Tw Mental Illness - Tumblr Posts
Just finished episode 2. Everything Diane says/goes through in this episode... I relate so much. From the medication, the weight gain, the struggles with creativity and inspiration and concentration, the "being on anti-depressants makes everything better but also really not", the struggle with realizing that maybe there was nothing profound about the abuse you went through but that thought (that it meant something) was the only thing that kept you going/kept you alive... I have never seen my personal experince with depression shown so clearly in media.
Also the fact that, yes, sometimes you just wanna read/write a story about a clever young girl detective with a little but of baggage, where everything works oit in the end. And that can be healing too. It helps to escape the darkness that is dragging you down.
I also loved how they visualized Dianes depression/disorganization/self hatred in this episode with the animation style.
Man, I love this show!!
brb, I'm just gonna bury myself in my room for tge next days watching part 2 of season 6 of Bojack Horseman, one of the best shows - neigh! - THE best show about an (ex-) alcoholic horse Hollywood has-been that has ever existed.
No really, watch this show, it's so good!
How do you tell people? How do you tell them that you’re exhausted even though you slept for 10 hours? How do you tell them that you need a break from talking and smiling and simply being near them? How do you tell them that although you love them, you so desperately need to be alone tonight?
Midnight thoughts (I’m burnt out)
TW: venting about my whole ass panic attack. So yeah
So I'm literally in tears rn. My acne flared up really bad. My nose is to big. My lips are too small. My hair just won't work with me. I may be skinny isn't good when your face looks like God hit you 1000000000000000000000x with the ugly stick.
My brother decided to say, "It's not that bad. Why are you upset?"
Easy to say when you have every female in the world falling at your feet.
Like all my siblings got the attractive gene & my genes decided I'd be the ugly one.
My teeth are messed up to. Not lined up, under bite. Got scars lining my body so that's another flaw to add.
Why would anyone decide to date me.
The guy I was dating kill himself. I would to if I was dating me.
He didn't even leave my ugly ass a note. Such a shame ig.
Got ADHD, Bipolar, ODD, Generalized Anxiety, Depression, PTSD, & now possibly falling on the Autism spectrum.
Ugly af
Annoying af
Always fall in everyone's shadows. Only this person's younger sister or this persons older sister maybe this other person's daughter.
Can't even make a name for myself. Sometimes I wish I'd disappear. I was suppose to have a twin. If she made it maybe it'd be better.
School is stressing me out. I somehow passed last year. Kind of tired.
I'm just tired.
No matter how hard I try or how hard I work. Nothing will ever be enough.
Not for me, my mum, my siblings, my friends, my teachers, no one. I'm never enough.
I have a panic attack my mum decides the cry.
What gives her the right. She looks great. She's witty, kind, independent, knows what she wants. So why is she crying. Literally nothing happened.
You're crying cause I'm upset & making everyone else upset. Literally not my fault I'm having a panic attack while looking in the mirror.
Hell now I've started starving myself. Afraid of weight gain ig
I lie. Say how cool my family is. How I don't care whether I am skinny or not. Lie that I'm not ugly or pretty. I lie. Straight through my teeth.
I pretend my life is so great.
No.
I never have been close with my mum. I've always wanted to. Seems everytime I start to I get pushed back.
My mother is proud of all my other siblings.
I gave up on art. I was like 12 or 13. I went to show my mother a drawing.
My mother told me to shut up as my older brother & sister were gonna sing. She couldn't even wait one second to take a glance.
When she decided to look. After praising her oh so talented children. She just said my drawing was cool.
I flushed that drawing down the toilet.
I've decided that I'll just not try.
I'm 16 atm. I try to impress my mother. Be a oh so good kid.
Never one glance.
Where did I go wrong.
My ex boyfriend gave me hope. Maybe someone could love me. Someone could find a way to look past all my flaws & see some beauty that I just couldn't see.
But the rope he hung from could say different.
No goodbye, no letter. Nothing.
