Complains I’d never speak out loud.

We complain all the time. All of us, me included. About bad weather, about not having the food we want in the fridge, about people who are late and appointments we don’t want to attend, about missing out on something or needing to do things you don’t want to do. But the things that should really bother us, those are the ones we don’t say anything against. When saying that, I’m aiming at a variety of topics, including politics, social issues and economic problems, but because this is a blog about mental disorders, I will solemnly focus on my own problems with this topic and not the ones we generally struggle with in our society.
So… Let’s start by stating that I usually don’t let people notice when I’m depressed because I know that they’ll either worry or ask inconvenient questions (or both) and I prefer avoiding these things, so whenever I feel bad in any way and know that I can’t mask it with a faked smile, I just focus on anger and only let that feeling show because it’s easy for me to make rage the strongest emotion. That way, I prevent breaking down, crying or opening up to people and manage to make it through the day, but it’s needless to say that this way of alleviating a problem also implicates that unpleasant consequence that I behave like a total bitch.
And because I don’t explain the real reasons to anyone and therefore don’t seem to have any reasons to be like this, the people around me think of me as this bad person. I manage to stay cool in public, but I often can’t pretend at home and now my family thinks I’m a moody dumb teenager. Which I’m not. But I can’t explain what’s really behind my attitude, so whenever my mom or sister tell me how much it bothers them that I behave so horribly, I don’t really know how to react and mostly don’t react at all.
It really sucks, though. I don’t want them to think of me like this. This isn’t who I am. But my mood keeps going up and down and I don’t know a better way to deal with it at the moment without falling apart.
I wish I could just tell them what’s really going on. What really bothers me.
That the real problem aren’t hormones, but relapses.
That the huge amounts of candy and junk food in our basement don’t keep me from starving myself, but make me binge and purge because I’m fucking weak and can’t stand that temptation.
That I’m not trying to live healthier because of how much I care about myself, but because I hope that it will make the eating disorder’s voice at least a little quieter and help me not to feel so terribly guilty after every bite.
That I don’t work out to be more balanced, but to be able to stand my own reflection.
I wish I could just talk about everything, but I know that I can’t. I’m far too scared and ashamed of my thoughts. Despite knowing these are disorders and not my fault, I can’t help but feeling like I brought this all on myself with my sick obsession with perfection that will never, ever get me anywhere but six feet under.
One side of me wants to finally live healthy and normal, but the other one is terrified of letting go of these doubts and people tend to let fear take over themselves when they don’t feel confident.
I’m not a moody bitch.
I’m a bitch who doesn’t even remember what it’s like to accept, let alone love herself.
And that scares me too, because it wakes this horrifying thought in me that, no matter how many A’s I score, no matter how many pounds I lose, how many times I succeed or how many smiles I see on my son’s face that prove that I’m a great mother, I’ll always, always keep hating myself secretly for reasons that would never make any sense in a sane person’s mind.

What if I was good enough?

My counselor wanted me to answer this question, so I decided to write about it because it’s probably one of the hardest questions I ever had to answer.
To be honest, I never even thought about it.
Being good enough was never even an option for me. Insecurities have been following me for as long as I can remember and while I’ve focused on how to get and be better to feel good enough for many years now, I never let the thought about what would be if it happened sink in. It was too far away, too unrealistic, too pretty to ever become a part of my world.

Why don’t I just accept myself the way I am? Why don’t I just stop destroying myself by thinking that there is something wrong with me when there really isn’t?
The answer is as easy as it is complicated- I’m scared. I’m scared of what might happen. They say “even hell can get comfy once you’ve settled in” and I never realized how true that is until a very short time ago.
I could live my life in heaven, but I’ve decided to create my own hell and even though I’m harming myself and making everything much more complicated than it should be, there’s something in my head that won’t let me change anything about it because I’ve gotten so used to it that I’m terrified of change.

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Do I want to get better? Do I want to recover? Of course I do! But what normal people don’t understand is that distancing yourself from your mental illness can also be scary. It’s not just living with it what’s hard. Abandoning it is too. As much as it hurts, this voice in my head gives me a certain kind of sick comfort because I know it’s always there and I can always rely on it. Does that make sense? In a twisted way, yes. We’re all creatures of habit and although it’s certainly possible to teach an old dog new tricks, it’s exhausting and in need of so much effort and time that nobody wants to do it.
I do want to get out of this endless circle of destruction that consists of making myself feel like crap for stupid reasons, punishing myself for it and feeling like crap again, but I also don’t want to leave my comfort zone and I know that I can’t have both things at the same time. I know how to choose between health and sickness today, but I (sometimes even intentionally) still choose wrong on a regular basis because it gives me a piece in mind that I know won’t last, but creates the illusion that I’m okay for a little while.

