I was so sure.

That’s what they’re telling me
But I just can’t calm down

I know it’s what I need
But I just don’t know how

All these voices get so loud
But they still can’t drown the sound
Of me knowing this is all my fault
We’re still too young, this is too much
But I still know that there must
Have been something that I could have done

I was so sure
But I fell short
I thought I’d stand tall and shake the ashes off
I told myself that I could be strong
I was so sure

My words are failing me
When did we become so numb?

Don’t tell me anything
The past can’t be undone

All these voices get so loud
But they still can’t drown the sound
Of the fact that everything has changed
We’re still too young, this is too much
I was naive and out of touch
I was so sick of always needing saved

I was so sure
But I fell short
I thought I’d stand tall and shake the ashes off
I told myself that I could be strong
I was so sure

That’s what they’re telling me
But I just don’t know how

KAYA SCODELARIO, disappointed, and gif image

>>Nothing’s ever perfect, you know?<<

I’m making it through my finals. I honestly don’t know how because I don’t study at all (tried it a couple times, but I can’t focus) and feel rather shit 24/7 with a smile on my face while I’m getting all of my tasks done. My son is the only reason why I’m even doing this. He’s the good in my life and I need a little good because without it, there’s an awful lot of darkness. But God, I’ve got so much rage inside of me that I don’t have an outlet for. I’d never be violent because that’s strictly against my morals, but something makes me hate everything. Everything. But because I need to find something positive to not lose my mind completely: At least the numbness is not showing at the moment. That’s probably the worst part because it makes me feel so empty, so dead, so hollow, like I’ve lost myself completely. Not that I’d show it, though. Maybe I should become an actress. Hell, I’m good at pretending. I act like I’m just relapsing a little (and even that only in front of the few people I feel kind of close to) even though I’m falling to pieces. And the worst part? Even if there was a way to stop it, I couldn’t.

I’m hurting, hating myself, constantly relapsing, in need of vodka to fall asleep sometimes, sometimes back to the eating disorder I thought I’d defeated a long time ago, and even if someone knew, nobody would bother to do something about it.
You know what the weirdest part is? I have everything you could wish for- my family is whole now (I could still kill my father, but he gladly isn’t a family member anymore), I’m making my way through the final exams, I live at home again, I smile, I have a son whom I love more than anything in the world and still I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. That’s probably the strangest part of all this crap inside of me. One piece of me died and has been replaced by the pain. Nothing but pain. And it makes me so angry. But hey, smile, right? Like nothing ever happened. Sometimes I want to scream that no, I’m not okay, but why bother? What would change?

Such a beautiful masquerade. They say secrets hurt, but it’s the truth what hurts sometimes.
Sure, I keep fighting every day. But I gotta stop lying to myself about things getting better cause they’re not. I’m not a pessimist, I’m just being realistic after spending almost half of my life with mental disorders. Yes, I’ve been fighting like hell every single day to survive and there have been better and worse times, but whenever I felt like I was finally recovering, the next relapse was right around the next corner, waiting to crush me down like a wave all over again. I have lists of things that make me happy, people I love, memories I hold on to, a box filled with positivity (a blue one from IKEA with scented candles, magazines, photos and lots of other great things), but they all just light up single moments. I’m aware that life is made of many moments, one after another, but I can’t spend my energy on making every single one a good one. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been even though I don’t feel like that at all most of the time, but I’m not strong enough for this. I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.
I had to fall to lose it all, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.

Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide


We are our own enemies

Since I started school again, I’ve been relapsing even though I gave everything to prevent that. But that’s the point of all this, isn’t it? No matter how hard I try, I’m never good enough. I feel like that’s the main problem in my life. Nothing is ever enough.
alone, beautiful, and dark image
I saw a doctor today because of my swollen ankles. Wanna know what his ‘medical explanation’ was? I’m too heavy. This shithead dares to stand up and tell me my freaking ankles are swollen because I need to lose weight. Well, first of all: I’m not overweight. Unlike someone who actually studied medicine, I do know what a BMI is and that mine is definitely normal. Not to mention that you don’t actually even need a BMI to tell whether someone is overweight or not; you just see that- especially as a doctor. Well, he didn’t. But there are more things about his ‘diagnosis’: I gave birth to a baby exactly five months ago and have been kind of busy since with my finals and, well, my BABY. And he knows that because he is- no, was- a friend of my mom’s. And last but not least, when he made that fucking so called diagnosis, I was actually stupid enough to tell him I suffered from a severe eating disorder for half a decade and really don’t need to hear that shit (I didn’t say shit- I’m way too polite when I talk to adults who act like douchebags) and his explanation for that was that I’m just a badly behaved pubescent teenage girl. Right. THAT’S my problem. Thank you very much DOCTOR.
But that’s actually not where I wanted to go with this post. I just used it as an example for moments when I feel like I’m just not good enough. Not thin enough, in this case.
broken, depressed, and heartbroken image
No matter how thin was, I was never happy with what I saw in the mirror. I remember when I looked into that stupid thing three years ago and my ribs were sticking out and I was wearing those way too huge jeans even though they were the smallest ones the store had had, I looked at all those visible bones and all I thought was: There’s still weight left to lose. This isn’t it.
It’s always been like that and now that I’m not obese, but did gain weight during my pregnancy (even though that’s basically the most natural and normal thing in the world and happens to every woman) and that fucking kills me inside every single fucking day. I don’t tell anyone but my counsellor I’m seeing again on a regular basis now. Why should I tell anyone else? They wouldn’t be able to help, so what’s the use? I’d only get fake pity and I really don’t need that. Those things don’t get better when you talk about them. Some things do, but not this crap. It only gets worse.
enough, grunge, and indie image
Same shit with my achievements: they’re not enough either; never have been. Back in elementary school, when I came home with an A, my dad used to take a look at it and then, instead of commending me, he would tell there were still a couple of points left I could have scored. That’s the mindset I grew up with and that’s been part of me ever since. Sometimes I don’t even bother to try cause I already know it won’t be the way I need it to be. Like maths. Already gave up there cause I know there’ll never be something better than an E- even though I worked my ass off to get better. It’s always the same shit. You try and work and put so much effort into something and screw it up anyway. Sometimes I think I just can’t take it anymore. This sick craving for perfection. Where’s it gonna get me? Nowhere. Because it doesn’t exist. You will always find something to criticize. There is no finish line, no point when you’ll be like ‘alright, now I’m good enough’. Who or what do we even have to be good enough and perfect for? Who the hell cares anyway? Why are we doing this to ourselves? Why am I doing this to myself? I know EXACTLY where it will get me. I’ve been there. It’s basically the road to destruction, but I’m taking it anyway, hoping it will be different this time, hoping I’ll make it this time. Hoping I’ll be happy this time. Hoping I’ll finally be able to live with myself, cause right now I’m just not. I can’t stand myself. I’m not what I need to be. Who I need to be.
book, books, and boy image
Who am I even trying to satisfy? The disorders in my head? The stupid people at school or other crap? My family? Myself? My son? I want him to be proud of his mom, but I’m not like other moms. I don’t have the perfect husband and the perfect house and the perfect job and the perfect life. Nothing is ever perfect when it comes to me. And I actually know that the perfect housewife’s life usually isn’t perfect either, that nobody’s life is, but I just can’t convince myself of that. Who am I and who do I need and want to be? And why is nothing ever enough? Why is this voice inside of me never satisfied with my accomplishments? Who is this voice? Is it me or society or my disorders? Why the hell do we hate ourselves this much? Why are we making ourselves our own enemies? There’s no need for it. But it’s what we do. Every single day, we put ourselves down because we can’t live up to some stupid expectations we or somebody else made up for us. And that’s what makes us fall apart. It tears us apart so badly, we need something to keep the rest of us together sometimes. Like drugs. Legal drugs since I’ve had my son, but still drugs. I’ve been smoking a couple times again even though I actually quit when I knew I was pregnant, so I got an e-cig now. Looks stupid and doesn’t exactly taste like a normal cigarette, but there’s no real smoke, smell, nicotine or cancer involved. I just need it to calm down a little. Oh, and I’ve been drinking a couple times. Vodka in a water bottle so people wouldn’t notice. I didn’t get drunk; I don’t do that because it’s stupid, ridiculous, low-brow and immature, but I drank a few sips here and there to keep my head from exploding at school. It’s stupid too, but I can’t help it there. Cassie describes it perfectly:
school, failure, and skins image
I just need something to keep myself from falling apart because I love my son more than anything, but there is nothing. Nothing inside of me expect for the love for him. He’s like this huge light in the middle of all the darkness inside. But no matter how bright the light is, the darkness won’t fade away completely. See, nothing is ever enough. I keep smiling and telling people I’m okay because they wouldn’t understand (I only tell people when I know they’ll understand cause telling others would be useless) and I take care of Jamie and I’m always there for him and somehow make it through every single day and pass my exams and all the other stuff, but all the pressure makes me feel like dying. I wanna let go, but I can’t. I need to hold on and somehow get through everything, no matter what it takes. I don’t have a choice. I’ll probably never be happy, but Jamie needs to be. He deserves it. I probably don’t.