Last words were him breaking up with me in a group chat without notifying me .
Having to find out through someone he hates.
Someone who he despises knew.
Then when I joined. He just ridiculed me. Put me down. Kept saying cruel words. Just to break up. Then leave this world.
I know I wasn't the cause. That his world came to an end. But why?
I've only ever looked at the bright side. Wanted to help others. Sit by those who hurt. Helping others gave me purpose. Hope that maybe I one day could.
My mother's name is Hope though. Even she couldn't believe in me. How ironic. The woman who gave birth to me is named Hope. Yet any hope she could've had in me never met my eyes.
I would leave the world as well. I guess I just like the challenge. Tried to leave a couple times. Each one a fail. For 6 minutes & few seconds. My heart stopped. I was at peace. Then my heart decides to beat again. Body decides to work again.
October 23rd 2018. Was my near death experience. Was great honestly. Sadly death just won't take me. No matter how much I've tried. Even death doesn't want me.
How ironic. Death takes everyone. Yet not me.
Take people I care about. Not me though.
I gave up on attempting suicide. Never leads me to death.
I just kind of exist now.
Mother won't let me get a job. Won't let me pierce even my ears.
She says she cares yet victim cards Trump all.
I weirdly love my family though.
My mother saved me from going to foster care. Plus my father was abusive. The memories that'll never leave haven't grown because of her.
Yet it seems I really was just part of the package.
To care for any of the others. I was just the con.
She showed up to my football practice in 8th grade.
She looked so proud & congratulated me on knocking guys 10x my height down. For once she was proud.
One of my matches she showed up to. I was knocked down by a kid. Are team lost. Any hope she had in me. I could see disappear.
She lectured me after. Saying how I could've done better.
I quit the team. Coach said that I shouldn't. It just wasn't as full filing when the person who gives birth to you. Well the one you spend all your time trying to make proud. Look at you with cold eyes.
I had a choir concert not even a year ago. I did the whole thing. Hoping maybe she walk in. See that I was overcoming my fear of singing on stage.
She texted me once I was done. She waited outside the entire time.
Didn't take the time to come in. I thought maybe she was doing something. Shopping or riding around. No. She just sat in the parking lot.
It hurts. I lost my childhood. Lost someone I loved. Lost any hope of my mum being proud. Lost my pride. Lost any love for myself. Lost any meaning for my life.
I've given up. Won't kill myself.
Wouldn't give myself the satisfaction. Plus I've tried to many times. Shot my shot. Missed everyone besides one that I rimmed & missed.
Guess I'll live just to survive. Then die peacefully in life.
Maybe I'll die saving someone. That'd be good to. Be remembered as someone who saved someone .
Well thx for reading ig
Do you ever just want to burst like a body of water being held back by the weakest cling wrap? And that body of water is your mind and heart and soul? And that cling wrap is your own will power?
As someone who has been put of many different antidepressants, I can say that from my perspective, we notice the difference too.
Every time I was placed on new medication everybody around me told me that I “seemed to be getting better” or “your acting like you again” and I just want to say that the meds made everything harder for me.
The only difference in my situation is that they didn’t tell us the risks-
That’s not to say that medication doesn’t work, in many cases the medication can be the difference between life and death, it’s almost like a coin flip.
If it wasn’t for some really close friends who were constantly checking up on me (and calling when I didn’t answer texts) the situation I’m in now would be very different.
Bottom line is, check up on your friends!
If you see that they have had a sudden change in behaviour or have started meds that are negatively affecting them, talk to them!
It might be a difficult conversation, it might not be a conversation that they actually have with you. It could still be the small thing between life and death.
One small phone call or one simple message can really change someone’s life.
Even if it only helps them realise what’s happening. They may not speak to you but they might speak to a family member or a professional.
You are loved, remember that.
If you have letters to write you have reasons to stay.
There are anonymous call centres if you need someone to talk to with no strings attached.
Someone is always in your corner.
