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You don’t have to know everything. You don’t need an answer to every question. Sometimes it’s okay to let it go and leave your questions unanswered. Nothing bad is going to happen. You are safe. 

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You’ve got to love having Flashbacks right?

Mine terrify me. Having a extremely troubling childhood and even to an extent my life currently thanks to my childhood. 

Most nights while I try to sleep or oddly during the day these flashbacks appear. So far all the flashbacks I get seem to come from when I was around 5/6 years old, they consist of the time my dad said to me how he never wanted me to be born and then 4 days later he left for the last time, I was 11. Funniest thing about that one is I now work in the place where he told me it. 

Another and the most recently one to appear is when my dad decided to leave me, my mum, my brother and sister at the side of a roundabout in Leicester because he couldn’t find the place we was going to and got annoyed, I was 5.

My dad once hit me in the neck and gave me a nose bleed and moaned about giving me one because at that time he had to be a parent. I was 7/8.

The most vivid one I have is seeing my dad throwing up in the toilet when I went to the toilet because he attempted an over dose and failed it scared me of the toilet which thinking now is kind of funny being scared of a toilet but I was probably 4/5 didn’t fully understand what was happening but as I grew up I started to understand.

Although with this one I wasn’t actually there when it happened but was told after. My dad once while I was in middle school a few months after he left he came into the school demanding to see me which isn’t allowed and the school office knew what was going on so they was already protective of me and when ever I needed someone to talk to they was there when no one else was. 

The final one that I can remember off the top of my head is having my parents argue I was probably 9/10. They’d been arguing for over an hour and my brother got fed up with the arguing so he came downstairs and said to me and my sister “they’re still arguing shall I call the police”. When the police did come round I found it odd when they asked me what school I went to while I was wearing my school uniform. I got quite used to the police coming around.



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I’m going on vacation soon and I’m so stressed out.

I have family that lives in Arizona, and my aunt, cousin, and I are flying out to spend a week at her place. We’re going mid July, and I don’t want to be caught dead looking the way I do right now.

I want to lose at least 20lbs in 35 days. If anyone wants to help motivate each other, and work with me, please just reach out! I’d love to talk to you guys.

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I’m here again

Making list after list

Trying to quiet my mind

Stuck like a broken record

Does that mean I’m broken?

Unable to move on

From making the same list

I need something new

Something new to skip this track

But until then

I’m here again

Making lists

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By Dana Jerman

After Covid-19 showed up on the scene, I began to make a more robust effort to wipe down surfaces in our modest one-bedroom apartment. Don was making the joke for awhile, amid my requests for him to help me remain vigilant about the kitchen and common areas, that I was “OCD.” At the very least in his estimation, I was acting this way.

As we are all aware from this point, OCD is short for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, most of us, in a jocular manner, can agree that we’re OCD about something. We like our shoes a certain way in the hallway, we like our sex toys a certain way in the drawer, etc. One person’s curated attentive organization is another person’s excessive occupation. The extreme end of which can lead to deeply entrenched thought patterns and brutalizing, crippling physical anxieties. 

I was able to dismiss his dismissal, which made me feel like a nag, not only because I am a well-within-the-realm-of-reasonably adjusted person, but because I knew that, if I really did possess manic symptoms and behaviors that we know to go beyond the pale, he would not have patience and care for me that he does now and will continue to have for the foreseeable.

Obsessive (recurrent thoughts), a little. Compulsive (repetitive actions), a bit. I resemble and resent this and so does my husband. 

He’s not projecting, mind you (although I’d be fine with it if he was, I still adore the guy), it’s only that he doesn’t realize that OCD, as a spectrum, is a wide (mostly innocuous) weirdo family. And within it, he and I both possess unremarkable compulsions that fit neatly under the mantle of Body Focused Repetitive Disorders or BFRD.

For many of us, puberty brings zits, and that’s when the picking begins…

More of a twister than a puller, I am a self-professed trichotillomaniac. My mother twirled her hair and so do I. How much of it is learned? Certainly some. I remember clearly a time in grade school when I began to use spun up strands to tickle and stimulate the outside, then the inside, of my ears.

I love the way the sturdy groups of follicles feel in my fingertips. I press the ends into my face like dabbing on invisible makeup with a loose brush. I like flipping a lock into knots and then flicking them out with another quick twist. 

My scalp isn’t sensitive, and I enjoy the stimulation of a good brushing. I’m lucky to have hair so thick and healthy, but I know that it’s important that I keep my cut on the shorter side to prevent too much mess and breakage.

But I also know in times of intense stress it’s hard to keep my hands away from my head. When I witness evidence of, or even think about, the more serious manifestations of this behavior in others, my sympathetic pain response flares up.

I feel this also, if I watch my husband engage in dermatillomania…

For Don, this skin picking behavior may actually have developed in response to certain daily pressures (as a kid he moved around a lot and the men in his mother’s life caused some unpleasant and disrespectful situations) or even as an after effect of a prolonged bout with childhood spinal meningitis, which nearly crippled him and caused hallucinations.

Either way, the damage from what is now commonly called excoriation manifests nearly unconsciously as he contemplates the next sentence while writing, or watching TV. His skin is often dry. Redness and irregularities in his nail beds, especially around the inflamed cuticles of his thumbs, invite the digging and pulling that leave, after any prolonged session, at least one or two areas throbbing, open, and bleeding. 

BandAids don’t work. Painting his nails with clear hardener barely helps. Sometimes we laugh as he swats my hand away when I attempt to reach out and hold it still.

