthless person places all others' needs above their own. I need… Continue reading These are not my only needs
I'm going to tell you a story: There once was a girl who was slightly insane, with eyes so bright they matched her brain. She had no troubles of what the day might bring, and when it was silent she would secretly sing. There is still a girl who is more or less sane, but behind… Continue reading Chapter Zero: A Brief History of My Time with Mental Illness