Oversharing…

I have not been able to figure out how to start back up writing again, i mean it seems simple… just write. at-least that’s what i kept telling myself. I have so many saved drafts of posts that i started but later realized that i was oversharing.

ahhh… oversharing…

that’s something I’ve become very aware of recently, trying not to cross that line of sharing enough to help something or sharing too much that may hurt someone.

there is a fine line between being honest enough to help people, verses unconsciously creating something that could possibly harm someone. And I’ve realized what i was writing, the depth i was going into, could possibly harm someone. I’m not sure if its my deep desperation to connect with people on such a deep and personal level, or just pure stupidity… lol I’m not really sure.

I tend to overshare without even knowing I’m doing so, just to later feel like shit because I’ve told more then i intended to. once someone show the slightest bit of interest in my well being, i feel this urge to tell them about my traumas, or why I’m the way i am. my oversharing usually includes me sharing too much, or cracking a few dark jokes about my mental health to make myself and the person feel less uncomfortable. or something traumatic. people get scared off by that. I mean, who wouldn’t…

sometimes i loose my mind trying to fix myself and make me alright. that i forget that sometimes you can’t fix everything, some sadness must be felt, and even at times crying IS OKAY. you cannot fix everything, every emotion. those are what makes us human, what makes us ALIVE. and It’s taken me such a long time to tell myself that whenever i feel the urge to “fix” myself or fix what is wrong, sometimes you just can’t. you just have to feel it all to be OKAY…. and sometimes not being okay is okay too.

It’s okay to not be okay.

I’m going to start writing again. like i said, there’s so many saved drafts i wrote just waiting, so i may just post those.

with so much love!

xoxo

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I ask myself….

How have you been? How are you feeling right now?

these are questions I found myself asking a lot during the day. And whenever I did, I always seemed to find something in the darkest corner of my mind that I didn’t pay attention to before that point.

I’m okay. Sometimes I’m not sure how to answer that. most of the times my brain is full and spinning and I can’t seem to form cohesive thoughts. sometimes i can’t seem to pin point what it is that I’m afraid of. I can’t find the reason for my sadness. my head and heart is heavy most of the times. just one big giant ball of cluster fuck. That fear of vulnerability terrifies me. That feeling of getting excited for something or someone and being let down plagues my mind, all of the time. I won’t let myself fully feel. Because I am afraid. I am afraid of being let down and disappointed. I’m afraid of the heavy thoughts and the days when everything is just heavy and cloudy. There were many lonely nights of drinking to feel numb, drinking to black out. Many of nights of making bad decisions to feel numb. There were many days of pure panic leading up to panic attacks that left me feeling exhausted, empty and non human. There were days when I dissociated so badly that it scared the people around me, that left me terrified and exhausted. which led me to isolate. It’s been hard.

It’s been three months. In the last three months, I started college, moved away from home; was able to somehow make it this far on my own. Not that i needed anyone, I think I’m a very independent person, ever since I was little. It feels refreshing, It’s been extremely hard, but here I am. In the last 3 months, I fell in love, got my heart broken, twice. Just to meet someone, and fall in love again. hard. It’s been hard, especially with my depression and anxiety. First semester of college has been interesting up to this point. I’ve met some really cool people and formed bonds with them. I also somehow managed to perform okay in school whilst also being in the worst state I’ve experienced with my depression and anxiety yet. There was one week when I didn’t leave my bed or attend classes, but i always bounced back and got my shit together. It was hard, It’s been hard. Here I am. Winter break started Friday so I’m home for the holidays.

 

 

-B-

HI

I’ve been MIA for a very, very long time. A lot’s been going on. With working, and getting ready to go off to college, I found it hard to keep up with my posts. Now I know what you’re thinking, this isn’t the first time. But unlike the rest of those other times, I just couldn’t find the time to sit and write, so here I am. (because I know you’re all dying to read what I have to say, also, what a shit excuse.) I’m in college now, it’s amazing. I love the campus, I love the people, I love the new friends I’ve allowed myself to make, I love my classes. Except for Statistics of course! because, FUCK MATH. and FUCK stats. But I need it for my major so you know, gotta suck it up!

anyway, I don’t really know what to write. It’s been such a long time, well my mental health! yes, how’s that? you ask. Well right now, it’s not doing so well, like I mentioned in a post from a while back, when I was in middle school or high school, I’d allowed myself mental health days throughout the week, just to keep up with my mental state. But I’ve come to find out that in college, I can’t just call out, or have my mom call out and tell them I’m sick. Because my professors don’t give a fuck about my mental state. or if show up or don’t show up.

