i'm working on it.

collections of reflections.

[fwck0ff-deactivated20190402]

having sex with someone you love is so amazing. the breathing, the intensity of every s i n g l e touch, the eye contact and soft moans fuuuuck me up w that shit

[reflections-of-self]

taller

She says "You look taller"  

I smile and shake my head.  

"No really, are you taller?"

When she last saw me

I was bent at the knee  

Fighting for a life I did not want.  

Down, and (not quite) out.

She saw the battle  

Without knowing about the war.  

It's been ten months  

Of uncomfortable conversations

And skirting around the word "Therapy."

Ten months of taking pills

Too bright to be inconspicuous  

And becoming okay with saying  

"It's because I'm sick" when asked.  

The writing and rewriting and ultimate Deleting of hundreds of poems,

Hundreds of words I was not yet  

Brave enough to say.  

Ten months later, I am becoming Brave enough to say them,

To let people in on my secret that yes,

I feel things, and I feel them fully.

"It's not that deep," but for me It Is.  

Sometimes that means feeling like Quitting.  

Texts sent at 4 am were regular Occurrences  

And "sorry" was tattooed on my Tongue, waiting for a chance to spill Out and show itself to the world.  

Ten months later and I do not know When "Sorry" becomes "Thank You"

I do not know when telling my friends My therapist's name became easier  

(Its Alicia)  

Ten months later I still want to die but I Don't try to.  

I fight for the impossible future with Reckless abandon and I am not Ashamed of my struggle:  

"No really, are you taller?"  

I tell her "No. I'm just walking with my head up."  

[reflections-of-self]

he does not love you

Depression is an abusive lover  

When you ask permission to go out; he'll say no and

Tells you to come back to bed; an altogether too tempting request

He lies to you; tells you he is the only one for you, he says he is the only one that will keep you  

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

He will carve your body out, leave you a shell of what you once were  

You will be unrecognizable  

No one will know you; not even yourself  

You will tell him you are sick  

He will tell you you are fine  

He will tell you you are over reacting.  

He will tell you he will save you from the sickness  

He will tell you he loves you no matter how many times he shows you otherwise

No one knows you better than him, right?

He leaves no marks of his love. No one will see what he has done to you, but you will feel it.  

You will see yourself become the person he wants you to be.  

And when he's done with you, you will be kicked to the side, your bones he will use to pick his teeth, his presence will suffocate you and you will let him.  

You will let him because he is all you know now. His embrace has captured you for so long, his lies have swirled in your head, stuck on repeat like a melody you cannot forget.  

You will catch your repeating these words, humming along with sadness. He will tell you he is your new truth, he is your everything.  

His once gentle requests that you stay in bed just a bit longer are now commands  

You will stay

When you feel his arms wrapping around you, you will not fight it. You will nestle deeper into his presence and let it consume you.

It will take an army. It will take all that have known you to bring you back from his grasp, to remind you of who you once were. They will fight until you learn to fight for yourself. They will shield you with reassurance and arm you with their love.  

They will say,  

"My child, he does not love you. You are not his to keep. He is killing you, you must fight."

When you are recovering from his love, be gentle with yourself. At night, his finger tips will ghost over your skin, beckoning you closer.  

There will be days where you feel lost without him, there will be days when his voice in your head is a faint whisper, at times it is all you will hear.  

Fight.

[reflections-of-self]

anyways

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~  

It is 4 am and I'm drowning in tears that won't come.

I can feel myself sinking, the darkness is pulling me deeper. I will not survive on my own.  

But like a life vest you bring me to the surface, you remind me how to swim.

When I cannot conquer my fears, you shield me with your reassurance and arm me with your determination. The battle has begun because of you, but you let me fight it my way. You let me slash and swing with abandon, waiting in the wings to patch me up and send me out again. You do not let me concede.  

Sometimes my head is filled with nothing but air. When I begin to float away, losing myself in the clouds, unable to see where I once was, you fill my pockets with rocks to keep me grounded.  

When it releases like a balloon that's let go, when I let go and come crashing down, you are there to catch me with arms open wide. You draw me into you and I'm safe again, I have a place to stand as you put me on my feet.  

You are no stranger to the darkness, sinking or floating. You too have spent your fair share of days in the clouds and nights on the sea floor. I remind myself this when I cannot see you. Sometimes you meet me there and you hold my hand, you remind me I am not alone in this place. Through you, I am a hypocrite. My mouth tells you words I cannot hear. You know this but you accept them anyways.  

There are times when you cry with me. I do not understand your tears, I do not understand how you cry for me. I beg you to leave. You beg me to stay. I want you to save yourself. You say you don't need saving from me. I do not believe you. You stay anyways.  

I can't stop the words from pouring out and I tell you everything. You sit there quietly and do not interrupt. You don't fill the silent spaces with cheap words and truths I cannot believe. I make a joke to lighten the mood. The smile does not reach your eyes. You do not laugh. You let me talk. You do not understand but you listen anyways.

