Hope without Bandages

(Trigger Warning)

I was recently diagnosed with Bipolar affective disorder.

This was written when I relapsed some time ago. I thought I’d share.

I’m proud to say I’m officially done with this part of my life. I will never need to break disposable razors for the blades. I don’t miss having to hide my body and I don’t miss the scars and I don’t miss the way it calmed me.  I really want everyone to know that cutting is something that will become an addiction once you start. At least that was my experience and I don’t wish it upon anyone.  I remember sitting on the bathroom floor the day I cut myself too deep and it really had me questioning what the fuck I was doing. Why harm yourself when everyone else tries to harm you too? This world is full of people who want to hurt you and why hurt yourself even more? I don’t miss cutting myself. I remember when I did though. Self – harm is still an issue and it starts at a young age. People don’t stop cutting until they scare themselves by cutting too deep. Well, I can’t say that for a fact but that’s the way it happened for me.

“Each cut, each scar, each burn, a different mood or time. I told him what the first one was, told him where the second one came from. I remembered them all. And for the first time in my life I felt beautiful. Finally part of the earth. I touched the soil and he loved me back.” – Secretary


Self- hatred is so comfortable to me and it has never gone away.

I’ve found hope in bood and razor blades

I’ve found beauty in cuts and bandages

Bleeding has been the easiest part of life

Bruises on my heart can show for it

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Cold

The amber lights made me feel calm

I never felt so indifferent

I never felt so exhausted

Cold rooms and cold stares

Cold hearts and cold lives

 

Please don’t touch me

I think if you do I’ll break

I want to break these walls

That looked just like a prison

Not a home –

For people with confused minds and lives

Abuse Does Not Define You

When I crossed the stage of my 8th grade graduation I had no idea what the next few years had in store for me. Graduating from 8th grade was a big thing for every junior high teen, but for me, it was just worrying about what my boyfriend at the time was going to do to me. I was foolish and thought he cared for me. This man has never cared about a single person in his life. Sure, it’s because he was abused, that’s why he abuses and lies, right? It’s not his fault, Emily. It was never his fault, right? Wrong. This man has ripped the innocence out of me and now I’m filled with hatred and bitterness. Have I always been this way? No. Not until he came into my life and made me wish I was dead.  My name is Emily Darling and I dated a sociopath for 2 years and he stalked me for 2 years after.  Now, you might be wondering why I would stay, right? There are many reasons why. He played mind games with me and made me feel like I was making things up. He lied constantly and never said anything to support me. He’d get mad and call me names and made everything my fault. He was jealous of every person in my life and tried to isolate me from the people I loved.

Most of my abuse was emotional and sexual. He slapped me once on my side, choked me for sexual gratification and I thought I had to do what he said. In high school “Everyone is doing it” so that’s what I was supposed to do? At least that’s what I thought and it made me sick and hate myself. Never did I want to do sexual stuff willingly. He pushed me to the edge so many times that I wanted to kill myself. My body started to get thinner and thinner and my heart and mind were turning into a confused mess. I self-harmed constantly and did my best to hide the cuts underneath my clothes. Not until 3 years ago did I finally stop cutting. I relapsed once. This has been a weight on my heart, head, and shoulders.

This man has lied to everyone in his life. It has never been his fault. He plays the victim and he likes it. All the abuse done to him is nothing compared to what he does to others. He’s a sociopath and he always will be.

He’s a chronic liar and he has stolen things from his own family and friends. He’s very manipulative and he will do his best to get his way. These things aren’t normal. These things aren’t right and a person shouldn’t be able to affect someone so greatly, but this is the reality of the situation. There are people like this all around us and sometimes you just can’t tell.

My ex-best friend believes him over me.  You just can’t understand or comprehend something so large and scary –  unless it happens to you. Should I blame her? I do but I don’t because she was manipulated by him too. All his friends are toxic too and I fought my hardest to keep my friends safe from this toxic man who is a misogynist piece of shit.

I told the police everything I could.  I wrote out everything that happened to me on 3 pieces of paper (my statements) and handed it to them. It’s out of my hands now and I just need to leave this all behind. It’s hard but I need to. I’m hoping writing about this will help me. I really hope that Karma will get him. I believe in good Karma and I’ve always wanted to help people and I think I can now that I posted this. Please, don’t let someone treat you so badly. Never stay quiet. Speak up and tell whoever loves you what’s going on. Don’t fight it alone like I did. It will save you from it eating away at you and your whole life.  I’m 21 and this has followed me ever since. I was only 15/16 when all of this happened to me. No matter what anyone says, please speak up. If the person threatens you, call the police. Please know that you’re loved and people DO care for you and they will protect you if you let them. That was my mistake. I thought I could handle everything on my own and I couldn’t. Abuse doesn’t define you. Keep your head up and stay strong!

The Acceptance Project (Part 1)

Trigger warning: Self-harm talk.

I was a cutter since middle school. This project is helping me get through my recent mental health issues. I’m Bipolar  and these past few weeks were pretty good so i’m getting better.

I will always miss cutting myself. That’s just how it’s going to be. I  don’t miss hiding my body, spewing lies about it just being a “Cat scratch” and hurrying to clean up before someone needs the bathroom.

I relapsed once but I’m getting through all of this day by day.

I sure hope you enjoy my photos. Mental illness is real and the fucking stigma around it needs to die. I’m tired of people being so judgemental.  Stop being fuck wads! Anyway, here’s some of the photos.


 Raw. My makeup is what keeps me happy and comfortable. I’m without makeup in these photos.

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Have you ever felt imaginary hands around your neck? The empty stomach that somehow is filled with pure adrenaline or anxiety. I will always hate that feeling.

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Stay away, there’s not anything you can do. You can’t love or wish a mental illness away.

12/31/16 – Room 33

I never make personal posts because I don’t feel like they matter or that what I have to say matters. I need to write though. I need to indulge in positive things or everything will completely go to shit.

I was committed for almost a week so everything is completely surreal to me. I thought I’d never go home. I’m lucky that I got to go home and I miss J so very much but I don’t think we’ll ever talk again.

Her smile was so beautiful it made my heart melt. Somehow I was able to talk to her like she was a long-lost best friend. We both have the same issues.

She probably forgot about me already but I miss her so much.

I saw her crying looking at a picture of her children. I asked her if she was okay and used corny pick-up lines to cheer her up.

Then we were friends just like that.

She said, “You look so sad when you laugh” or something like that, and that really hit me hard because it’s true. She was able to see through my facade.

She heated blankets in the dryer and gave one to me. We snuggled close by each other in the chairs in the Commons area. We watched TV, late night food bingeing and there was so much laughter I almost forgot that we were in a psych hospital.

I was discharged and they wouldn’t let me tell her goodbye. I was going to give her a stupid adult coloring book page, with my favorite song on the back. Of course the fucking cunts wouldn’t let me say goodbye.

Room 27 was mine and her room was Room 33. I saw her room and she barricaded herself in. She was worried that her ex-husband was after her and I thought that was a reasonable thing to do. We’ve both went through a lot of abuse and stalking.

I miss you, J. I wish you well and I love you.

Without Scars or Regrets (Trigger Warning)

I thought I’d share the post I posted on my Tumblr (linked on my homepage) because it was one of my favorites.

Left: is from the summer of 2014 or 2015, when self-harm was still a part of my life. Right:  5/6/16. Barely visible, but the scars will always stay.

Like the words people have thrown at us.

We are so much more than our bodies.

We must remember self-care.

xoxo