I won’t be posting much for a while. I’m sorry. I.. am getting help, though, and I don’t know how long it will take. Just… I’m sorry, loves.
WARNING: I have memories like landmines.
You cannot possibly walk carefully enough.
There are days I open my mouth and all that
Comes out is apologies. Days when I’m sorry
But you can’t fucking touch me.
Hiding your hurt only intensifies it. Problems grow in the dark and only become bigger and bigger. But when exposed to the light of truth, they shrink. You are only as sick as your secrets. So take off your mask, stop pretending you’re perfect and walk into freedom.
today, my school hosted an exhibit for suicide awareness day. the exhibit included 1,100 backpacks in representation of the number of lives that are lost to mental illness each year on college campuses. many of these backpacks were donated by the families that lost loved ones and had their stories attached. i’m so proud of my school for bringing attention to such a serious issue.
I. Don’t trust yourself. Everything is locked up, tighter than in the actual hospital part of the place. In the Art room, they had clay and paints and brushes and small canvas’ and all sorts of amazing things. They were all locked in cabinets and the brushes were tied to the easels. I guess they worried that we might swallow paint or shove the long ends of paintbrushes up some poor sod’s nose. That’s why that room had two nurses supervising it at all times, I guess. None of them trusted us, so we learned not to trust ourselves too.
II. Restraints mean nothing to any angry teenager. I learned this the first day, about two hours after I was admitted. There was sudden and violent screaming, and when I went to see what was happening, a girl who went by the name of Jewls was thrashing about, screaming curses and threats. Three nurses held her down and put her in restraints, but she kept kicking and flailing and wiggling around, yelling at the top of her lungs, “I want to die! Why won’t you just let me die?” The restraints only left horrible, dark bruises on her wrists and ankles. Blood dripped from her hands as she dug her nails into her palms as they dragged her away. After that day, none of us ever saw her again.
III. Not all nurses are nice. The third day, I met a darling little boy who smiled with crooked teeth and who had dark bags under his eyes. He couldn’t have been older than eight. He walked up to me and tugged at my gown, when I looked down he was crying. He kept asking me where mommy was. I said I had no idea, and he began to ask again, but stopped mid-sentence. He stared behind me with wide eyes, and started hyperventilating, screaming at the wall behind me. A nurse came and took him back to where he was supposed to be, somehow he ended up in our ward, where he wasn’t supposed to be, but the nurse made a crude joke about how they’d be seeing him there again when he was older. That was the first time I ever considered hitting somebody.
IV. Your best friend could be anybody, and you can meet them anywhere. Within my second week, I met a twelve year old boy. My first encounter with him was while he was being taken back to his room, and his escorts held his wrists and mumbled things to him, but he didn’t respond. I followed close behind them because he sparked my curiosity and after they left, I walked into his room (doors were considered unnecessary here, so the entrance to every room was just a door frame with no actual door). He didn’t get mad or seemed surprised or anything. He started asking me about my favourite music and colours and about my hobbies. He made me forget why I was here in the first place. From that day on, we stuck by each other’s sides for everything. He called himself Matteyo.
V. Even mentally ill people are still assholes towards other mentally ill people. My first diagnosis was schizophrenia. The patients in the ward called me “Lil Schiz” (they pronounced it as “lil shits” when the nurses and Matteyo wasn’t around) until my new, correct diagnosis came about. People were total assholes there, until I lashed out one day, and they transferred me.
And there’s plenty of people out there who will tell you that you’re just imagining that war.(via nudityandnerdery)
This quote is one that I like to think about a lot. Damn(via mildlyartistic)
Mental illness is like fighting a war where the enemy’s strategy is to convince you that the war isn’t actually happening.