So fucking alone

I feel so alone, I can’t even breathe. There’s this huge hole inside of me and it’s black and deep and keeps growing and devouring everything of me. It’s like I’m losing myself bit by bit. Every night, another part of me just fades away into the darkness and I can’t reach out and get it back. That part; I feel like it’s gone forever. And it hurts. The pain is so intense that I struggle to keep breathing. Why does it hurt so much? Why can’t I get better? Why am I feeling like this? I’m not alone, so why am I so lonely? And why the hell am I not healing? The wound is bleeding and I keep putting plasters and bandages on it, but it won’t heal. I just keep losing blood. That person in the mirror; it’s not me. I’ve been replaced by depression and it hits me like a freaking hurricane, destroying everything it touches and leaving nothing behind expect for destruction. Damages that can’t be repaired, issues that can’t be fixed. Can I be fixed? Is there even hope for someone like me? After all these years, is it even possible to fully recover? Or will a part of me always be dead? Will I always feel like there’s something missing even when I have everything? Is this ever gonna end? Since giving birth to Jamie, I’ve been feelingalive for the very first time in several years, but still there are parts of me that are always hidden away, always in the shadows. This kind of fits right now:

When you go into the ER, one of the first things they ask you to do is rate your pain on a scale of one to ten. I’d been asked this question hundreds of times over the years, and I remember once early on when I couldn’t get my breath and it felt like my chest was on fire, flames licking the inside of my ribs fighting for a way to burn out of my body, my parents took me to the ER. The nurse asked me about the pain, and I held up nine fingers. Later the nurse came in and she said, “You know how I know you’re a fighter? You called a ten a nine.” But that wasn’t quite right. I called it a nine because I was saving my ten. And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating faceup on the water, undrowned.

I wish I had a Freddie to save me. But darling, this isn’t Skins and I’m not Effy.