<33
my favorite side effect warning is for antidepressants
pros: you won’t want to kill yourself
cons: you might want to kill yourself
This was so amazingly soft, it was so gentle despite the gruesome topic, how did tou even manage that???? That's some talent right there, wow. You really depicted it like you knew exactly what you were talking about (not implying you didn't), even with the quite vague description I gave you. The way you put in triggers that set off the urges, the boys helping the reader, it was those details that made the story flow so smoothly and perfectly. Wow, this was one of the best things I've read in a looooooong while. I couldn't praise it or you enough, really! Thank you so much again.
Let’s get some dinner.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader, John Watson x Reader
Warnings: Destructive, selfharm, mentions of starvation.
Request. Hi! Can I request a Sherlock x reader (a fic or headcanons, whatever you choose) where the reader is as destructive as he is? For example (and I’m not proud of this, trust me…) I’ve starved myself for long periods of time or randomly hurt myself, like banging my head on the wall. If you won’t write this, for any reason, just let me know. Thank you so much!
I tried to keep this one gender neutral.
Sometimes you’d get so engulfed into your work, or a case or something you were obsessing about, that everything around of you seemed to disappear. Sherlock usually had the same problem, he’d even given the ‘problem’ a name; his mind palace. And while you did not think that it was the same, John had walked in multiple times with the two of you, zoned out. If it wouldn’t be for John, the two of you would probably go on without any food for the rest of the day. Sometimes you’d go without food for more than two days, only to be reminded that you needed something in order to proces everything normally. It wasn’t that you did it on purpose. From a young age you had displayed behavior that others would deem harmful or destructive. All to yourself. And while your parents had tried multiple times to rid you of such behavior, it sort of sticked. Fortunately with some psychological help, and later on that of John and Sherlock, most of the damage would be minimal.
Besides, not eating most of the time was great for your figure.
As a young child you’d have mostly urges. To hit a wall. Or suddenly slam your head against the wall. There were other urges. More severe ones. There was one ‘accident’ with the knife. But after that you learned to suppress most urges. Neither you nor your parents ever wanted to experience that again.
Now that you were an adult, living on your own, you no longer had the supervision of your parents. You’d chosen a place in the middle of London and quickly made friends with the famous detective and his friend. They looked out for you, and in some way you did the same for them.
Most of the urges would quickly fade. And when you were near Sherlock or John, they would distract you. It was usual Sherlock who would recognize the certain facial expression you had. When you would be alone, there would be the occasional urge to slam your head. There was this one particular wall who seemed to trigger you. Which was why you’d spend most of your time in Sherlock and John’s apartment. A silent agreement the three of you had. They wouldn’t question you when you’d walk in, nor would the belittle you when you’d have one of your accidents. It was rare for John to have to patch you up. Fortunately.
And while most of the times you went along with them on cases, this time you were in your own apartment. You weren’t certain anymore why. However you had followed the case closely. Something about a killer that would only kill certain people. Most of the victims looked like you. Which was probably why neither Sherlock or John wanted you to tag alone. Afraid of the danger they might put you in.
So you decided to help them in your own way. Text certain details you had found. Or go online in order to find more information. A pattern maybe. You didn’t think about your environment, or the time. Only about the case and wanting to help out. You were kind of thirsty, however you had pushed the feeling away, not feeling the need to drink or eat. The only thing you did do, was shower when you felt like it. Just because it helped you think, before slipping back into a state of pure concentration. You were close. You could feel it. There was just one thing you were overlooking and you couldn’t stand it. You’d eat something later. Maybe tomorrow. But for now you just wanted to find the last piece of information you needed. Focussing on your screen made all the other urges disappear. Walking by the one wall did not seem to trigger anything, not with the case on your mind. The only thing you’d occasional do, was slam your knuckles on the table when you couldn’t find something.
