I just had to block someone who’s blog itself was nice but the ideals they had were all wrong.
Saying you can ONLY self diagose “simple mental illness” like any fucking mental illness is simple. I really don’t understand how someone can think they’re “simple” mental health issues when symptoms change through the years and effect other mental issues you might not even know you had.. BECUASE YOU SELF DIAGNOSED!
doctors are expensive i understand that and you can connect with people who have mental disorders and feel as if you have one too. But don’t be a cuck about it don’t self diagnose someone’s mental health or your own. cause depression can simply be that or a sub set of other problems your mental disorders causes. I thought I just had depression for years when it was really a mood disorder that most mental health professionals can’t and won’t diagnose someone with until they’re out of their teens.
i literally just dont care. hes so fucking stuck up. i try to help you and you say im making it worse. IM TRYING MY FUCKING BEST. shut the fuck up.
It’s not your decision whether you’re treating me right or not.
yes it fucking is i HATE YOU
The thing is… Things are getting better and I do see hope on the horizon. But. In this very moment things are not okay. But if I keep looking out at that hope on the horizon maybe it will make these next few days bearable.
I’ve been staying at my sisters now for 2 weeks. She is overweight and by eating what she eats in 2 weeks I went from moderately happy with my body to developing a hatred for my own reflection.
I have never been this big in my life. I have never struggled to see beyond my belly to my feet, I’ve never struggled to bend my legs to put socks and shoes on. I have never sat and felt rolls beneath my clothes.
But here I am just 2 weeks into a diet I am not in control of and I am fat.
I haven’t showered since the weekend before last for shame of my body. I don’t want to look at it. I don’t want to feel it.
I know I shouldn’t have this hatred for my body, there isn’t anything shameful in it, but I don’t like what I see or how I feel and I can’t do anything about it for another 3 days!
I want to be in my own bedroom, I miss the safety of those 4 walls with a door that shuts and a bathroom with a lockable door. I miss my privacy. I miss being able to shut the world out and not being disturbed.
Tragedy. A great tragedy. A play written seriously but taken as a joke.
Not sure whether to keep this blog as strictly somewhere for me to thought dump, or to be more interactive with it….
Yet another night of sleep lost to my anxious mind
If you have ever spoken to me and we are having a conversation about a story your telling and I keep bringing up personal experiences and interupt your story with mine it doesn’t mean that I’m not listening to you. What I am doing is showing you that I completely understand what your saying and I’m giving your story all my attention. I do this all the time and if you think it’s rude then I’m really sorry but I wasn’t trying to make your story any less than mine I was just trying to connect with you in that moment and show you that I understand and that we are the same.
I am the queen of hurting my own feeling and overthinking everything
But also switching between absolutely hating myself to thinking I am a god
I find women’s razors harder to use. #tb to when I had lost my mind and ended up in the psych ward.
i hope my future partner is doing ok bc i’m not
My therapist told me today that I have to try and let go of the hope that people will take accountability for the things that they’ve done to me. She said that if they had the ability to take accountability, they would’ve known better and they wouldn’t have done it in the first place, or they would have been able to recognise the behaviour and begin to take accountability by now.
She told me it’s not my job to take the blame or try to place the accountability on myself. While it may be easier for me to believe that there is just something wrong with me and that I didn’t deserve the things that I needed, and that I did deserve the pain and trauma- it’s also damaging for me to continue to hold that mindset, because it allows me to reinforce the doubts and damaging thoughts and feelings that abusers have forced me into believing and having.
She said I need to learn to give myself compassion for the pain I’m feeling. That I need to remember that I didn’t have a choice or any power in those traumatising situations, but I do have a choice and power now. I can choose to mourn and reflect and grow and heal, I can fulfill my own needs and become who I desire to be, and become who I need to be for myself.
when you say things like that, it doesn’t feel like a coincidence
it feels like fate
Is that it? I feel like it is
we are fated~ destined to be together.
Till death, not even in death do we part ♡
I don’t want anyone else, not in this life or the next~
You know darling, I can hardly sleep
It’s so difficult to sleep…
But when I think of you, I fantasize about you-
it’s so much easier, I’m so very calm
it’s so easy~
Do I really still love you? I’m not used to this type of thing…
Is that for the better? Or worse?
Talking honestly with those I love and care about because I’m at my lowest point and I need some kind of validation that expressing any sort of emotional need will not result in immediate and justified abandonment?
Refuse to even interact with the people I love and care about for months at a time because I’m convinced me at my lowest point will inevitably drive them all away anyway, so might as well get the ball rolling before I start spiralling?
Someone who understands unhealthy coping mechanisms help me my family is dying
you picked me up in your car. we drove and got to know eachother more on the way to your house. your father and brother were home so you snuck me in through your window. the first red flag. we had wine and fruit. you spoke a lot about consent. the second red flag. i felt weird but i didn’t say anything. you pulled out old photos and books. you asked me if i was hungry. then you showed me your pistol. the third red flag. i felt even worse now but i stayed quiet. after talking for hours you opened up the bible and read me some verses. the fourth red flag. after we waded through the bullshit you asked me to shower with you. the fifth & final red flag. i refused. when you came out you applied lotion. you asked me if i needed anything. i said no. you turned off the lights and climbed into bed. then you started kissing me. it felt nice. then you went down. i tried to pull you back up but you pushed my hand away. you took off my panties. something like rigor mortis set in. i couldn’t move. i couldn’t speak. i whispered no and stop. you had your way. my eyes rolled back. i went to a different place. when you were done, mechanically, you lay your head into your plush pillow that covers your ears and went to bed. i looked out the window and stared at the trees. tears rolled down my face but i couldn’t feel them anyway. morning came. we didn’t mention it. you said that you’re going back to school and probably wouldn’t be able to commit to me. i tried to play it cool and said it was okay but it wasn’t because you groomed me and raped me.
i wish i didnt grow up that fast