It’s not beautiful

I’m struggling with my weight again. Well, ‘again’ is actually wrong because I’ve never stopped struggling with it. My pregnancy got me some more pounds and now I’m clearly not obese or something, but I’m just not skinny anymore. My stomach isn’t flat anymore, regardless of my position, and my thighs always touch, no matter how I stand or sit. And there’s fat where it’s not supposed to be. I actually wanted to lose the weight, but turns out I don’t have any time for sports (finishing school as a single mom is much more stressful than I expected it to be- not that I’m overchallenged or something, I’m doing a great job- but I just don’t have any time left for anything) and I can’t change my diet. Restricting or controlling how or what I eat (I mean, I already do that by living vegan, but that’s because of ethical reasons and has got nothing to do with any weight loss strategies) would bring the eating disorder back immediately and I cannot let that happen.
But the thing is: the thoughts are there. I would never admit it by speaking it out loud, but it’s true. The voice is back and forces me to consider my options, tries to convince me my current weight makes me a fat, lazy and worthless failure, tells me how useless I am. I ignore it, but it can’t ignore the pictures the voice brings back into my mind: the pictures of all those skinny girls and women.
bikini, fitness, and gif image
They’re thin as fuck, have those thigh gaps and visible rib cages and collar bones and hip bones and all that crap. And I hate myself for deep down, secretly wanting to be like them all over again. I mean, what’s the freaking point? They’re not even pretty! Thank god the healthy part is nowadays much bigger than the sick part in my head and makes me realize that. Bones are not beautiful. Walking skeletons are not beautiful. Girls that look like they’re about to fall apart, break down or collapse are not beautiful. Women whose bodies don’t have anything ladylike and feminine are not beautiful.
And you know what’s not beautiful either? Dying.
Because that’s what eating disorders cause: sickness and death. Been there, done that. Those bodies look sick and desperate and not pretty at all. Those girls need a good therapy and not a freaking catwalk. What the hell is wrong with this society that it glorifies disorders? Even though everyone says showing starving girls is inappropriate, Size Zero is everywhere and the media keeps telling us we need to look like that to be beautiful. catwalk, gif, and Gisele Bundchen image
That’s the trick: They tell you to be yourself and that everyone is beautiful in their own unique way and then they judge you and tell you how you have to be and act and look to be pretty, famous, rich and successful because those are the most important things in life.
Be yourself- as long as you like what everyone else likes. And you’re beautiful the way you are- as long as your belly is flat and your legs thin. Girls are not supposed to be too girly because that would make them basic bitches or something, but they’re not supposed to be too boyish either because that makes them tomboys and unattractive. They gotta be chill, but not too chill, and look natural, but not show any flaws, and eat burgers and fries, but keep their small sizes. Of course girls are not the only ones forced to fit with that type, but I am a girl, so I know pretty much about girls. Why do we advertise sicknesses instead of helping people recover from those sicknesses? How twisted is that?
bikini, fitness, and gif image
And don’t tell me people get the help because outside hospitals and therapies, they don’t. Ever seen the movie (or read the book) ‘It’s Kind Of A Funny Story’? Emma Roberts totally proved how cool mental disorders are in that one. And damn, how cool teenage suicide and nuthouses are! But don’t you dare let that kind of stuff happen to you in real life. It’s cool and funny- as long as it doesn’t happen to you. Because if it does, they’ll run away. Because they can’t handle it. But it’s cool, right? Cancer also seems to be such a popular topic in teenage books and movies (and I’m not just talking about ‘The Fault In Our Stars’- which is great though, but I don’t read a lot of teen stuff) and everyone feels so sorry for those poor people- as long as those poor people don’t cross their ways in real life. We all feel so sorry for all the lost souls, but we don’t do anything to help them anyway. We say we don’t know what to do, but we actually don’t even wanna know.

Who am I?

Have you ever asked yourself that question? Because I have. Like, you know, multiple times. I can’t even count them anymore. I don’t even know if I’ve lost myself or just never knew who I was. I used to think I was special somehow (like a special kind of weirdo) because I really don’t know anyone who has as many sides and shades as I have.


People don’t understand it’s possible to love darkness (the night, goth music, art and such), enjoy normal teenage stuff (drugs- yeah, I like them, but I don’t do them anymore, sex- but I don’t have sex anymore because of Jamie, parties- though I don’t attend any anymore, teen movies and books, Starbucks..), get obsessed with things (currently: the British show Skins), hate trends and society, but somehow be a part of it too, expect way too much from yourself (like getting all the A’s in school, study medicine or something and become someone people know and respect), be a good mom (and yes, I am despite my age and that stuff and I actually do and sacrifice everything and anything for him, do everything right and I’m ALWAYS there for him), be smart and well educated (like the fact that I actually like Dante and Shakespeare and don’t just fucking pretend), love nature and animals (yep, I’m that kind of girl that only eats vegan stuff and freaks out when someone throws his cig stub in the grass or treads on ants), have mental issues (because of my blog I don’t think I have to name an example), but I’m stronger than anyone I know and I definitely think and ask way too much about, like, everything. I’m curious and I’m not ashamed of it. Actually I’m usually not ashamed of anything. Everyone hates lies and hiding secrets and still everyone does these things. Well, I don’t.

