i will be okay

a few years ago if you put me in this situation i would have spiraled out of control the rabbit hole would be back & getting out would be rly hard but i’m not that person anymore i have healthier coping mechanisms i have a better support system i know myself & my limits & i know how i feel. doesn’t mean i don’t feel like shit doesn’t mean i know what to do but does mean that if nothing else i actually literally will survive this.

my breakup with ryan ended up in an overdose. my breakup with connor ended up being too close to stitches for comfort. my breakup with jack ended up with food being the one thing i had control over. but i refuse to be that person again i’ll 100% cry nonstop, i’ve already left class twice to hide in the bathroom & cry but i haven’t externalized (or internalized to an extent lol) anything and i don’t plan on it which i am proud of. haven’t acted on anything even though i’ve 127% wanted to.

if i can get through half the shit i’ve gotten through then i can get through this. i am a survivor i am a thriver i am going to be okay.

past years, past life

it’s days like these when i think back the most to the me i was 4 years ago. addicted to the rush of seeing myself bleed, addicted to the sting that came, addicted to seeing my flesh split open so easily. like cutting through butter once i figured out the right angle. it’s day like these where i stare at my body with morbid fascination, wondering where i could decorate myself but have no one see. i haven’t been this sick (because let’s face it that’s what it is. it’s an illness, an addiction, an obsession) in a long time. yeah i’ve slipped up here and there and made some shallow attempts of what i used to know but what i feel now? this is big this is too much this is not a feeling i ever wanted to feel again yet here i am.

that’s a different version of me, not one i want to be today. i want to be happy. i want to be healthy. i want to be better. i don’t want to be fixed because i’ll never be fixed because i’m not broken i’m just fucked up. also like, you can’t fix bipolar disorder even though i wish you could. i don’t want to go back to the old me. i’m trying really hard not to but asking for help is my least favorite thing ever. i dream in red. i scare myself. i know what i want to do but i won’t do it. i know who i want to talk to but i can’t do it.

all of these posts are stupid. i’m stupid. i don’t know why i bother with things because i don’t want to write it out on a website and still hide how i really feel. i want to be able to share it and talk about it and figure out what the fuck is going on. what a concept.

a day in the sun

i took a day for me and i only cried twice (which is a personal record in the past 2 weeks!)!! i spent the first part of my morning at practice and honestly there is no better way to start a day than in a boat that trusts you and swings together and goes fast while drinking a coffee and watching the sunrise. ugh. i wish i could capture mornings like these and store them away for when i need a burst of happiness.

after practice, i spent the mid-morning laying out in my backyard reading books and drinking a mike’s hard lemonade. yeah it might have been 10am but let’s be honest. those are 100% more sugar than alcohol! i’m rediscovering my love of reading and getting lost in a good book. if anyone has any suggestions please lmk!!! i’m always on the search for a new book.

i ended the day at the beach with my brother (J) and some new friends i’ve made because one thing i want to do this summer is make more friends. it was a bit awkward but it was still fun. it was a great day to be at a beach. plus like i was enjoying myself and didn’t even think about how i was feeling in a swim suit which is huge i was just trying to make sure the frisbee didn’t hit me in the face and i didn’t fall into the water!

today was a good day. i can have good days i just need to make them good.

summer’s not just for sinning

i went to a park today to go for a run and visit the memorial bench of an old friend. it’s such a beautiful place to spend an afternoon. i had a lot to think about today, a big one being coming to terms with how i’ve been handling things lately and how i really haven’t been taking care of myself. so boys be damned this summer (and after R read my message he’s pretty peeved so idk what’s happening there so much fucking drama) i’m gong to learn to love me. if you asked me to list things i like about myself the list would be short and superficial. i am a good coxswain, i’m a good teacher, i’m good an annoying people, i’m good at crying, i’m good at binge watching netflix shows. if you asked me to list things i dislike about myself the list would be long and taxing and i’d really be able to show you how good i am at crying.

but, like, it shouldn’t be that way!!!! i need to learn to love myself. i need to learn to put me first. i need to learn what i want and do what i want. i need to spend the summer getting to know myself because that’s something i haven’t done in a long time and it’s something i think that i need. i’m going to travel, i’m going to learn how to do brush lettering (i’m really not too terrible for only doing it a few times), i’m going to smile, i’m going to go out with friends and stop cancelling because it’s always fun in the end.