The sudden knock on your door startled you. Bringing you back to realization. “(Y/N)?”, you heard Sherlock’s voice on the other end of the door. You hadn’t heard him come back from the case. When you glanced outside you saw that it was dark. The only light coming from outside was one of the lampposts. You moved to stand, reaching out to open the door when you realized how cramped and painful your hand was. When you glanced down you noticed the blood. shit. While Sherlock or John never berated you for your destructive behavior, you could tell that it disappointed them. So when you opened your door, you hid your hand behind of your back, flashing him a smile. “Hey there Sher. How’s the case? Any details you can share?” you stepped aside when he moved inside of your home. He glanced at you for a few seconds before taking in the room. Obviously deducting what had happened here for the past.. hours? What time was it?
“Solved it yesterday actually”, Sherlock turned around so he could look at you. Your raised eyebrow made him smile, however it was quick to fade. Had he known you were trying to solve the case as well, he would have come and visited you earlier. But he had been so busy, so occupied that when John mentioned your name earlier he realized that something was off.
Before you could speak Sherlock spoke again. Taking in your form as he explained how he had cracked the case. You groaned, slightly annoyed that the answer had been so obvious. “When was the last time you ate?” he suddenly asked, making you frown. It had been a while, you knew that yourself. And by the way Sherlock was asking it, you were certain he could tell. With your hand still ‘casually’ behind your back you stepped closer. Looking at the bottle of water next to your laptop. It was half empty. “When did we have dinner again”, it was after that when Sherlock received a text and left you, muttering about the murder. “Three days ago”, he squinted slightly at you, approaching you and putting his hand on your back so he could guide you out of your house. The tone of voice alongside with the realization that it had been three days since you ate something, made you cringe.
You could feel you stomach hurting, and while you ignored the feeling while you were alone, now that you were in the presence of Sherlock it only stung more. The fact that you did it again. Not only did you disappoint yourself, you disappointed other people by your actions as well, and that seemed to hurt more. You didn’t speak, just walked along Sherlock as he guided you in his room. John was about to greet you, but he read the grim expression on your face and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. You didn’t watch the exchange, but knew that John was quickly informed of the situation. “John, grab the first aid kid, (Y/N) seems to have hurt their hand”, Sherlock moved to his chair, watching you as he had you on his couch. You couldn’t read his emotions, however you felt scared by the way he eyed you. Your parents were sweet. They had done their best by helping you out. But in situations like this they would lose their cool. Your mom would cry most of the time, your dad would shout. Both not understanding what was going on in that head of yours.
However Sherlock was not your mom or dad. He had never raised his voice with you. “I’m sorry”, you mumbled, not wanting to speak up or acknowledge that you had done something so stupid. Sherlock had guided you to his room, because he had realized before you did, that you were to weak to move on your own. Going without food for three days had made your head fuzzy and light. John sat beside you, taking your hand so he could look at it. You did the same. Seeing the bruising, the dried up blood around the knuckles. It wasn’t broken, you could tell the difference. But it was sure going to hurt for a while. John’s smile was warm. He looked tired, but he never seemed too tired to take care of you. He was too good.
Sherlock gave you a smile of his own. They were rare. But they meant a lot to you. “Let’s get you something to eat shall we?” it was late, too late to go somewhere, but not too late to order something in. While John tended to your hand, Sherlock ordered you something to eat while he discussed the case. He was curious how far you had gotten. Maybe he just wanted to see what you had came up on your own, but at the same time he was trying to understand your pattern. He had made a mental list of whatever triggered these self-destructive behaviors. He had spoken multiple times to John about you. Checking whether he was missing something just so he could help you. Knowing that his presence made it easier for you, he had no problem in taking you under his wing.
You’d felt like a freak. But with John and Sherlock near you, you knew that there was nothing to be ashamed of.