I mean, let’s face it: We all live by certain rules. Most of us might not even recognize them, but they’re down there, buried deep in our subconscious, controlling our every move in our lives. Healthy people live by healthy rules, and sick people… Well, we live by rather fucked up rules. We form them throughout our lives due to experiences, surroundings, success, disappointment and emotions. I don’t have a clue why the human mind believes it needs them, but somehow it does. These are mine:

1. Don’t let people get close

That’s probably my most essential rule and perfectly pictures the two-sided sword called my mind:
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Why? When you let people get close, you give them the chance to hurt you. You make yourself vulnerable. And yeah, I know that’s a part of life, but whenever I gave people this opportunity, it ended terrible for me. Not letting anyone get to me means protecting myself from the pain they might inflict. That actually even makes sense, but the thing is: nobody wants to be alone forever. And if you don’t let anyone near you, you ultimately end up utterly alone. You’ll have relationships, but only shallow ones, and your friendships will never be more than simple acquaintances. You will never be able to experience a deep connection if you don’t trust anyone. And not letting someone get close means not trusting them. In the end, this rule only makes me hurt myself, and that’s not the goal I have in mind.

2. Don’t show weakness

And yet again there comes the vulnerability: if you show weakness, you make yourself vulnerable once more. When people see your weaknesses, they can use them to hurt you, and because I’ve experienced that before hundreds of times, my head has prohibited admitting it. Yet again, it makes sense at some point because it protects me, but weaknesses are human and every single one of us has them, whether we admit or deny them. They’re a part of us and even though they might hurt, they’re essential because they remind us that nobody is perfect, even if it looks like they are.
We need them. They make us feel alive because they make us realize what’s important. We need fears to conquer them and grow with them. But I have too many of them and I’m not telling anyone.

3. You’re never enough

This is where we come back to the topic. It’s probably my worst rule because it makes it impossible to love or even accept myself. This rule makes me feel like there’s always something missing. No matter what, I’ll never be good, smart, thin or beautiful enough. Never.

Could I change these rules? I think so. Somehow.
But I can’t.
I’m too scared.
I’ve gotten used to living this way and giving it up might be the healthiest thing to do, but it scares the shit out of me. The way I treat myself is horrible, but I’ve gotten used to it. At some point, you don’t even care that you’re destroying yourself anymore. You don’t know anything else. Giving up on habits is scary, no matter how unhealthy they are.

So, to respond the original question, what would happen?
Would I live the life I really want to live? Get the things I always wanted? Make my dreams come true? Love myself?
Everything would change, that’s for sure, and I don’t even think I’d still be the same person because my entire self centers around the problem with never being enough and not knowing who I am and want to be. A part of me wants to be that person, but another is way too scared to even think of it because there are way too many horror scenarios in my head that picture what might (very unlikely) happen if I stopped beating myself up for who I am: That I would lose control and not try anymore at all. That I wouldn’t fight for anything and turn into a lazy piece of shit. A fat, disgusting waste of space.
Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help but feel like this. So many things terrify me.

Fear is only in our minds, but it’s taking over all the time

Saviour- a song that’s probably saved my life a dozen times since 2012

I never meant to be the one
Who kept you from the dark
But now I know my wounds are sewn
Because of who you are
I will take this burden on
And become the holy one
But remember I am human
And I’m bound to sing this song

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

So here I write my lullaby
To all the lonely ones
Remember as you learn to try
To be the one you love
So I can take this pen
And teach you how to live
What is left unsaid
The greatest gift I give

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

When I hear your cries
Praying for light
I will be there

When I hear your cries
Praying for life
I will be there

I will fight
I will always be there

The demons won’t drown, but neither will I.

Things are tough again and I’m struggling really hard to make it through the days. Sometimes I think about letting myself sink into it again because I know that giving in to the disorders would be so much easier, but I can’t do that. There was a time in my life when I didn’t have anything left to lose and when it didn’t seem to matter anymore whether I’d keep going or just give up on everything, but things have changed and now I have a lot to lose and can’t risk it. I’ve fought for way too long to just surrender now and make everything I’ve been through completely useless, and I have my son I love so much that I’m willing to sacrifice everything to make sure he grows up with a mother who’s always there for him, no matter what happens. Besides, even though my future still scares the shit out of me, today I believe that there’s at least a chance of making my dreams come true even though they’re only dreams so far. I’ve seen how much I can do when I stay strong. There is so much more to accomplish in this life. I don’t want mental illnesses to take away my possibilities of going to college, graduating, getting a great job and building a life for me and my son. This shit in my head isn’t worth sacrificing everything for. Everything I’ve been through is getting me closer to where I want to be. Who I want to be.