Are these tendencies a subtle sign of an elevated intelligence quotient? Wouldn’t that be nice. Does it communicate that we might have a pre-disposition to disliking radishes or being liars? Ha! Probably it’s only more non-verbal evidence our “alone, together” style of married-couple inward thinking and the fallout of adulthood.

However each of us rationalizes and chooses to acknowledge how our manias fit into stress management and spastic expressions of our daily lives, we can agree that they don’t seem to cause us a significant degree of social impairment, nor have they resulted in us not being able to continue to do things we love and—knock wood—have not culminated in a trip to the doctor’s office for meds or therapy.

It could be a whole whole lot worse…

Unfortunately now, I can’t leave him alone in the kitchen. I notice my own tendency to hover when he cooks. I won’t clean it up right away. I’ll let him work. But in the interest of attending to my personal standards concerning a myriad of issues falling under the mantel of “control”: wellness, pest-abatement, aesthetics, simple tidiness…

Maybe I’ve got to know what I can do.

Maybe I’ve just got to see what’s coming next.

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First things first, every week I will put exactly 77 posts in my queue (because i set my queue to post 11 posts a day). These posts will be fully tagged.


Other than that, I will reblog stuff I see that I like, whereas before I would either add it to my drafts or fully tag it and put it in my queue, and I won’t add tags adding tags (at least, I’ll let myself not add tags, and if I want to add tags i will)

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shit I have to hear on a daily basis

  • you’re too thin
  • you should sleep more
  • focus less on work
  • you need to learn how to relax!
  • eat more
  • you should take better care of yourself
  • i think you exercise too much
  • you can’t center your whole life around your career
  • if only you gained weight…
  • you should get out more
  • i think *insert any social activity* would help a lot (in regards to my depression)

Look. I’m fucking exhausted. I swear to god if I hear any of these again in the next three weeks I’m gonna rip out someone’s throat.

I KNOW I’m overworking myself. I have to. I’m studying and trying to find a place in a job market where the kind of art I produce is controversial + not to mention I’m a queer woman + and I’m overall just trying to stay fucking alive because stress doesn’t leave me any time to eat or sleep and makes me see both as a waste of time. I know I would probably be happier if I dropped one of my twelve thousands projects/hobbies/passions. I know I don’t always need to try so hard.

But I also kind of do. Because I’m competing with people who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and I wasn’t. And if it doesn’t work out for them they have the money of daddy’s company to fall back on and I DON’T. Studying somewhere prestigious and being the one student with the scholarship means you’re always gonna have to work 1000x harder than anyone else and that’s just how things are. So yes. I know my achievements are great but my mental and physical health are suffering. But getting mad at me because I’m doing my best with what I have won’t fucking help. And doing all the shit I do while depressed? Yeah. Not easy.

I just wish my family and friends would back off a little. I know they’re just concerned but I NEED THIS TO WORK. I’m so fucking desperate and OF COURSE I’m tired and I wish I could sleep and rest but I can’t. I can’t. I need to do my best 100% of the time and I can never ever slip up because talent and hard work are the only weapons I have in a world of privilege and nepotism. And no one fucking gets this but the entertainment industry is TOUGH if you don’t have “connections” and you’re basically a nobody.

God I just wish I could rest for a little.

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Are you done this? She looks like me! But… With less boobs.

I’m working in like a fanart about this, more realistic about my personal characteristics.

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Would if I die

Would if I survive

Would if I bleed

Would if I succeed

Would if I’m sad

Would if I’m happy

Would if I remember

Would if I forget

Would if would ifs control my light

Would ifs are the source of my plight

Would if I forget what would ifs are

Would if I live free and far


Would ifs take over my brain

Would ifs drive me insane

Would ifs aren’t real

Would if they are real

Would if they infect me again

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Haven’t had a good start to my day today.  I like, no, I need routine.  My OCD requires it.  

Well, I skipped my shower this morning.  I just kept putting it off and putting it off till the time frame I could get it done in was practically gone.  I just really didn’t want to do it and that’s no excuse in my opinion.  When I got up to change I still could have.  If I would have just skipped cleaning up the bathroom a bit ahead of time, I still could have, but I didn’t.  I don’t even know why.  I really wanted to by that point.  I just didn’t.

Now the guilt I feel, yes guilt, is overwhelming.  I feel like I’ve been breaking my self care streak and letting myself down.  When I picked up my phone to look at my calendar, I’m thinking, well, it’s probably been at least a couple of weeks since I decided (on purpose that time) to take a day off so I could take a nice morning drive to the library.  Nope, it’s been 1 week exactly.

I know I should just take this as a lesson to keep up with my routines whether I feel like it or not, but I just feel miserable.  I know I’ll be beating myself up over it the rest of the day now till I can get one and start back up again tomorrow.  I am NOT going to let myself do this again.  I’ve worked too hard for my routines!

It feels really good and like a major sense of accomplishment when I’m able to push through the tough mornings, or afternoons for exercise, or cravings.  Those things aren’t easy for someone with mental illness.  Things that should seem so simple just aren’t.  I fight for what I achieve, even if I don’t always think it’s enough.

I want to start exercising again this Sunday.  (I wanted to start this week, but as I said, not as easy as it should seem to find that routine again.  Not that that’s always an easy one for anyone, lol.)  I just need to reach deep down and find that fight in me again.  That drive to continue accomplishing my goals, no matter how small.  

I WILL do this!  I CAN do this!  And tomorrow is a new day to do it right.

Such is life.

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