Unawnserd Questions

The roses are dying, screaming for light

The violets are crying, done fighting the cold night.

I look at you, and promise im just fine,

when under my shirt im bleeding in straight lines.

The razor blade in my pocket is gleaming with pride,

While im concealing the fact, that I’m dying inside.

Everyday I am consumed, eaten alive

by the securities I suppress, deep inside.

Scars, forever decorating my skin,

on the outside and yet deep within.

Days go past – years go by

My emotions still hidden, help, I want to die.

Maybe the best place for me is locked in chains,

for my mind is far past insane.

Should I follow my brain or my heart?

Should I stay, or should I depart?

it’s so very hard to decide,

should I stop, or continue my suicide.

I tell myself not to be afraid,

after all its only a little, shiny blade

.

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crimson

And as she pulls up her sleeve,

removes the braclets,

reveals her skin

the jagged, ugly scars littered from within,

These scars represent a millions uncried tears.

She cant say anything, nothing at all

so adverts her eyes and concentrates, staring at the floor.

two words suppressed, “im sorry”.

And shes not sure who to

herself, her friends or her poor bleeding skin

but this girl,

shes falling apart, shes apologizing for what she hates.

herself.

What a juxtoposition I know!

Stephan Chobosky once wrote “I am both happy and sad and wandering how that can be”. Well recently as you can probably tell from my varied blog posts, I have been up and down more than a well used Yo Yo, but you know what, that’s okay. In my opinion you have to look at happiness as a journey and not a destination, the world would be a pretty weird (or even weirder) place if everyone was always happy.

As weird as this sounds, and I don’t know about you, but on occasions I even don’t mind tearing up; I think there is a stage were so much “stuff”  (in other words bullshit) happening, the only logical option is for you just let the tears cleanse it all away.

I spent today doing nothing overly exciting just shopping for university when I had an epiphany, that you have to look at were you started, and compare it to were you are now; and hey, you know what, you might not quite be there. But as long as you keep on going and believe you can get there you will (trust me if I can, anyone can).

Five years ago, I was a pretty messed up kid who just got everything a little bit wrong (and I don’t mean the wrong hairstyle), I was that one who, went for the older guys, partook in activity such as drugs when I shouldn’t have, exclusions, you name any teenage drama and I’m sure we can tick it off, (It is fair to say I had more issues than vogue). Now im going to the university of my dreams, I got good A level results, and am on the right track, admittedly I am not quite there yet, but I have come such a long way. Without reflection on it, we rarely think of our lives in this analytical way, but its something I can only recommend indulging in.

The sad aspect is only small, it’s not really sadness either more of a niggling insecurity and anxiousness surrounding leaving everything I know behind and starting over, but I think everybody would find that a little bit daunting and overwhelming. And at some point you have to accept that we are who we are for a lot of reasons, some we might never know.

The truth about self harm and suicide – the reasons why

When certain types of scorpions are placed into a fire, they sting themselves to death.

I think there is a lot that can be said for that (not just that I need to get out more), you see this is an extended metaphor for the practices of human behavior. In situations were people, who consistently suffer from mental illness feel trapped we either, attempt to, or succeed in ending our lives before the pain can intensify any more. Recently I have been feeling increasingly like the scorpion (without the tail, of course). I feel this is an obviously simplified to the complex question of why?

I hate it when people ask me why I tried to end my life (what do they expect me to say, for fun?) how do you attempt to explain to someone, that dull and chilling ache, or that dissapointed feeling in the morning because you woke up, and had to rise to another day.

People say its just in your head snap out of it, what they fail to associate with these types of disorders is the physical symptoms which accompany them. That’s the weight penetrating through your chest, the sweating hands and episodes of hyperventilation where you just cant breathe. How do people expect us to talk about it when it’s sitting on our lungs, forcing us into silence. Until you have been in a situation similar to this, you will find it hard to understand, but in truth its the only way I see out. Straight and fast. I got into the university of my dreams, to study a subject which I am so passionate about (I know geek is no longer sheek, I did say I needed to get out more), have a good family, amazing and supportive friends, but this haze is still submerging me.