So that’s me. Normal? I hardly think so. Special? I don’t know. I don’t think I know anything anymore at this point. This point. Where is this point? Where am I and how did I get here? When did I become this person and who is it? Have I lost control? Or did I let go? What the hell is happening here?! I honestly don’t know what to think, do or be anymore. I don’t feel bad, but I don’t feel good either. So what is it that I’m feeling? Shrinks always tell me confusion is a condition and not a feeling, but I don’t know another word to describe what’s inside of me. Whatever it is, it’s a huge mess and I don’t even know why. All I know is I can’t sleep and I’m feeling torn apart inside. Yeah, that’s a feeling! Right? Fuck it, I don’t know. I don’t even know what tears me apart inside. People ask how I feel and I don’t even know what to answer because I just don’t know. Am I okay? Am I crazy? Is this the life I wanted? And if it’s not, then what kind of life is it that I want? And will I ever get it? Will things change? Will I change myself? Change them? There are so many questions and no answers. I’m just sitting here confused AF and not being able to sleep though I’m really, really tired. Of everything and nothing and most of all, of myself. Because I’m just way too complicated. No wonder I’m single, right? Nobody can handle me anyway. Not even I can. I want to fit it- and somehow I don’t want to. Does that make sense? No. We’re told we can be anything, but I don’t even know what I wanna be. Just be yourself, right? Well, what is this ‘myself’? Who is it? Is it something narrowly and accurately defined? Am I supposed to figure it out? Will I ever?


I know how people want me to be, how they want everyone to be (turn on the TV and you’ll know), but do I wanna be like that? I don’t hate myself, not anymore. But I don’t know myself either.

And I’ve lost who I am, and I can’t understand.
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love, without, love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on.
But I know, all I know, is that the end’s beginning.
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart.
Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent.
All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain.
All is lost, hope remains, and this war’s not over.
There’s a light, there’s the sun, taking all shattered ones.
To the place we belong, and his love will conquer all.



“Do you still love him?”

I was asked this question a couple times recently and because I realized I’m not sure how to answer, I thought I should write about it. When I say ‘him’, I’m talking about Jamie’s father who was my boyfriend in 2013 when I called it off and then again in 2015 when I broke up with him again after he’d impregnated me. And now, I really am not quite certain when it comes to my feelings for him. Do I still love him? Is it love when you feel torn apart by two completely different feelings for a person while one feeling tells you to get that person (the ex) back immediately and have bad sex and make the same mistakes all over again, and the other feeling is a weird mixture of disgust, anger and disappointment and wants you to never ever even talk to your ex again? Is that love? I honestly don’t know. Nobody ever made me feel such completely different things at one time. I’m actually one of those girls who always know instantly what they feel and want and can talk about it, but this is different. All I know right now is that I’d just love to get him out of my life once and for all, but I can’t punish Jamie for his dad’s mistakes by taking them away from each other. A boy needs a father and as long as I’m a single mom, the biological father has to take that part.

Maybe I’m just scared of being alone and never finding love again or maybe I want that perfect family we see in every cute movie. I cannot get him off my mind. Maybe I just miss our memories and not him.

Sometimes it’s not the person you miss but the feelings and memories you shared

All I know is we cannot get back together. It won’t work out. We don’t work out. We never did either.