summer’s not just for sinning, it’s also for learning to love, learning to live, and learning to let go

i regret ever starting 13 reasons why (tw)

the first time i tried to kill myself was in 6th grade. i was in the bathroom at my moms friends house. we had just moved and i was the new kid again, just like i was every 2 years. feeling lost in the world is the worst. feeling lost in the world while going through puberty fucking sucks. i knew that there were 7 layers of skin, so i figured it would be pretty easy to scratch myself until i broke through them all. in actuality i gave up pretty quickly on the scratching and i went to find my mom in tears because if this wasn’t working then maybe i needed something more. she was so embarrassed by me. all her friends watched me come running out of the bathroom sobbing, my arms stretched out reaching for my mom and my mom was looking at me in shock.

the next memorable time (and unfortunately there were some other random attempts in between) wasn’t until freshman year of high school. i can even tell you the exact date: december 28, 2010. my first boyfriend broke up with me. my three best friends had abandoned me weeks ago. i was diagnosed with depression, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. turns out, i’m a hell of a lot more than just depressed but it took a bottle of ibuprofen and a lot of puking to figure that one out.

but this post isn’t my failures (or my successes, depending on how you want to look at it). i’m on spring break. i started watching 13 reasons why because i loved the book and truthfully i needed a new show. well, today i watched the last episode and i bawled. first, the image of hannah slitting her wrists is burned into my mind. how many times did i play that scene over in my mind but i was hannah? i couldn’t watch the whole scene, i had to close my eyes. but what really broke me were her parents. i was so selfish. my parents almost got divorced because of the shit i put them through. and had i not failed at killing myself, who knows what would have happened. i wanted to hold her parents and love them. and her friends. and alex. and clay. i guess i never thought beyond being dead. i would be happy, as happy as you can be when you’re dead, and life would move on. i was a burden out of the way now. i’m so fucking glad i puked. that i chickened out because i’m scared of blood, and that the time i wasn’t scared of blood i’m thankful as fuck to have been interrupted. i’m thankful i had the chance to grow and recover to be the person that i am today.

but even beyond hannah killing herself, it was the sexual assault that bothered me too. something i push back into my deep dark corners and try to forget exists, is that i had a bryce. i dated a bryce. no, he didn’t rape me the way he did hannah and jessica. but the actions and the inability to recognize wrongdoing and sexual consent.. it was all too eerily familiar. it scares me. it worries me. i just want to curl up in a ball and keep crying but i know that i have to be stronger than that because i refuse to let shit like that define me.

but i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that i regret watching 13 reasons why. i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that my own mental health is more important than a tv show. i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that if they make the awful decision to make a season 2, i’ll be damned if i ever watch that shit. don’t watch 13 reasons why. it’s not worth it.

two posts, one day

i’m on spring break. i should be having a great time, but in reality the best part of my break is being with R when he’s not in class/working, and smoking. the work i have to do is unreal. the thought of going back to school fills me with dread. and to top it all off, i decided to start watching 13 reasons why on netflix. honestly, i’m not sure why i’m watching it. it’s not terribly good, and they romanticize mental illness.

what. the. fuck.

we live in a generation where it is okay to think suicide is trendy and we should put a girl killing herself in a tv show. we live in a generation where showing a girl being raped is fine on a tv show. why do we have to glamorize it? it’s not pretty, it’s not cute, it’s not okay to joke about. i am very conflicted about this show. great! it’s bringing awareness to suicide and mental health issues! but when do they talk about that? the show is haunting, but it’s turning into something that i’m sure the producers never intended it to be. i truly had high hopes for this show. they had the chance to really talk about suicide and the impact it makes but instead it became a joke. all of the memes going around? “welcome to your tape” ya okay let’s openly mock suicide. and her parents. oh my god her parents. when i was 16, i was in a worse place than hannah. not to say that she isn’t in a bad place, but like shit i was lower than rock bottom. seeing her parents reminded me of mine, and reminded me why this is so serious. why this shouldn’t be joked about. my mom still can’t listen to the song “gone gone gone” by phillip phillips without crying. and that was five years ago. and i didn’t even die, i lived by some miracle. and i’m glad i did. this show should have done so much. it could have made such an impact. instead it just stirred up old thoughts and memories, and an unbridled anger and sadness at what could have been.

c’est la vie