Keep reading
so, i have talked about mental health and the struggles that my characters have with it in particular before, BUT i have yet to do so on this account. thus... i'm going to touch upon how blamore has bipolar 1 disorder and how that affects its daily life. here's just a little background about bipolar one in particular just in case y'all don't know a lot about it — bipolar disorder is a mental health condition that is usually characterized by periodic albeit intense emotional states that affect a person's mood, energy, and ability to function. these periods could last anywhere from days to weeks, and there are usually two types of mood episodes. though some people also experience periods of neutral mood as well. the first of these two types are manic/hypomanic, in which the main mood that the person will be in will either be intense happiness or irritability.
the other kind of mood episode is depressive episodes, where the person affected by bipolar disorder is in an intensely sad mood or the ability for them to experience joy has seemingly disappeared. the onset of when blamore realized it had it was when it was twenty after having a manic episode, which led to him having to be hospitalized because it had experienced what is known as psychotic features (esp. disorganized thinking and hallucinations) along with the normal but also severe symptoms of a manic episode: increased risky or impulsive behavior, decreased need for sleep, and uncontrollable racing thoughts, just to name a few.
and i have done some research about it that states that mood-stabilizers / anti-psychotics, as well as psychotherapy, do help to treat it (though meds are usually the main way to, it seems) which i think blamore immediately tried to take after being told his diagnosis because it had encouraged him to make some bad decisions regarding his academic life + he was having trouble with maintaining his relationships as well and felt like his emotions were so heightened that he felt hopeless. i mean, to the point where it was crying and screaming into it's pillow every night.
so blamore decided to seek treatment after a bit of time spent in reluctance to accept that what he had was bipolar disorder, because at first, he just wanted to believe that he was depressed. and after trying out several medications along with different regiments, it seemed like it'd finally found something that worked for it. so blamore was doing well and thriving, in fact, for a while with just a little extra help from its meds. which is definitely possible for someone who has bipolar disorder to do, of course, because your diagnosis isn't who you are. and it is treatable like i mentioned previously.
now, however, is... a slightly different story. blamore has tried to return to taking medication for his bipolar disorder with the same dosage + regiment in general, but because he has an accelerated metabolism, it affects it's body differently now and has led to it experiencing some side effects that are pretty unfavorable in it's opinion. so it stopped taking it at that dosage and has now been switching between meds at the lowest possible one to try to find the right prescription, though blamore does sometimes forget to take it + has gotten sort of frustrated with it seeming to have no effect on him. so he may or may not be teetering in between the decision of just stopping it altogether.
though yeah, right now, the general gist of it is that blamore takes a drug for it at the lowest dose... inconsistently. so he may be prone to forgetting to take it for like a few days, or possibly longer and because of that, the meds may not have had enough time to work within him properly for lack of better words. and he has had several depressive episodes over this time as well as one really bad manic episode with perhaps some hypomanic ones that had gone undetected. thus, thing's are a bit complicated for him right now, to say the least and he is suspectible to experiencing more severe mood episodes again. buttt yeah,, i just thought i'd give y'all a little insight as to what having bipolar 1 has been like for blamore + how it tries to manage it today. i hoped you all liked this longer drabble of mine (':
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needless to say, whenever harley came over to blamore's greenhouse that day, things really weren't going that well for him. the last week or so had gone by in a complete haze for him. and it had all but forgotten that it had obligations to fulfill today. one of these actually was a meeting he'd set up with harley, which he seemed really excited about a few weeks ago whenever they originally planned it. but something had happened since then that drove blamore to the point where he physically felt like he was unable to get out of bed... along with it vastly neglecting the health of its own plants, as well as just itself in general.
some of the creature's plants were starving for water to the point where they'd become wilted in fact. plus, blamore's own body besides that had been plagued with hunger pangs that only got worse as time went on. though he was seemingly so depressed at the time that neither of these things mattered to him. now, in response to the sound of a gentle 'pitter-patter' of steps heading his way, blamore stirred for the first time in a little while. its eyes opened as its tail lethargically swept over the sheets it laid on to this 'intruder' and tried to lift itself up; but failed as a result of its lack of energy.
