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@plutoniumpeachpit
does anyone else ever feel guilty for not being mentally ill enough? like your anxiety or depression fucks you up but then you have good days and you’re productive and it’s like, wow clearly I was faking it bc look at me! I’m fine! and then you feel guilty for wasting everyone’s time
*something slightly bad happens*
me: I need to do something totally detrimental to my health asap
bad thoughts always creepin’ up on you.
Listen, if you’re having those thoughts and you’ve made up your mind, it’s gonna be pretty damn hard to stop you. People around you are planning things weeks, months, even years in advance and you can’t even picture yourself still alive that far in the future. So you distance yourself from them. You text your few friends “goodbye” instead of “goodnight” and only one has ever questioned why. You don’t tell anyone, you don’t drop hints, you don’t want to be saved and you don’t think you can be. You go to see Interstellar at the dollar theater with your dad and you almost feel guilty- but then you remind yourself not to feel anything. You kiss your abuelos and thank them for the delicious meal and you hug them extra tightly before you leave. Every time your little sister hugs you and tells you she loves you almost changes your mind. But it’s not enough because you tell yourself those short moments of peace aren’t worth it in the long run. You’ve weighed the consequences and done research the past few days and though February 23rd is kind of an ugly date, you can’t wait any longer. You make a rather ominous sounding post at 2:45 a.m. after making sure your parents are asleep. A friend you used to tell everything to but fell out of touch with texts you to make sure you’re okay. You tell her not to worry and to go to sleep, you’ll be alright. The next day your boyfriend calls and you go over to his mom’s house and play Jenga with his brothers after having a snowball fight. You lose Jenga but you’re laughing hysterically because you knocked the whole tower over on purpose. When you go home you reapply bandages in secret. You don’t want anyone to know what happened because you want to try again someday. You’ve heard some people say they regret it and realize the beauty in life afterwards but you’re still trapped in a dark, winding tunnel. It’s exactly one month later now and you sit on the couch with your mom at 11 p.m. but it’s so hard to get the words out with the huge lump of sadness lodged in your throat. You manage to tell her and she cries but not that much before she tells you “we told the school you just applied to that you didn’t do ‘that kind of stuff.’” and sends you to bed. Spring comes around you fall in love with the earth. You get accepted into the new school and it actually gives you a small shred of hope. Don’t get me wrong- you still stay up every other night feeling shitty, thinking about every bad thing that’s ever happened to you. But in the morning you don’t have to be threatened with hospitalization to get out of bed. People start making plans for the summer and this time you join in on the conversations. In June you go to camp, and though it wasn’t as fun and happy as last year, you meet a group of people who become your family. They accept you and understand you and you want to tell them everything but you’re still worried you’d be a burden. Returning home and being separated from them is hard but the group chats make you feel connected again. You make angsty collages in your journal and sometimes linger on the first page, where you wrote the note. On the next page you read “i cant make words into sonething beautiful. i cant make anything beautiful.” and you remember the hopelessness that enveloped your mind when you wrote that. Then you flip to your most recent page and make a list of self-care resources. You buy the Princeton Review book for the top 300-ish colleges and start sticking post-it notes on the pages for small liberal arts schools as far away from home as possible. You’re not sure what you want to do with your future yet but you know your goal is to host Saturday Night Live someday. Your scar is still a reminder of the pain you went through in the past and still feel in the present, but in your mind you admit you should be proud of yourself for just imagining the possibilities that the future has in store. It’s almost August 23rd and though you still haven’t told a soul, you can accept the facts for yourself. You’re still depressed. You still feel uncomfortable telling either of your therapists what’s actually on your mind. Sometimes you slip into a state where you’re convinced you don’t really exist and you still have those shitty nights when you think about every bad thing that’s ever happened to you. But against all odds you’ve made it six more months. And you deserve to keep going, keep fighting six months at a time.
tl;dr- the words “it gets better” make me cringe because you don’t magically feel happy again. it takes patience and love and maybe you’ll never feel completely whole again but i assure you, you’re not alone if you need time to pick up the pieces. (via worser)
Reblog or your mom will die in 928 seconds.
I love my mom.