The Originals, the vampire diaries, and klaus mikaelson image


Stay alive, soft, dark and dreamless
Far beneath my nightmares and loneliness

Sometimes, when I’m still awake, it comes back. Those nights are the worst. Quiet and not nearly as painful as they used to be, but still it hurts. There’s no reason for the pain. I have my beautiful son whom I love more than anything sleeping next to me in his crib and a supportive mother and sister in the same house. I’m not alone, but I feel like I am because there’s something missing. During daytime, I feel whole and happy, but the nights scare me. I want someone to lean on, a warm chest I can fall asleep on, sex in the morning and a heartbeat to listen to. But I can’t get these things if I wanna be a good mother because Jamie’s father is someone whose hand I don’t even want to shake anymore because everything about him disgusts me and I can’t look out for another guy either. I don’t have the time or patience or nerves for a new relationship and I’m not the type of person who has one night stands. I’m back to school and when I’m home, I have a baby to take care of all day. Sounds easy, but it’s not. When you got a kid, you got a full time job because you always need to be there for your child. Of course there are babysitters and grandmas to help out, but who am I to give my kid away so I can have dates? That’s what immature stupid teen moms do. 

My birthday came and went yesterday and nothing spectacular happened. Because of Jamie, I didn’t celebrate at all (didn’t want to anyway) and it was like any other day. I’m a good mother who cares about her child more than anything else because that’s how it’s supposed to be. A parent should put his or her child’s needs before any party, club or date. But I cannot deny this tiny aching hole inside of me crying for love. Not the family-love. Not the mother-son-love. The in-love-love. I want someone who holds me when the anxiety comes back and kisses my forehead and encourages me and make me feel prescious, beautiful and worthy of loving. Being with my son Jamie makes me feel like I’m in heaven, but I don’t feel like I deserve him. I just don’t feel good enough and I want someone to give me back that feeling I once was able to feel. I want my self esteem back, feel comfy with my body and have great nights with great sex (I’m in desperate need of sex after a freaking year without any) and sleeping in someone’s warm arms. 

Isn’t that pathetic? I’m acting ridiculous. Ungrateful, immature, stupid little bitch. Shall I hate myself or is it normal to never have enough? I should worry about other things. Way more important things. Like my final exams. But, like I always do, I put those fears aside. The only things I can’t suppress anymore are my feelings. They are too strong, too intense. Stupid BPD. I’m a mother and student recovering, trying to get over all the shit I’ve done and that happened in the past and yet I waste my time with wishing for some guy I don’t need anyway in my freaky life! I wish I could talk to someone about it. I know there are people who would listen, but nobody would understand. Back when I worried about bullies, eating and not-eating, binging, purging, cutting and killing myself, I always had the other sick people around me I’d met at the psychiatric hospitals, but this time there’s no one to share my story. I’m alone with these thoughts. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be right now. Maybe I need to appreciate the moment. Maybe there’s just no boyfriend, lover or even a date for me and that’s how it should be. To be able to focus on myself, my school and most importantly, my son. Maybe I’ll find love again one day. True love and not the crap I went through in the past. Who says you can’t have a child and marry later? Maybe I won’t be alone forever, maybe I’m not that ugly. Maybe I just need to be alone with myself right now. I don’t know what to think anymore. There’s just too much on my mind and that makes me feel like I’m driving crazy. Shit, I feel so alone. I just wanna be happy.

Being the mom & the child

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m being torn apart by two massive parts of my current life: how happy I am about being a mom and how scared I am. What I’m going through right now is the happiest and most difficult period in my life at the same time (at least so far)- and I’ve been admitted to institutions for mentally sick people eight times after almost dying because of my disorders. So saying this is the most difficult time really means something. It’s like the fears are a big creepy monster sitting in the corner, continously growing, terrifying me, while the joy (because this is also the best time of my life) is there like a bright light trying to defeat the huge monster- but the monster won’t let it. (Damn, while reading this I realize how incredibly stupid I sound..)

amy lee, lithium, and evanescence image

The fears I’m talking about are still the same I mentioned in my last post. Failure. I’m more scared than I could have ever imagined to be of failing as a mother, student, daugther and person. Those fears are so intense that I had a mental breakdown yesterday after studying. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the sad truth. It’s tearing me apart and I don’t know what to do about it. Skills, positive activities and motivation boxes won’t help me with this problem. Holy crap, I need my therapist again. And I thought I’d be through with that. Unbelievable. My son is the very best thing that could have ever happened to me, I’m so happy and then there is this stupid fear destroying half of the happy moments I’ve worked so hard for. If there is a god, he’s an asshole.