blamore then thought about making the thorns inside of his legs surface, but stopped as soon as he felt himself being pulled into this person's lap. a barely audible hum left its lips as bleary eyes partially focused on harley's face, ❝ mm, what? what are you doing here? ❞ blamore could hardly keep his eyes open as all he'd been doing lately after he'd ran out of tears was sleep. its breath hitched as its head lolled to the side to rest against harley's shoulder. ❝ god's... you're so warm. i'm sorry, can i just — ❞ blamore let out a mix between a chuckle and a sob. ❝ can we just stay like this for a little while? ❞
Writing Advice On Mentally Ill Characters
Piece Of Advice: GO HARD!!!!!
When I see a mentally ill character who is prim and proper and only has "desirable" and not "inconvenient" traits I throw up inside my mouth and I want to spit it back at you!
Write mentally ill characters who are the biggest piece of shits alive!
Write mentally ill characters whose depression is demonstrated through self-destructive habits that hurt their loved ones emotionally and physically!
Write characters who have anger attacks so brutal they have to consciously convince themselves not to pull an Edgar Allen Poe "Black Cat" stunt on their pets!
Write mentally ill characters who are abusive and aren't justified or excused due to their past!
Write mentally ill characters who don't do the "sympathetic" or "good" things like taking their medicine or believe in "safe" things!
Write mentally ill characters who are burdens on their loved ones!
Write mentally ill characters who don't have perfect loved ones to turn to and don't blame their loved ones!
Because this is reality! Depression, anxiety, insecurity, anger issues, and general mental unwellness are not hurricanes that convenientally avoid wrecking the most important parts of a character's life!
Real life people deserve to see their dangerousness, suffering, and messiness reflected in characters!
Write hopeful stories about non-sympathetic and not-so perfect victims learning to grow! Sometimes the most hopeful thing alive is to learn that your worst fears of being a burden on your loved ones, of being a horrible person, of losing people you care about, are absolutely true and then have the courage to continue.
As a mentally ill person myself, I have been a mental load on my family! My mother can't understand me and has misappropiated the "cause" of my problems! My dad is a general piece of shit who is dealing with his own demons! My sisters don't live in the house and barely bother with contacting me.
And I am still alive. I am a horrible, incomphrensible burden with no friends and I am as happy as I can be! I feel whole. I feel complete.
Why can't stories ever seek to include people and stories like me?
Writing Advice On Self-Harm (tw obvi)
Hi, even though this post is going to be about serious issues such as self-harm and suicidal ideation and all of that fun jazz, I am going to speaking about this topic with the same tone I always do. If that is considered offensive, just remember I am a person who has been sent to the crisis center and does self-harm :)
Remember, these are just my personal experiences. Everything is diverse and it's okay to mention that these experiences are not universal. HOWEVER, don't accuse me of lying about any of this shit!
TW: Talks About Self-Harm, Mental Illness, And Everything Related
Actual Introduction:
Despite the fact that whump and angst tend to include mention of suicidal thinking and self-harm, they rarely feel realistic in my own point of view. Obviously, there are various different motivations and actions for self-harm but I just want to see some of my own representation.
So here are some myths about self-harm and myths about mental illness in general since they tend to overlap.
A) Everyone Who Self-Harms And Thinks Of Suicide Is Mentally Ill
Yeah, this is pretty big misconception in the community so I just wanted to establish this.
Outside influences like unhealthy friend circles, stressful situations, and abuse which are linked yet not conclusive for mental illness can influence someone's desire to do self-harm.
While mental illness is a big motivator for self-harm, self-harm is just a coping mechanism. And not everyone who uses coping mechanisms are mentally ill
B) Self-Harm Can Only Happen Like [EXAMPLE]
There are various different ways of self-harming.
Personally, I tend to scratch my arms and specifically my left hand since my dominate hand is my right. It's also just an easy place to reach.
So I get a tinsy bit upset when the only "serious" type of self-harm is shown by cutting. Especially since I felt that the only way someone would ever take me seriously is by using a knife.