Right now, I’m a total mess. My mood constantly goes up and down, I don’t think I’ve hated my body this much in years, eating is torture as well as the mirror in the bathroom, I keep losing my shit and my hope, get depressed and angry and doubt and criticize myself more than anyone I know. Right now, I feel awful, but there’s a difference between feeling awful now and before having a kid: Now I keep going regardless. I keep fighting. That’s the difference.


I’ve now learned that you can’t choose how you feel when suffering from depression, but how you handle the feelings: You can either let them take over and pull you down or you can force yourself to move on even though they make you feel like there’s nothing left to do that for. It doesn’t matter how often we fall. I feel like falling all the time. But I’m getting back up.

No, I can’t handle all of it. I can’t put on a bikini and it’s pathetic that I’m sitting in our apartment when there’s a great pool in the garden where my family spends their entire vacation without me. Am I a coward for not facing my fears and body image issues and wearing that bikini to defeat what I’m afraid of? Yes. But am I weak? No.

I’m just not ready for it yet. And that’s okay.


Maybe I won’t make it through this vacation. Maybe I’ll have to ask my mom to borrow me the money to get away from here sooner with Jamie and get home because I won’t be able to stand being here anymore. Maybe.

But no matter what, I know one thing for sure: Even if I can’t handle this, I won’t give up on recovery. Relapses hurt like hell and they occur all the time, but I carry on. 

This is not over yet. Dear mental illnesses, prepare yourselves for the fight that’s coming because I won’t go down without one. I’m not the little girl anymore I was when you came to me. I know you’re still able to pull me down every day a few times, but I’m getting stronger as I get back on my feet every time. 

Nobody ever said this was easy.

No one ever said it would be this hard.

I’ll break down, but will I give up? Hell no. Yeah, I’m depressed, but I can assure you of one thing: I’m not weak.

>>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

 

You wouldn’t understand, so what’s the use?

Depression sucks. Yeah, I know that’s nothing new. But the worst thing about depression is not the disease itself but that it always comes back. I felt so good for so many months. For the first time, I could honestly answer “I’m fine” when people asked me how I was feeling. But then it happened. I went back to school and fell apart all over again. I don’t want any fucking pity, but it’s just not fair, you know? You fight for years and then you think it’s finally over and you finally get to be happy and then… it’s all gone. And you feel like dying again. There’s this pain inside of me and it won’t go away, regardless of what I do. I try so hard, but it won’t change anything.

I had everything. And lost it all.

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I wish I could just give up. Stop trying. Stop fighting. I feel like shit and all I can do is feel it. I wake up every morning and I get up and get through the day and I’m scared I might collapse the next second because I don’t think I can make it through. And somehow I do because I keep my shit together and don’t show how I feel. Sure, I could tell about my feelings. But nobody would understand, so what’s the use? Depression is so hard to understand because it’s invisible. The other people around you don’t have any proof that you’re actually sick even though you are. And you could tell them about it. I did. But the only reactions I got were pity, dumb questions or how I could even be depressed because my life is s great now. Yeah, thanks, I’m aware of that. I know my life is great. I have almost everything I wanted and I love my family and especially my son more than anything, but I’m still not happy.

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People tell me we just need to BE happy because we’re the ones to choose how we want to feel, but they seem to forget that we’re not happy because we didn’t choose to be but because we’re sick. We all want to be happy, but we somehow can’t. It’s all in my head, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less real. God, I want to be happy more than anything (I mean, who likes feeling like shit?), but all I feel is this hopelessness. I still keep going because of my son, but if he wasn’t here, I’d give up and let the shit in my head take over. I’d let myself drown in it because it’s so much easier and fighting obviously won’t get me anywhere either. I’m not doing this for myself anymore because it looks like I can’t be saved. I know that the only one who can save me is me, but I do everything I can and I still don’t feel better. I use skills, do things that make me happy, try to focus on better stuff, distract myself, spend all of my time with my son , mom and sister and I don’t feel any better. I’m not suicidal or feel like harming myself anymore (the last time was almost two years ago), but I feel like drowning and there’s no way to learn how to swim. Why is there such a thing called depression? Why am I suffering from this disorder? I know it all started with my eating disorder which I developed because my dad has always made me feel like I’ll never be good enough (and even though he’s gone, I still can’t get that pattern out of my head), but WHY? I know people who had to go through much worse stuff and they don’t have any disorders. Why do I have it? And why can’t I recover? My counselor keeps telling me these things take time, but it’s been more than half a decade and I’m tired and sick of it. There is nothing more exhausting, nothing harder than fighting your thoughts. Since the relapse started, I’ve been so extremely tired that I could basically sleep anywhere if I let myself. ‘Normal’ people don’t know what it’s like to fight your own mind 24/7. To feel like you’re losing yourself, to feel trapped in your emptiness.

