Confused & Hopeful

[flurriedhousepet]

Resolutions are bullshit

As much as I think resolutions are bullshit. As well as new years it’s self. Time is an entirely human construct and we wait all year for a calendar to tell us to better ourselves. All that aside I’m doing it. I’m using this new revolution around the sun to start something.

This is the year I am honest with myself about myself.

I have battled bipolar disorder and severe depression my entire life. Maybe if I wasn’t my sole confidant growing up my thighs wouldn’t be etched with scars. Maybe if I wasn’t my entire therapy team I would have spent my early 20’s doing coke with strangers in bar bathrooms and driving home hoping I wouldn’t make it. Maybe if I hadn’t quarantined my heart on an island I wouldn’t have spent every night with someone else in my bed because I didn’t know what love looks like.

This is is the year that I say here I am and this is what I feel and I know it’s not pretty and it’s mostly just sad but atleast it’s not stuck inside somewhere just below my chest. I know this isn’t poetic or popular and it won’t be read but having it public is as honest as I can get. Today I am here and I am sad and I don’t know why, but I am saying it out loud so it doesn’t feel so lonely. And I guess that’s basically the point.

[flurriedhousepet]

And moment to moment the cost of existence varied. Sometimes it was effortless. Other times it cost everything I ever had. The effort it took to house this soul. The tomb that masqueraded as a home. I am here one moment and unsure of the next. Somedays it’s easy to see why and others it’s hard to convince myself to stay. And yet. I am here. I am here. I am here.

[flurriedhousepet]

Russian Roulette

I am the face of mental illness.

I look just like the quiet friend in the group.

I bail on plans a lot because I can’t convince my self to leave the house.

Trust me it hurts me more than it hurts you.

I am the face of self harm.

You can’t see my scars because I was paranoid enough to put them somewhere not every one can see.

The pain that drug the blade across my hips is the same that drug it across that boys arms though.

I am the face of domestic abuse.

I jump when you move suddenly or make an unexpected noise.

It’s not your fault I was loved by hands that felt like fire.

Defensiveness becomes instinct when it’s literally life and death at home.

I am the face of suicidal tendencies.

You think my risk taking is a fun stunt.

You don’t realize I crave it’s failure.

I’m not brave enough to take those pills or pull that trigger so I’ll chug that fifth and cross busy streets.

My life is a game of Russian roulette I’ve been winning for too long.

I am the face of a cry for help.

No one sees because we are all drowning in our own shit.

If you threw me a lifeline I don’t think I would take it anyway.

[flurriedhousepet]

Oh my heart (endgame spoiler barely)

Tony had a dream they had a child named Morgan in Infinity Wars and oh my heart he only had five years with her in endgame😫😭

[flurriedhousepet]

Reckless

Men will drive you to the point of insanity and then declare to the world

“she’s crazy”

without bothering to mention you were perfectly fine before he played so recklessly with your heart

[flurriedhousepet]

Fix-er-upper

I spent a good chunk of my life not caring whether I lived or died. Tbh I was living hoping I would die. I was reckless and wild. I treated my body as if it was a temporary home for my time in this world was finite, and it’s expiration wasn’t far away. I buried my mom when I was 16 and I think I left myself in the church that day. Someone else came out and she didn’t belong here. She didn’t want to. I did everything I could think of to put myself at risk and heaven and hell refused to take me. People thought I was wild and free or maybe they saw I was begging for an out and they just weren’t the ones who needed to intervene. I’ve talked to friends I knew then and they said I was just living my life. I guess they couldn’t really see all I was doing was running from actually having to live one. I spent years both actively and passively trying to kill myself. The most exhausting part of deciding to live is trying to repair all the damage I inflicted on this body. My mind forgets, my teeth break, my liver and kidneys ache. I treated my body like a rental and now that I’m invested it’s a real fixer upper.

[flurriedhousepet]

Don’t mind my shitty musings...

Just something I wrote during a time in my life I thought I’d never survive. Things get better, trust me.

When my mom took her own life, everyone said that eventually I would be mad and that would be ok; I had a right to be angry. It was such a sad impossible thing, I had a right to be confused and scorned. They could not contemplate the depth to which I understood her plight. I have tried to kill myself. I failed. I was not angry. I, who had known a deep melancholy all my life, was not angry. I was jealous. At least now she’s free, I thought enviously.

The weight a person carries is unknown to the world. The length of time they’ve struggled through darkness is undefined. We only know it by its end. It’s sad it takes such a severe conclusion for us to notice another’s suffering. Maybe we are all too consumed by our own monsters. I’ve never viewed suicide, hers or mine, as a tragedy, only a relief. If you are suffering to such an extent that this is your only conceivable escape, by all means free yourself. We never know the darkness of another’s heart nor the capacity at which one can tolerate suffering. Who am I to tell them they must continue to exist in anguish. Only you know your own limits. Not all of us were made to survive.