STRESS.

woah, I had a panic attack yesterday in my psychology class, I’m blessed it was psychology, because everyone understood and my professor was just so nice and so sweet and just so amazing about it. it wasn’t a big deal, he understood. which was pretty fucking awesome.

I have atleast two or three emotional breakdowns each day. which is pretty cool! I have a lot to say, but I’m just going to leave this here for a while. I’m back. And worse, so stick around.

If you’ve noticed at this point in this whole post, because as I’m reading this, I’m realizing that I’ve become a shit writer, but that’s okay! I was never good to begin with!

Thanks for giving a fuck!

-B-

 

 

 

 

Ride

I was in the winter of my life. And the men that I met along the road were my only summer. At night, I fell asleep with visions of myself.  Dancing and laughing and crying with them. And my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events I saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky, that I wished on. Over and over again. Sparkling and broken.

but I didn’t really mind, because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it, to know what true freedom is. when the people I used to know found out what I’ve been doing, how I’ve been living, they asked me why? but there’s no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people, for home to be where ever you lie your head.

I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north. No fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide in its watering as the ocean. And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way, I’d be lying. Because I was born to be the other women, I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.  who had nothing, who wanted everything. With a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom, that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it. And pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

live fast

die young

be wild

and have fun

When I’m at war with myself, I ride. I just ride.

who are you? are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them? I have, I am fucking crazy.

But I am free.

Something

let me start off by saying there is nothing poetic or pretty about slit wrists, there is nothing to romanticize about eating disorders, depression, suicide, anxiety or any other form of mental illness. You’re not a temple like they want you to believe, you are a failed attempt at failing the void within you, the void that should be filled with love, happiness, and contentment. It isn’t your fault. No one taught you how to fill that hole you’ve dug so deep within your soul.

Not All Black Girls Know How To Eat

the stigma sounding mental illness is not only repulsive, but extremely in lack of a better term, fucked up. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had false statements and remarks installed into my brain. That only a certain race can do this or that. I’m not one to discuss politics or racial discrimination because I’m always so terrified about the backlash that I might get, and I never wanted that negative attention. But If expressing how I feel, and bringing to attention something so important that is so dear to my heart, may cause some backlash… that is okay.

I’ve suffered in silence, and for a really long time, I thought that was okay. Having an Eating Disorder, suffering from self-harm, depression, and anxiety, and having every single voice in your own head telling you that you’re not good enough. That you should just go ahead and end your own life because that is so much more better then facing the harsh reality of life. And having other people look at you and tell you that you can’t cut yourself, that you can’t have bulimia, there is no way! and most of all, that you cannot be depressed… you start to believe it. For 3 years, I suffered and never said anything to anyone. Because I’m not white. I mean, after all…. black girls know how to eat… black girls like being thick or big. Having a mental illness is already draining, having to keep it a secret, you beat yourself up about it constantly! and then having the people around you tell you can’t, and how could you? this disorder is for white girls and white girls only! you’re only trying to act white by starving yourself, eating until your chest is going to explode just to stick your finger down your throat and release your demons and the thoughts and memories that hunt you the most.

by you listening to a different kind of music does not mean you’re trying to act like a different race, by you dressing a different way does not mean you’re trying to act like a different race, and having a mental illness of any kind does NOT mean you’re trying to act like a certain race. No matter what you look where or where you come from or who your parents are… none of that matters. Mental illness does not go through a crowd of people and pick out who’s white enough to have a mental illness of any form.

because not ALL BLACK GIRLS KNOW HOW TO EAT.

 

Why? Ask Why not? 

Why? You want to know why?
Step into a tanning booth and fry yourself for two or three days. After your skin bubbles and peels off, roll in coarse salt, then pull on long underwear woven from spun glass and razor wire. Over that goes your regular clothes, as long as they’re tight.
Smoke gun powder and go to school to jump through hoops, sit up and beg, and roll over on command. Listen to the whispers that curl into your head at night, calling your ugly and fat and stupid and bitch and whore ad worst of all, “a disappointment.” Puke and  starve and cut and drink because you don’t want to feel any of this. Puke and starve and drink and cut because you need the anesthetic and it works. For a while. But then the anesthetic turns into poison and by then it’s too late because you’re mainlining it now, straight into your soul. It is rotting you and you can’t stop it. 

Look in a mirror and find a ghost. Hear every heartbeat scream that everysinglething is wrong with you. 

“Why?” Is the wrong question.

Ask “why not?” 

-winter girls