So yesterday I did something very bold. I term it as bold because of how unconventional it was & risky since it would have turned out very invasive to some. I’m actively on Instagram & I was going through my followers instagram stories & I came across a picture of a girl’s arm that had marks on it. She actually wasn’t taking the picture of her arm, it just so happened her arm made a cameo and I just happened to see it. I wouldn’t say I was being observant, it was like a glance that led me to contemplating whether confirming my suspicions of what the marks were was a smart thing to do… Let’s just, my conscience didn’t fail me. That was last night and I was sure to include in my dm to her that she was at all under no obligation to answer back to me. I know I would be a bit skeptical opening up about anything remotely mental related to a stranger. Today morning when I woke up, it had completely eluded my mind that I’d sent her a message, that’s until I saw my message icon ping that I had an unread message. She was honest enough to acknowledge that what I’d seen was indeed self harm marks. Getting to the point of this story, (not really sure there’s one) , it was uncomfortable seeing them on someone else other than myself, but I twistedly felt connected to her by her self inflicted marks on her hand. I felt the bond of having another understand that one is capable of being a mess enough to hurt themselves. It was relieving but sad. I quit feeling sorry for myself after the first time I cut , I no longer chose to see it as a fault but as a survival coping mechanism. It’s just different because I relish in the feel of a cold blade to get some damn needed peace of mind.

Not too long ago I had a friend of mine frown upon the fact that I recently got a new tattoo. He’s exact question was ‘You enjoying hurting yourself with this tattoos?‘ He didn’t realize how close to home he hit by asking me that… In my own twisted way, I love the feeling of the needle skim through my skin, it’s just that this time, I’m left with a beautiful artistic reminder of things that mean more to me than others. They are the murals to those I love and to the times in my life I can never seem to erase from my mind. They are my stories, I just receive the both ends of the stick when I get them, the pain that comes with getting them, and the artistic beauty created.

It amazes me how I can never seem to let go of my mental struggles even when I’m not in the gutter . I can’t cut loose the strong hold at which I hold them close to me & how much relevance I constantly give them. I’ve written before that I felt special being ill, I felt like I belonged being depressed & fucked up generally. It gave me a sense of purpose. I was constantly sad & I got to write the best of my blogs while in that funk. Call it fear of the unknown, which in this case is anything that’s remotely good and happy… that damn H word I never seem to like very much. I just can’t grasp myself not unhappy & miserable. No need to pity me, I don’t pity me either. The most surprising thing is, despite not wanting good change, I feel inadequate for depression. I feel like I sometimes lack the magnitude needed to be special enough to be depressed. Like I can’t just catch a break with the inadequacies in my life ; I’m just not cut out for happiness or depression . Really beats the point of why I got my damn enough tattoo in the first place. I need to find a bearing of where I belong, in the darkness or the overly bright light .

Tonight I wasn’t really writing as a means to vent, I guess I just needed to release myself a little. I had a relatively good day, went out to a lovely ice cream parlor in town that touched my old soul. It’s entire vibe and setting was the eighties and it’s ice cream was as legit as legit can be. I honestly didn’t wanna leave because for those few minutes I was there ,the world around me seemed right and peaceful… content even. I wanted to stick there and live on ice cream for as long as my mind chooses it’s ready to go back to our sad reality… Sno – Cream parlor was my heaven in hell…

Scared

This will probably be short because I don’t have as much to write about, I just have the urge I get whenever I feel the need to write. I also honestly don’t know what exactly I want to write about but I will pick from my mind what I can. Crazy how I sound like I have a protocol or systematic form of my writing. Like if I don’t meet those ‘protocols’ I have in my head, I’ll let whoever reads this down when all in all, this is my platform to express myself in whichever way without feeling obligated to anyone. Guess it will take some time to not be a do-gooder always and giving in to my need to please others other than myself.

Anyway, I am trying to gauge my feelings right now. I at some point can feel my fear and am not necessarily sure why it’s there or probably it’s just always there. Oh! I know one reason I am scared. School is over for me for a long while and that means a couple things. For one it means I no longer have a distraction for my mind and I have a lot of time on my hands : that’s not a good thing, for me it isn’t. It will mean me being idle for a while and that will allow my minds to drift to emotional and mental loneliness and eventually I will be back to struggling with myself. Second reason I believe I am scared is because my current source of happiness and tranquility which I hadn’t felt for such a while won’t be around me for close to five months and I don’t know if I’m ready to stand on my own and not have them with me. I am terribly emotionally dependant on him and he makes me happy. I am extremely scared that I won’t be strong enough without him around me. I have gladly pushed away a lot of other people and friends in my life. I am not sure I have friends at the moment and I don’t mind. I needed to be away from them, I needed to quit expecting from them as much as I was. To be quite honest, I didn’t get good energy from them, all I received was neglect when I needed them and I am okay with that. I am okay with not having them as burden on my shoulders and conscious anymore .

Third and I guess the most prominent reason for my fear is having me feel scared of my depression and anxiety taking over like it has not so long ago. I fear that I will go back to the days when leaving my bed was a struggle and all I wanted to do was sink further in and wallow in my mental pain and anguish. Relish in it to be precise because that’s how it gets for me. But I took a step and I am going to still go to therapy and it’s my hope that I won’t have to live with fear on top of my head. I won’t have to feel lonely and saddness when my anchor leaves because I will be learning how to anchor myself. I will learn to be strong and carefree.✌

P.S I am married with a donut ring that’s half bitten by my man.😄😆

Help Me

I thought I understood why people harm themselves before but I guess I was wrong. I want to hurt myself to take this ache away, to distract me from myself and the throbbing in my chest. I don’t want to hurt myself but I can’t seem to keep the thought out of my mind.. I am no longer happy with myself and I feel broken. I want someone to help me before I loose myself.

To say I don’t know if I am capable of being helped is an understatement. I am disappointed in myself for wanting to hurt myself and having the thought in the first place. It’s been six years since I cried as hard as I did yesterday and I still feel the need to. I don’t want to hurt myself just as much as I don’t want to hurt those who love me… I keep wringing my hands because of the anxiety I feel. I don’t want to look at knives because I am scared I might just do something stupid. I feel like I no longer have control of my own mind and it’s scary for me .I am so so afraid of even being alone. I thought I was okay and now I feel like I just want to keep crying.

Peace feels so farfetched right now. It’s hard. It’s hard to carry all my emotions right now. I want, no I need help. I need to get better.