I hate unanswered questions, I think that’s why I like history so much, because its not just what and how a situation or event occurred, its all about building a sustainable foundation as to why. After five years of tearing my flesh apart and cutting I still don’t know why I do it, (despite some people finding that hard to believe). The truth about self harm is that its a coping mechanism which often prevents suicides. the sick truth is cutting up makes me feel alive, in control and fearless; and there is no rush out there like it, pain seems to unfortunately, be the drug of my choice.

But the truth is, the romanticism that surrounds self harm and suicide both sickens and disgusts me (life is not like Romeo and Juliet); It takes away from the issues as real, medical illnesses that people have to hide and live with for the rest of their lives. Glorification of self harm by posting pictures on social media, suggests to me a generation of lost souls and screwed up kids (but hey, what do I know anyway). I just know that for me, that razor is my oldest enemy, and at times my only friend.

Think about this for a minute (ehhh brain work, I know) you never, or to be more accurate I should state upon only rare occasions, see older people walking around covered in scars. Is that because people did not indulge or give into weakness and tempation, or because they just never made it that far?

To live, or not to live

so today I realized how scared I am, not to die but to live, which is a strange concept to grasp I know.

After three weeks of not cutting, today I relapsed and I cant even begin to explain my head right now, although I feel messy would be a appropriate start; there is just a blur of incoherent thoughts which remain both prominent and loud.

When I usually get like this I trust one person enough to talk to, but what do you do when you reach out but there is nobody there? that’s the one thing I hate and that really gets me. Don’t say you will always be there and I’m not alone, because its 12.25 am and I’m the one sat in the dark trying to suppress the urge to carve deeper, to finally end to this pointless and meaningless exsistance. And your not here! So what, you rip someone open, make them feel vulnerable, bare and raw, you tear down the layers of armor for nothing; or hey, maybe it just gives you kicks. Its the fucking lack off humanity I hate.

When you have lost faith in humanity is when you know the inevitable end is nigh…

But these are all just meaningless words and I guess the lexical choice of meaningless concludes everything nicely within this context. My exsistance is meaningless in fact all of ours is, we will have no lasting impact on anybody’s life. People say they want the truth, well here is the brutally harsh and honest truth, when you die people will come to your funeral maybe even feel sad for a little while, but then you will fade, people will forget the details of your memory’s. Photographs will no longer have the same meanings concealed in them anymore, and life will continue as though you were never even here.

In one of my recent blogs I wrote about how it feels good to be lost in the right direction, well now here is the most sincere thing,I think I will ever write: it feels tragically and horrifically traumatizing and damming to be lost in the wrong direction, to lose the foundations of who you really are.

the third person in my relationships – Bipolar

That annoying feeling when there is a third person who just wont leave your relationship, come on we have all been there; well safe to say mine is not the jealous ex, but the disorder which both controls and dictates my life – Bipolar.

I have a hard time trying to navigate my emotions ( and I don’t just mean that time of the month) that consequently makes forming sustainable and healthy relationships so impossible, that building a zoo on the middle of Mars is more likely.

The problem is you can pretty much guarantee one of two modes, firstly the overexcited ‘oh my god lets do everything now, coffee look here’s coffee I want some more coffee do you, lets go bungee jumping, followed by skiing and then follow it of by reading all of Maya Angelou’s poetry in one night?’ (okay so guys I cant blame you for that one). Secondly theirs the even less appealing, lets stay in bed for fourteen hours, shut down and maybe if I don’t talk, and I mean not a word, stay in absolute silence all of this will go away and I might just finally dissapear.

Hyper-mania is terrifying because your the only one who is unable to see how bad you really are ( say what!? you cant go off and sleep with random strangers on a night out despite knowing them for a whole 5 minutes, what about walking along a line roofs with your eyes closed).