I am risking nothing
I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY
Will not risk.
sorry followers :(
omg im so glad to se so many people love their mummy
Why’re you being mean to my mum?
goddamn it
Nope. Googled it. 15 minuets. Nope. Not taking any chances
This has 1.2 million reblogs … Ps not riskin it
1.4 almost ps not risking it
Fuck this post
I am sorry…
me: *exhibits symptoms of my mental illnesses down to the letter and pretty much 24/7 to the point where i can't even function some days*
me:
me: but what if i'm faking it
Hotel Books - Ghosts Can't Love
im tearing myself apart
Problems with going to bed between 2-5 in the morning
- I wake up between 8-10 in the morning
- (That usually still isn’t enough sleep)
- So I come downstairs at 11 which is fine except that
- I don’t have breakfast, which would be fine except that
- When I don’t have breakfast I forget to take my meds
So in conclusion, I am sleep deprived, depressed, and buried under a fuckton of homework.
And I’m p a n i c k i ng.
u know that feeling deep in your tummy where u just dont feel comfy and u feel sad and sort of want to cry but not about anything specific its like your entire body is just upset and unnerved all the way to the core almost like ur just longing for something but dont know what
#oh wow #yes #this is the feeling #it's like#i've always described it as that restless feeling that you get when you're really really bored and stuck in some meeting/class/orientation#where like every cell in your body is SUPER UNCHILL WITH THE SITUATION#only in this case the situation is just being a person #ah#this was a nice post to see i feel this all the time like every day#and then when i can't stand it any longer i go upstairs to my room and feel sick in the dark for a while and then can't get back up#that sucks #but like#sometimes i try to describe this on tumblr and i feel like people will never understand what i'm talking about
A lot of times I’ll notice myself descending into this space and I’ll be like WAIT SHIT WHAT AM I DOING ABORT ABORT and I’ll like panic. As if it’s the sort of thing where you’re getting burnt from holding something hot? And I don’t know what to stop doing to make it go away.
More on the Competition Thing
Particularly relating to self harm.
The deal is, I cut myself on two separate occasions in seventh grade and then my parents found out and that whole thing was bad. But it was just on my thumb. Didn’t even leave that noticeable a scar. And that was enough to convince me to not use a knife again.
Not that I haven’t nearly, many times. But it usually ends up being a lot more convenient to bite myself really hard. I’ve gouged my fingers with thumbtacks and my compass (I have a really sharp woodworking compass that I keep in my pencil pouch). Once I even slammed my head into a wall, which was a horrible idea and gave me a headache for two hours.
But I’ve met people who have scars all down their arms, and I really do feel almost... defensive, just seeing that. I feel like I don’t qualify? I feel like I don’t deserve to feel anxious and short of breath every time that concept’s introduced in a fanfiction or story or film or anything. Like the amount of permanent physical damage I’ve caused doesn’t warrant it?
So then I decided that I could never tell anyone ever because, like, if you cut your arm open and get help, you’re doing the right thing to help free yourself from a really toxic and horrible and dangerous addiction. If you poke yourself with a pushpin and tell people, you’re making a huge deal out of absolutely nothing, you’re not a danger to yourself, you’re just doing it for attention.
And that was always hard, because I never do it for attention. I do it because it’s this overwhelming urge and kind of panic and kind of mania that comes over me. I do it to punish myself, a lot. As if that rights some sort of cosmic order. I do it because I can’t run away and I can’t kill myself, but I can bite my skin and pretend to be ripping myself apart.
(I eventually did tell my therapist that this was a thing, which was an event that I’d never foreseen and resulted in a lot of crying and dazedness. But it was hard. And I still could never tell my parents or friends, because I’m still not convinced that this even warrants me as a person who self harms).
I hate that mental disorders have turned into a competition. you cant discuss eating habits without someone saying how they survived off green tea for 3 weeks and weighed 4 stone. you can’t discuss your depression because another person has already tried to commit suicide 8 times and theyre only 12. you cant discuss self harm because you punch your leg till it turns purple whilst they slice their arm to the bone. you cant talk about addiction because someone else will talk about facing their crack addiction for 18 years. every god damn time you even come close to wanting to reach out you know theres no point because in other people’s eyes you’re never sick enough. there’s always someone worse off. that’s the problem with attitudes to mental health. this ‘oh suck it up you’re not as bad as me/them’ HAS to stop. you have no idea how much a problem affects a person because, okay it might seem like nothing to you but to them their entire world is breaking down and they just have to wait till they either figure it out on their own, or become so sick that people can’t deny it any more. and by then its usually too late.
...
Well.
That’s what happens when you don’t have your meds for a week.
Distentio
Okay but for real
How is it possible to feel so intensely vividly sick about stressful things when you don’t even know what it is that you’re specifically stressed out about? Like there could be soooo many things, but all I know is that my stomach’s hurting and my arms won’t stop shaking and everything hurts.