Remember, readers are going to be reading your shit so please try and diversify your self-harming from the physical and the mental since every single self-harm habit outside of "ritualistic cutting" tends to be judged as "less serious" or "not real".
Mental self-harm is real and self-destructive.
C) Self-Harm Is Dramatic
This may just be a me-thing but my self-harming mental struggle definitely isn't like how other people write it.
Genuinely, I treat self-harm like it's just another thing I do.
"Oh yeah, sometimes I write, do a bit of scratching, read a book, and watch youtube"
I self-harmed exclusively in public spaces since my self-harm is mostly conflated with my anxiety. And these people do not notice a thing. Genuinely. LIke, I have literally turned my entire hand red and bloody and nobody noticed.
It's just that nobody ever suspects it since people don't think of scratching casually in class when they think of self-harm.
When I was forced to go the crisis center since I expressed planning of suicide, I was making jokes the entire time.
When I shared a room with this amazing person(they/them) who had bipolar disorder. We just talked about our sexualities, job dreams, and watched The Amazing World Of Gumball.
I miss them.
GRAND CONCLUSION:
The point of this last section is to illustrate the fact that those with mental illness aren't removed from society in the way authors tend to write them.
In the minds of authors, once you express possible symptoms of a mental illness you become this melodramatic inhuman spectacle of misery.
I'm pretty normal. I have hobbies that have no deep psychological justification. I have a family that isn't just pure trauma in a trench coat. I have thoughts of normal sadness, happiness, peace, and anger.
I just also happen to self-harm sometimes.
Again, this section might be problematic and bad but it's just how I feel. And there is no such thing as a "problematic feeling". All there exists are problematic actions.
TO REITERATE, IF YOU DON'T AGREE WITH ME THAT IS FINE. I AM NOT THE GOD OF MENTAL STRUGGLE. I JUST WANTED TO THROW OUT MY OPINION.
sorry for offending anyone :(
Text Excerpt From My WIP [IGNORE]
I'm just writing this since I got an amazing idea for this paragraph but it's not something I can write now so i'll write it here so I won't forget
"It would be incorrect to say that her death was the inciting incident to their (failed) suicide attempt. Not that it didn't weigh in on later matters but it's just not what caused the climatic failure that punctuated that evening. In actuality, the spark that lit the match was a thought that quickly fell away from my self-preservation's grasping hands. "I can't handle growing older anymore". From the moment my body was left to rot in that cold sterile prison, I was set apart from the human race through my brutality and immaturity. Dreams of riding our bikes to the waterfall framed by summer trees -- I wasn't meant to be there. Aspirations of wearing a champagne wedding dress with a cherised community cheering for my joy -- I wasn't meant to be loved.
"I want to die" as the curtains were mutilated
"I want to die" as I united with the ceiling.
"I want to die" as my feet were seperated from the chair.
I collapsed. Nearly landed on top of the corpse. It wasn't right. I was supposed to be falling into hell. Kissing the boots of Lucifer! Look, I don't know what you do in hell!? Anyway, that's not the point. I was alive.
I ran to door. Open. Closed. And stared into the mirror. It wasn't me. It was someone that was weeping as the tears stained their red cheecks. It was some monster with a mouth so stretched open and parted around a cry I was sure that this face of pure despair must have been etched in their birth. They looked like a baby crying for it's mom. I was a twenty-something with a mom who had been dead for too many years at this point. It wasn't me.
The stigma associated with mental illness is a terrific one. I have struggled with depression and anxiety most of my life. I have battled both anorexia and bulimia, and participated in other self-i...
Came across this while looking up phrasings for a role-play post, and I just NEEDED to share it! This is so, so, SO important!!
Medication can be both good and bad, in some cases (like my own) medicine is a functioning way of helping someone out of mental illness.
I realize, that in others, it might not be. There are so many variables involved, that every case is different.