I read a brilliant car metaphor on a young mans blog and honestly the only way I can describe it is , its “like going at 100 miles per hour down a 20” however I would also add with no breaks or stops. It is hard to find someone who is prepared to go at that speed and in turn, stay around to hold that same girl, only covered in blood and scars, let alone ever commit to loving her.

Breaking up with my shrink and my meds

Break ups are hard and often uncomfortable but sometimes totally necessary. So recently I sent that text saying I’m sorry but this just isn’t working out, its not me its you, however not to my boyfriend but my therapist; you see we had what can only be described as a complex and secret relationship (you know what they say secrecy adds to the excitement). But I decided enough was enough, this could, granted be one of the worst life decisions I have ever made (I have always said that i shouldn’t be able to make my own decisions) and send me plummeting into a deep depression, but hey whats life without a little risk, right?

I decided that I was going to be riding solo a few weeks ago, bearing in mind I was not in truth wholly sober when I pressed the send button to that text, and fair enough to say I was wandering if the pounding sensation in my head was pure, unrefrained regret or, just a sever case of hangover; I am going to conclude with the latter, as even walking down the alcohol aisle makes me feel hungover.

Although as many relationships go, mine and my therapists was lets use the adjective turbulent, he would say stop being crazy, and I would do something even more insane, but it was still difficult. This is someone who had been a huge part of my support network, who I had when I was possibly in such a dark and terrifying space he almost knew me better than I knew myself, but I did it. Not with courage I will admit I mean sending a text come on really!! its almost as bad as getting your friend to breakup with him for you. But it was a step into the unknown and a new direction, and I must admit it felt liberating I guess, as it always does, to be lost in the right direction.

Truth – mental health

On my last blog I spoke a little about the truth, well sometimes the truth can be difficult, it can be hard to take ( we have all had one experience, I mean come on my outfit wasn’t really that bad was it?), and sometimes just to painful to admit. The truth is for what I perceive myself as a relatively honest and open person and yet there are sections of my life of which I am ashamed to say that I have been neither honest or open about, I mean come on we’v all done the whole conceal don’t feel thing. The truth is even thinking about writing this blog has left me a quivering mess, despite completing two A levels in English, the reason being this is a subject and topic people receive in a variety of different ways! basically I’m a suicidal head case ( please dont run away!)

It is fair to say that those who know me would call me a perfectionist … yes I’m sorry I am one of those! who obsesses about every minuscule detail, bitches when despite getting the A* they dropped one mark and has what can only be describes as an weird need for structure and stability in their life. well what I categorized as personality traits or, at worst a very ‘individual’ and ‘unique’ character actually developed into something much more sinister last year.

Any one else who strives and pushes themselves to reach there aspirations will understand this through experience, something of which I have only recently discovered …. there’s pushing yourself then there is destroying yourself, turns out I am unable to at times differentiate. My goal was simple enough, to be perfect academically, faultless.

Well this is what led me to a fun filled hospital bed on the night of August 16th 2014 after taking an overdose on a concoction of pills ( I must say even my doctor was finding it hard to hide his impressed face). If you have never been in that dark abyss then I guess your probably thinking what pushes someone to that stage of crazy? on AS results day I wasn’t perfect, although my results were by no means bad (ABB) they were evidently not what I wanted ( cue the end of the word)…. they were not perfect or three A’s, I had failed. The real bitter truth of the matter is that mental health is important, if you broke your ankle would you then try and run a marathon? if you just answered yes to this your an idiot, firstly for answering a rhetorical questions and I think you can guess the second.

The lexical choice of ‘marathon’ is perfect for only what I can describe the mammoth journey I undertook this year. I got the A2  grades I wanted (AABB).  I would be telling a lie if I said that I wasn’t a little dissapointed on results day,but i got into my first choice university and am off to study history, plus we all need those annoying geeks which we not so secretly hate on results day!