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To stand in front of the mirror and hate every single inch of yourself and you want to fall on your knees and cry until your throat is sore, but you know that would only make things worse, so you don’t. Instead, you breathe deeply and tell yourself not to let it take over. To stay strong. You’re still alive, right? But can you stay strong? Is it even possible? Just smile, you think. Smile and they’ll think you’re alright. Don’t tell them the truth because they wouldn’t understand. They’d think you’re mad, ungrateful, a bad mom or overreacting, right? So just keep your mouth shut and act like everything is fine. Because it has to be. There’s no other way. Life isn’t fair.

http://weheartit.com/Poizonbite/collections/9949126-cut

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Slipping away

How can I say this without breaking?
How can I say this without taking over?
How can I put it down into words
When it’s almost too much for my soul alone?

Do you know this feeling when you’re with other people and everything is fine and you’re feeling alright and then they leave and you’re sitting there and notice how you fall apart completely? You realize it, but you can’t do anything about it? Can’t stop it? That’s what’s happening to me right now. And the thing is, I know what I could do about it. All those skills and positive activities and that kind of crap they teach you to do and use in the hospitals and loony bins. But to be honest, I just don’t have any energy left to do these things. They tell you to pour your energy into everything you love and be passionate and full of whatever kind of shit, so I poured and poured and poured and now the metaphoric cup is empty. And I don’t know what to do about it. Like I just said, I know how to distract myself, but that doesn’t really change anything. I don’t know what I need to actually change my condition, but maybe it’s just a little break from things. You know, to get back my energy. But there’s no way for me to do that. There’s just too much shit I need to handle, so I wake up every day feeling like I just wanna hide under my bed forever, but I don’t, so instead I get up and get through the day, get things done, smile and go to bed and hope to fall asleep before I fall apart. There’s no other way and no other option left for me. I need to make it through. And sometimes I wanna tell the people I love that I feel like shit, but that’s not gonna change anything. They’ll either treat me like a child or a victim and I’ll drown in their pity, they’ll feel insecure and uncomfortable and won’t know what to do or I’ll get to hear extremely helpful things like ‘Don’t be down in the mouth!’ or ‘It’s just a bad day!’. And they’re right, but that doesn’t change things or help me somehow anyway. So I smile and tell them I’m fine. Makes it easier.
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I love my son so much and I need to make it through- for him. I need to be there for him, be happy for him, recover for him, go to counseling for him, get my shit handled, smile, breathe, do all the shit I don’t want to do, study, focus, go to school, pass the finals, get my degree, never get enough sleep, never relax, put all this pressure on me and just get through everything. Because I don’t have a choice. I want him to be proud of me, be proud of myself, be a good role model, be happy and get the life I’ve always wanted- the life that I deserve after everything I’ve been through. All these years I’ve fought so hard and the effort I put into this struggle- I don’t want it to be a total waste of time. I know I can do this. I just don’t know how. How do you get through the day without falling apart when you feel like there’s nothing left of you? Like you’re empty and hollow?
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I just want this to be over, I want to appreciate my life and myself and stop hating myself (especially my body) so fucking much. I just want to be enough for at least once. People tell me to think positive, but how am I supposed to do that? Believe me, I’ve tried everything. But I still feel like crap on a regular basis. Everything is fine, so why do I feel like losing everything? I’m a good mom, a good person, daughter and student and I’m doing a really great job at recovering from my disorders because I never give up and always keep going (no matter how hard it is), so why do I still feel these emotions I can’t even specify? Why are my disorders always stronger than me? I really don’t wanna be a whiny weak loser, but I can’t deal with this crap in my head.
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For Blue Skies

It’s been four long years
Since we last spoke
How’s your halo?
I never believed you
I only wanted to
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Before all of this
What did I miss?
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Do you ever get homesick?
I can’t get used to it
I’ll never get used to it
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I’m under that night
I’m under those stars
We’re in a red car
You asleep at my side
Going in and out of the headlights
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Could I have saved you?
Would that’ve betrayed you?
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I wanna burn this film
You alone with those pills
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What you couldn’t do I will
I forgive you
I’ll forgive you
I forgive you
For blue, blue skies
I’ll forgive you
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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.

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.

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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?

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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.