I woke up into Song for A Friend hours, lads
Write the messages that YOU want to read bc sitting around and waiting for someone else to help you will leave you empty handed.
Be who you need.
nonnie, that’s so exciting!!! i’m so happy to hear that you had fun & a successful shopping spree! asdfhklhdsgj i have six piercings in my ears too! i am planning to get two more soon! i hope you’re new piercings will heal nicely and don’t cause you any trouble. and wow eyebrow piercings are badass, i could never! same with tattoos—i adore them but i don’t think i have it in me to get one. do you already have a vision for your tattoo?
Friendly reminder that just because you’re an artist in any shape or form, doesn’t mean you have to force the creativity out of you.
I cannot do this. Please, you have to understand. It’s too much. You are too much for me. I keep pushing you away but you keep coming back. I know it’s not your intention to re-enter my life again and again. I know you love me and I love you too. So much, that I’m ready to let you go. You say it’s fate but I don’t believe it. I even don’t believe that this is universe trying to tell us that we’re meant to be together. And if it is true, then I’m going to fight it as much as I can. I’m going to challenge my own fate. Because I already know that we were doomed from the beginning. How could someone as perfect as you end up with someone as imperfect as me?
I write. I write for myself; I write for those I love, and I write for those who love me. I write for people who have no idea who I am. I will never stop writing for you. I write for the ones who hurt when no one sees. I write because too many of you hold up masks to cover what’s really inside. Terrified of what you parents, teachers, even your friends would say if you told them the dark thoughts that lurk in your mind.
I hid in the shadows for so long. I was terrified, felt like an outsider, there was no way these feelings are normal. This is wrong, just pretend to be fine and you will be, one lie on top of another I whispered to myself for years while screaming for help on the inside.
I was drowning in sadness since 6th grade. I harmed myself for the first time in 7thgrade, slitting my wrists open, my legs, anything I could get to and hide. There was never enough room to cut my skin apart, each one a representation of my pain. I attempted suicide for the first time in 8th grade. My parent still don’t know anything happened at all.
Only one person knew of my true pain, my best friend who felt the same. I was lucky to at least have them, some have no one. I saw a therapist for the first time my first year of college. I wasn’t diagnosed until my second year of college. I have a Panic Disorder, with acute depressive episodes.
I’ve had it my entire life. I didn’t even know something was wrong with me until 6thgrade, I attempted to take my life 4 times after that. I harmed myself countless times after I started showing symptoms. I had no idea until now what it was, and some will never know.
I write because I’m alive still. I made it this far, by luck. There is no reason for all of my attempts to have failed, for no one to ever see my scars, but I’m still here so I write.
Don’t wait, like me. Tell someone. Tell anyone, when you can’t help yourself. Tell me. I felt it, I did it, I hurt myself and countless others around me. For years I knew there was this thing inside me and I didn’t get help, I hurt for so long silent in fear of judgement. There is no judgement here, just love and help to move forward.
I write for everyone like me, and unalike me, for everyone who loves me or hates me, knows me or has no idea who I am, but no matter who you are you are so important to this world, so don’t wait. We are here, and I am here, and I will continue writing until every one of you that feels this way feels safe again, I will never stop fighting for you.
Now you have to fight for you, too.
Curtains, sheets and my pillows.
Color of the scarf I used to
try to hang myself in my room of yellow.
Lipstick, knives and my book.
Wine drips from my hand
but it is not wine that drips.
Clothes, shoes and my heart.
Like a black hole, all the happiness
is sucked out of my life.
Purple, to remind myself of the failure I am proud of.
Red, because pain can be unstrikingly melancholic yet beautiful.
Black, for I will mourn my existence forever.
Sometimes I think about how Moana was chosen by the ocean to restore the heart of Te Fiti and get all choked up because the ocean didn’t choose Moana to find Maui to restore the heart - the ocean chose Moana to restore the heart, and in the end that’s exactly what she did
1. Reading books
And ya know what…I’m tired of just imagining.
Love is a divine gift but we need not look to god for it.
If you can’t get your hands on hand sanitizer these days, try alcohol pads! They’re available at every pharmacy and are used at the doctor’s to desinfect the skin before vaccinations, blood tests,etc. They work just fine and are very cheap also! You can get an entire box for 2-3€.
My anxiety and depression are reeking havoc today.
the head of the old
the doorbell buzz
the first moment
fear for her well-
colliding with me
the entirety of her
family and fate.
strategic and innocent
the this worldly
scent down to earth
shown and climbing
has to offer
the endearing charm
the enduring charm.
Those who wring fortune
out of the hands
in 2020 we realise that involving ourselves exclusively in online communities where we talk about our mental illness with other people suffering, share destructive tips and tricks and self depreciating nihilistic memes is, in fact, destructive and we stop that shit