BUT, way to many people who know nothing or next to nothing about mental illness and treatment like to go around making suggestions about how one should cope with their problems. I have several times been told by "friends" that medication is a crutch, that it is unnatural and bad for me - I didn't listen to them, I discussed my issues and worries with the medical professionals who were treating me (My doctor and psychiatrist) and we worked them out together.
My point is, that no matter your views or what you've heard from friends or even what your own experiences are, unless you are a medical professional, DON'T TELL PEOPLE what to do or not do in regards to medication - you can make suggestions, sure, but those suggestions should ALWAYS contain the words: " You should talk to your doctor about..."
Because things like this happens WAY to often.
Random PSA: just saw a post about people "supporting" those with mental illness until difficult symptoms/situations occur and that just really grinds my gears bro. Mental illness is a bitch and those that struggle with it should not have their illness romanticized only to be later judged when people realize it's not actually glamorous to have a fucking mental illness. Just wanted to say my blog is a safe space for anyone who has ever felt this way and you will never be judged here 💕
TW mental health, general ramblings of my mind, sorry if you actually read it 🤣
So whenever I’m in a bipolar low I like to look at Carrie Fisher quotes about being bipolar just because it comforts me? Weird? Maybe. Oh well. Anyways, this was one that I hadn’t seen before and it just struck me as interesting. Once a couple friends had asked me what it was like being bipolar with my moods and whatnots and I described it like the ocean a bit and waves. Every time the waves came back it could be the same emotion/feelings or a different one. It’s just kinda up in the air?
I hate this shit.
smeared mascara at 2 am not cause of sex but of crying babeyyy
Also just so everybody remembers: Neurodiversity ≠ Mental illness Anxiety shouldn't be the core of your identity, but it's ok for something like autism to be instead, because that's an important mental difference you have.
It's okay if your mental illness is a part of your identity, but be careful not to let it become the center of your identity - cause then recovery will feel like an attack on who you are and that will make recovering even harder than it has to be.
“A picture showing a man or a woman jumping off a window is a picture of a person with psychiatric issues who, suddenly, acts in an incomprehensive way, if we exclusively frame the person leaning out of the window or falling from it. However, were we to enlarge the field of vision in order to obtain the whole image, we would be able to see, for example, a line of police vans with military equipment about to evict the person in question.
The real reason behind the act is the situation of vulnerability with regards to basic items necessary to live that many people experience in our time. Knowledge of the specific facts, the missing parts of the image, make the supposed psychiatric issues melt like snow in the sun.
Psychiatry is the act of eliminating context. Psychiatry doesn’t listen, it doesn’t want to listen, it doesn’t want to know. It only considers the fragment, an unjustified behavior or an idea openly in contrast with social conventions and it silences it.
Going back to the picture of the person who jumps off the window: the cut that eliminates the police aggression will be made by, for instance, a newspaper that belongs to the bank who evicts the person. This would lead to the apparent non-existence of a cause for the search for death, in order to direct the discourse towards the psychiatric issues of a sick person. In other words, psychiatry is at the service of power. Of course, it is much easier to quickly eliminate those who denounce important issues rather than confronting and solving them, like guaranteeing everyone, no exception, a house and an equitable distribution of the planet’s resources.”
— Paolini, M. 2018. Preface. In: Antonucci, G. El prejuicio psiquiátrico. Pamplona: Katakrak. [Translation mine]
My face is having uncontrollable spasms. Great. It hurts really, really, really bad.
I think part of why I have trouble explaining pain to the doctor is when they ask about the pain scale I always think “Well, if someone threw me down a flight of stairs right now or punched me a few times, it would definitely hurt a lot more” so I end up saying a low number. I was reading an article that said that “10” is the most commonly reported number and that is baffling to me. When I woke up from surgery with an 8" incision in my body and I could hardly even speak, I was in the most horrific pain of my life but I said “6” because I thought “Well, if you hit me in the stomach, it would be worse.”
“Fuck you my child is completely fine”
your child is an ART MAJOR