A whole new life

These days I’ve had those moments when I had to hold my breath for a second and pinch myself to make sure I was awake. To make sure what was happening was real. Have you ever thought about where you stood right now, right at this moment, a year ago, or even longer? Have you ever realized how much can change in such a period of time? A moment in your life can change everything. Literally. It’s just a second, just a blink, and nothing is the way it was before. I’ve experienced that before when my best friend died and it was like everything fell apart in just this one tiny second, so fragile and short, but still so powerful, and two weeks ago it happened again- but in a positive way.
I’m a mother now. Can you imagine that? Can you, like, you know, realize it? Because I still can’t. That moment, that tiny second, when my son was born, when I heard his first cry, saw him lying there on that towel, wet and bloody as he’d just come out of my body, that changed everything. I’m still the same person I was before November 25 (4:30 AM, to be precise), but somehow I’m also someone else. Before the life changing Wednesday I was this insecure girl, pregnant and feeling kind of lost and lonely in this world, and now it’s like I’ve aged ten years in just one night. I’ve always been more mature than others my age, but this time it’s different. I am a mother now. This feeling is so incredible that it becomes ineffable. Knowing that this little human being in your arms that looks at you with its big dark beautiful eyes is yours is the most beautiful feeling in the world. And the most overwhelming one. Last week I actually cried as I held him because I was so happy I couldn’t take it. That little boy in the crib is mine. My son. My child. What do I feel when I say those words? I can’t describe it. All I can say is that even though I’ve never been more tired and exhausted, I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Sometimes I think I don’t even deserve him after all the shit in my life. He’s too good, too innocent, too beautiful, too sweet, charming and adorable.
I know I’ve been a good mother so far, but still I keep doubting what I do all the time. Will I make everything right? Will I be able to give him what he needs, afford him the life he deserves? Will I teach and tell him the right things and keep him from making the same mistakes I’ve made? Will he have what I never had? Will he be able to enjoy a blithe, unburdened youth? Will I be able to protect him from the demons that almost killed me? There’s so much joy and so much fear in my heart at the same time. I’ve never been so scared of failing before. He’s the most beautiful baby boy in the world and he deserves the very best, but will I be able to give it to him? There is so much responsibility weighing on my shoulders right now and I know I can bear it right now, but will it stay this way?
I’m feeling torn apart inside between who I’m becoming and who I was. I’m becoming a good, mature, grown, responsible mother wearing blouses and pumps while there’s still the insecure goth girl in the back of my mind, slowly fading, turning into nothing but a memory. 

Having children truly ends adolescence. We are all either parents or children: responsibility-takers or those who demand from others. – Ben Shapiro

Right now, at this moment, exactly two years ago, I was at a youth center. They called it a therapeutic residential care facility for youths, but that’s not what it was. Right now I was probably cutting myself again, so deep that today, two years later, the scars are still thick, deep, visible and perceptible. And shameful. Back then I was wearing only black (even on lips and eyelids) and stuck in my eating disorder that caused me daily cardiac arrhythmia and black outs, not to forget the depression that made me plan my suicide. And now? I’m sitting here. At home. A new home, with my mother, sister and son. And I’m actually feeling happy and healthy. It’s like a dream. A beautiful dream. Of all the expectations I had when it came to my future, this was so not one of them. I would have never thought I’d actually end up this way and I’m scared everything might fall apart the next second because I might not even deserve this beautiful gift. Even Jamie’s father (I named my son Jamie, btw) promised to support us. HE wants to support us- the guy who didn’t even call or message me ONCE in nine months! I can’t believe that either. 
I cant believe any of the things happening right now. This is just too good after all the shit I’ve experienced. Is this what recovery feels like? Because it’s the damn best feeling I’ve ever had.