I’m doing much better then when I last posted. Much better… What ever that means! So, where do I start… Well, I made a very important self discovery today, its very much vital to this whole recovery thing, which I think is really good that I’ve realized it so early on, its a feeling that I can’t describe to you, nor can I put it into words. I hope that doesn’t claw at you, I wish I could explain it. 

I also discovered today that recovery isn’t about being okay all the time, Ive found myself crying a lot more lately, and at first I was like, “what the hell?” But then it hit me, when you’ve had something at the core of your life for so long and its the only thing you’ve ever known, (positive or negative) you start to rely on that specific thing, and all of a sudden you have to rid it from your life. That’s not only hard but its very much emotional, some days are easier then others; the days that are harder are the days I find myself crying, not because I’m sad specifically, but because I have so much strength and self control to say no; stick to no, that’s how I look at it. If you find yourself crying much more then usual, know that its because you’re so FUCKING strong, and you’ve now seen what everyone else has seen your entire life, you’re worth enough, the happiness and contentment life has to offer you in every way! that you’re now choosing to rid this poison out your life. so keep crying, and keep fighting. Because I believe in you. 

P.s. this post may not make any sense at all, I’m honestly not sure what I’m trying to say, but I hope you do! 


I’m not sure 

First, 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. 

Second, let me also add that while this is an absolute mess, I want you all to know that I want this specific post to be as raw as possible, with that being said, I will not read over it to make sure things are spelled correctly or if there are any grammatical errors. So here we go?…

My depression has been kicking my ass. To say the least, my eating habits are completely whack, my brain Is still trying to figure out what my body needs and what it wants. Don’t get me started with my anxiety. She’s a bad one. And right now as I’m sitting here and typing this, I’ve got to let you in on a little secret… I’m in tears. Why? I don’t know. I dont know why I’m sad, I don’t know why. I just don’t know. it’s been a rough day, and after two weeks of poisoning my body and going through countless days of just crying and laying in bed, going through the cycles of self destruct. I’m choosing to write this in hopes of possibly feeling better. Because right now… I feel like shit. 

Recovery Is NOT A Race

So, It’s been a couple of weeks since my last post.

so here we go again?…

I’ve been so busy, stressed, and extremely sleep deprived! I think it’s a little ironic how I plan on getting my masters in clinical Psychology and I can’t even talk about mental health, or when the topic of some mental health issues is brought up, I find myself cringing. Not because I’m embarrassed or something, I just still don’t know how to talk about my it yet. Let alone in front about 35 random unfamiliar strangers.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been the kind of person to fact check people with mental health, and tell them what they need to know and should know, anyone who knows me knows I don’t easily shy away from talking about mental health, but that’s not always the case. It really got me thinking, when is it right to start talking about YOUR OWN mental health? when does it become okay to start sharing with people how you struggle? when is it okay to open up?  Truth is… I still don’t know. Whenever the the topic of eating disorders or cutting is brought up, my stomach sinks, my hands get all sweaty, my entire body feels as though it’s paralyze. I awkwardly sit there and start to panic, like everyone is staring at me, they know! It feels as though there’s a huge sign on my forehead in big bold letters saying,


I can’t help but feel for some weird reason, like everyone knows, they can tell, and they’re all staring at me, judging me. I don’t think I’m at the place in my life yet where I can be honest with not only myself, but with the people around me. And that’s okay, I’m not there yet, but I’m getting there. Little by little I’m starting to open up, not about everything, but about some things!

Recovery is NOT a race, and shouldn’t be treated like one.


Here we go again, my fake promises I can never seem to fulfill. Once again, I told myself I would TRY (key word try) to blog daily, what did I NOT do? 

Moving on. My week has been a week of ups and downs, unfortunately I ended it by me having a mental breakdown at school. I rarely cry at school. And when I do, i cry in the bathroom, get myself together, and come out smiling. But yesterday was different. Like I said, I rarely cry at school, so when people saw me crying it came as a shock to them. They were concerned. How come I wasn’t my happy self today? They wondered what was wrong, but there is no use in talking to people. It wasn’t just sobs, it was crying out LOUD, shaking uncontrollably, my chest felt as though it was closing, I couldn’t breathe, my chest had this burning sensation, my head was spinning. I’m usually one to want someone to hold me when I’m crying or feeling sad. But this time, I didn’t want anyone to touch me, no one was allowed to come within a feet of me. I felt physically sick. I was convinced I was going to suffocate to death. 

I’m saying this because as I sit here, I’m contemplating whether or not I should go to this party. Keep in mind the only reason I DO want to go is because there’s going to be drugs, and alcohol. More self destruction. That’s all this week has been filled with. Me self destructing. I’m physically drained and for the first time in months! This is going to be such an easy no for me. 

Once upon my mental health…..


I just realized I haven’t really written anything on my blog for a really, really long time. There are so many reasons why. That’s sort of an overstatement because I’ve never really written anything that much. With that being said though, I had plan to make it a regular daily maybe weekly habit of mine. But, Depression is a bitch. Anxiety is it’s father. There were and are so many days that I just don’t want to get out of bed and face the world. I’ve been calling out of school “sick” a lot lately. And for someone who rarely gets sick, It’s hard to keep saying, “oh, I’m sick”, ya know? But that’s way easier then calling out and saying “oh yeah, I’m taking a mental health day today because of my depression and my anxiety has skyrocketed and I just want to stay in bed and cry, while contemplating whether or not I should or should’t take the entire bottle of pills that’s on my dresser right now.”  people don’t know how to react when you tell them you’re depressed. And to be quite honest with you, that is okay, I’m not looking for some sort of sympathy from anyone, I’m not looking for anyone to feel sorry for me. I just wish I was able to be honest and say, “hey look, this is what’s happening, this is what I’m thinking of today”, ya know?


Truth be told, there is nothing remotely pretty or poetic about slit wrists, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, or any form of mental health. there’s nothing to romanticize in the unpolished, desecrated skin. nothing to glamorized in the struggled sobs that scraped the insides of your throat raw and hollowed you out with every choking hiccup. you’re not a temple like they want you to believe, you are a sickness, you are a ditch attempt at filling the void.

Some days are better than others, like today—everyday isn’t going to be like today, and that is okay.

Black and Grey

If emotions were colors, then everything is black and grey.muffled and faded. Not washed away, just faded. I found solace in the darkest place. When people found out what I had been doing they asked me why?, But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be where ever you lie your head. I was Scared to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it. But the feeling is only temporary. After a while, it goes away. And I, am myself again. 

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.