I tell you I cannot make it through the night. You tell me you will see me tomorrow anyways.

It is enough.

[beepboopbipolar]

Sometimes being chronically and mentally ill is like having a newborn baby that can’t tell you what’s wrong, you know you feel horrible and you can’t lie down and you can’t sit up but you don’t know why. You go down the list- are you hungry? thirsty? sleepy? too hot? depressed? just lazy? a terrible person? And then it dawns on you- you’re in horrible pain, all over. And it’s always been there in the background, it’s just worse right now than usual, for no apparent reason. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

[reflections-of-self]

doing the things they tell you to do and then still feeling the same after months of work is incredibly disheartening

[inkskinned]

i. you called god and when she answered you asked her only, “why?”   ii. silence comes inside her palms. the only quiet place left on earth is when she’s in your arms.   iii. the car is spinning out of control and for a moment you think of letting it so your father’s face can never see you kiss a woman on the pulpit.    iv. forgive me father for i am sin.   v. if only we were born ignorant instead of so capable of a love strong enough to break us. you write her last name on a napkin you don’t let the barista see. she undoes you from the inside, and the world undoes you from your skin.   vii. there are loves that are born raised and die in the dark.   viii. you no longer know if the world is ending. if even your neighbors are terrified of your love. if judgement day will come.  if god will finally answer the phone and say,    “because i knew you were strong enough.”

r.i.d (via inkskinned)

[reflections-of-self]

2:14 am; 1/14/2017

I need to escape my own thoughts They're trying to kill me Part of them want me dead while the other part is overthinking and stressing about my future. how is this happening simultaneously? It doesn't make sense. Why is it happening at all? I just want to sleep. That will make them go away. I can't sleep. I hate this. I can't describe how it feels but I fucking hate living like this. I don't want to do this anymore.

[reflections-of-self]

for no reason, absolutely zero reason at all, I thought tonight "it would be better if I died." Just laying in bed minding my own damn business and now that's all I can think. Not necessarily dying or killing myself, that was almost as fleeting as the original thought, but rather why I had to feel that way. Depression is a silent killer. It creeps up and engulfs you, infiltrating and occupying your mind. I no longer want this intruder, this unwelcome guest that came to poison my thoughts. tl;dr, I'm sick of wanting to die. I'm sick of that automatic response

[reflections-of-self]

[reflections-of-self]

[reflections-of-self]

If you have the feeling that things can’t get better, ignore it for a second. do you want things to be over because it’s so hard right now? how do you know things won’t work out? how are you so certain that leaving is the answer? I don’t know the odds of things getting better in the future, but I do know the odds of things staying bad if you leave. 0. you will never have a solution if you cut the process short. you will never have the satisfaction of knowing. Why would you deny yourself the chance to prove that feeling wrong? you are not stupid enough to claim to know everything, you’re not naive enough to claim clairvoyance. put your mind at ease by finding comfort in the unknown and uncertain. take things as they come. embrace your situation and experience it. learn from them and grow.

[reflections-of-self]

I don't want people to think depression is all about your head because it's a mental illness. I want people to know there are physical affects. People need to know that sometimes I'm so depressed I feel like I'm going to puke and my head hurts. Other times, my whole body aches. And I'm tired. I'm so tired all the time.

[reflections-of-self]

10/31/2016 - 2:56 PM

when someone asks me what I'm going to do with my degree, I just laugh and give a rehearsed answer about how applicable and flexible a degree in sociology is. then they usually ask how i chose the degree and I go into my "I love sociology so much" rehearsed answer. The truth is I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I do love sociology and most of my answer is genuine.. but I don't know why or what. I've spent my life answering questions that don't have answers. I've spent most of my life looking into a future that seemed impossible to reach. I've spent most of my life reaching milestones I never expected or wanted. I spend most of my life making plans for things I don't expect to attend. Here are the plans for the wedding I'll never get, here are the names of the children I'll never have, this is the job I'll never go to. It's hard to have the answers to something that doesn't exist. It's hard to look into the future when you have to take life day by day.

[reflections-of-self]

Hot liquid from the back of my head into my eyes

[reflections-of-self]

When people make me talk about things or address my issues, I feel like my mind goes white and it gets hot and my chest feels hollow and my eyes get unfocused

[reflections-of-self]

I thought when you texted me asking if it happened that that meant it was my fault. That that meant I somehow wasn't as drunk and therefore responsible. I've been living with this sense of guilt, but also feeling gross because of what happened. but now I'm reading this book. Sex comes up a lot. So it makes me think of that night, which I've avoided for months now. I asked you to slow down and you yelled at me "my pace!" I asked you to go easy and you snapped and said "it's my birthday." at one point, when it was my 'turn' you said no, and I stopped immediately. You didn't stop or slow down or anything. That's fucked up. I've been carrying this for months but that's really really fucked up. I don't think it's my fault. I don't think that it's fair to say it's my fault. It's not fair none of this is fair.