I wont patronize people who are going through what I was by saying ‘it gets better’, just like I don’t think I am cured, there are bad days where it gets dismal and I go back to being a definite head case (and cue the bottle of wine … or the liter of vodka) I wish I had succeeded, the difference being there are also good days, really good days where your stomach is hurting so much from laughing that you almost forget you were ever empty. So firstly I want to list what I have learnt from the experience if that’s what you would call it.

1. it is only recently I am beginning to realize perfection is impossible, because it is peoples imperfections which in fact and somewhat ironically make them perfect, its what makes them human.

2. you HAVE to let people in!!! even when your an emotional mess feeling vulnerable and insecure because people mend each other. Without the help of a very kind history teacher and amazing deputy head of year who never gave up but most importantly was always there I don’t think I would have got through. Also someone whose life experiences although different from my own, defiantly change my perceptions of the world around me.

3. communicate and that does not mean you have to go and see a quack or a head doctor, but when you say it out load and you put a face on your fears it makes it much easier to face.

The last and final section of this blog is perhaps one of the most fundamentally important where I get a little but … yes thats right … serious. The truth is people are cruel and ignorant towards what they don’t understand, and there is still, even within today’s society still a huge stigma attached to mental health. If you know someone who is going through depression, bipolar or self-harm (these are the only things through personal experience I know enough to talk about) then my top advice is just be there for them because that’s all you can do; sometimes all we need is a bit of hand holding and reassurance and someone to tell us that we’r doing okay. You can not make them better only the individual themselves can do that, its important to recognize this. Secondly don’t blame them for there mental illness, because it is just that an illness. You wouldn’t blame someone with a physical illness would you? its a chemical imbalance in the brain and can often be frustrating for the person suffering who is loosing part of their identity, what most people don’t realize is things like depression strip you of everything your energy, morals believes.

They also don’t realize it can strike anybody at any time, a few years ago I read an article in a magazine about a young girl who was cutting herself with razor blades, at the time I was disgusted and horrified, and I just could not fathom how somebody could do that to there own body, until two years later, it was me with the bloody razor, shaking and crying in the bathroom. Because that’s what the reality of mental illness is, it destroys the person you once were, I hated myself so much I truly believed that suicide was the only way out, and that left me literally tearing my own skin and flesh open trying to get away from myself.

So just think before you speak, mental illness is not funny. Its not a joke. It takes lives, there were others who were not lucky like me and did not get to be saved or weren’t presented with a second chance. So think before you speak; people you meet everyday are fighting battles you know nothing about.

why this blog?

I could lie and give some profound bullshit reason of why I wanted to start this blog, but I wont.

Something you should know about me first of is that I am a blunt type of person, for the good bad and the plain ugly; I have a reputation for always telling the truth.

Now the truth is a funny subject (and I don’t mean the haha kind of funny) … everyone holds the truth on such a high pedestal as though it is the most important phenomenon out there when in reality, if we are being honest with ourselves, there are always situations when we’d rather not know the truth. Thank god for white lies right?

Well the thing is at the tender age of 18 I feel as though our age group tells a lot of lies, not necessarily about how many people we have had slept with or if we actually really like that band our best friend wont shut up about. Worse than that, we lie to ourselves. I read a quote the other day which brought this thought into my somewhat busy head “who were you before the world told you who you should be?”. I feel like at 18 we are suddenly expected to have a miraculous transformation into sudden adulthood, where we should know all the right answers, go to university and be upstanding pillars of our communities.

I also believe we both change and adapt our behavior in correlation to the people that surround us, and very often everyone is so unsure of everything. They don’t necessarily lie or oppress the truth but all together lose their true identity’s. Who we become is not dictated but certainly partially cemented, by the people we allow into our lives, I know I can safely say my interactions with a couple of individuals has been fundamental in changing my outlook on life, my attitude towards different situations and most importantly my personalty and character.

Are lies sometimes necessary though? this is another question I find myself frequently contemplating, I am sure all of your mothers once told you that telling a ‘white lie’ was okay, and how far can the lines be blurred between a direct and forced lie, or a simple embellishment or contortion of the truth?