Obsessions (Rhyme Royal)

Messages, messages, please leave me be.
Never had I felt so suffocated
with the fear that my eyes couldn't really see.
Every compliment a lie created,
constantly wishing I were sedated
as to not feel every person's stares;
though the worst have to be the mirror's glares.

Coat your skin in five pounds of illusion,
then starve yourself until you've withered into a broomstick.
Mother says it's distorted delusion,
but you'll still cry when your thighs seem too thick.
Take crazy diet pills that make your body tick,
whatever it takes to not look like this.
Your disease will steal any chance of bliss.

So a big "fuck you!" to beauty standards,
and "eat shit!" for setting traps in my mind.
I refuse to let my values be slandered.
It's so difficult to be satisfied
with the absurd way we were all designed.
We are human, composed of skin and bone,
worth more than meaningless numbers alone.

and breathe

Things at school are finallyyy feeling normal again. On Wednesday it was portfolio day, the huge stressful day I've been working towards, and I presented my portfolio and chatted with people from OCAD, Guelph and York. It went really well and I feel accomplished and much more relaxed now that a lot of my post secondary stress has been dealt with. I think I might want to go to York instead of OCAD now, but I'll definitely apply to all three. It's also a new term so my textiles and painting lessons are no longer overlapping. I finished my cat quilt and feel excited and ready to start fresh with the new term in textiles. We've started weaving with the looms, which I've never done before, but I hope I enjoy it. My teacher knows about my anxiety and has been very patient and helpful with me, so textiles is feeling more manageable and I'm determined to balance my two studios better this term. We also have figure drawing instead of portfolio prep which will be so lovely and I've missed it a lot.

I feel like I've been running everywhere,gogogo, since mid October and finally I can slow down a bit. I'm dedicating this weekend to solitude and relaxing- going to the gym, cleaning the house, and I work tomorrow. Lots of quality cat time in between. I'm trying to give my brain a break so I can throw myself into assignments this upcoming week.

I'm really upset and worried about Jordan though. Thursday night he went to emergency and I guess now he's set up in a room and whatnot. I haven't heard from him today and it's driving me crazy not knowing what's going on. Supposedly because he's an adult he'd be able to sign himself out and wanted to leave today, but I'm not sure about that because they could put him on a form and then he'd be forced to stay, but those aren't normally for longer than 72 hours. I feel like it's partially my fault he's there and I feel so horrible knowing he's so far away and alone. At least he's safe. If he's in there for a few days (hopefully not weeks) it's going to be really rough and I can't afford bus tickets to visit. :c gah. I hate feeling useless.

Worrying won't help though, I've just got to be calm and take care of myself this weekend. I lost my mind these past few weeks and I've got to make sure it doesn't run away any further. Mid november up until Christmas is usually a pretty happy time of year for me, especially when I start leaping into the festivities, so I'm going to try to build myself up a bit stronger and then I can just be happy and enjoy life for the next month or so. Positivity and shitttt.

wowlovely

I already posted this on tumblr, but I like it and am posting it here for future reference.
"My best friend could be a surgeon, I swear. He cut me open with feathers, delicately removed all the broken glass swimming inside me and replaced them, piece for piece, with butterflies. He stitched me shut with a steady string of kisses, ensuring safety inside. "

I've been a really big awful mess lately but sometimes people do help. I want to try to incorporate that into a painting. 

progress or not

Some days I think I'm miles ahead of the dark hole I fell into last winter. I walk out of my therapist's office like hell yeah, I'm awesome, so much better now, mad props to me. I remember the countless things to enjoy in life and rejoice over the fact that 85% of the time if I come into contact with another human I don't shrivel up and cry. That's big. I can kind of even hold conversations some days. Progressprogressprogress.

But then there's those really dark nights where I forget all of this and feel like I'm nose down in the dirt of my grave once more. I'm better in some ways, but maybe a hundred times worse in other ways. Maybe I replaced my social anxiety disorder with another illness. Times like those I can almost see the automatic hospital doors swing open with that one nurse who first greeted me, waiting with open arms and holy shit I could get admitted again like next week, I'm so crazy.

But this is not the case. I'm 18 now, so if I was ever sectioned again, I wouldn't be in the youth ward and likely wouldn't see that nurse again. I'm an ~adult~ now with responsibilities and I've already been there/done that with most forms of therapy which means really I haven't got any more time to waste being sick. I just need to hurry up and be... better already.

 I have no idea what better entails. I guess better does not mean best. I don't need to be best. I just get so tired and uninspired living one day at a time, coping, struggling, coping, struggling. I'm so confused. I think a part of me never wants to be fully recovered and mentally stable. There's a certain beauty in seeing the dark side of things. Maybe I like being crazy. Maybe I like the little pillow/blanket fort of self destructive thoughts in my brain that I occasionally crawl into. I really don't know, about much of anything right now, and I guess that's okay.

writewritewrite

Blogging often is not going so well, wow. Last night I had a never ending dream that I had lung cancer, and then gradually my friends got it too, I think. My subconscious is telling me to never smoke again. Okay, self. I can almost do that. I'm not sure what day it actually was that I blogged last. I'll just blog now about stuff lately.

Right so a bit over a week ago, I almost got arrested because possession. Tsk tsk. And since that day I've been in a "drugs are bad mmkay" mindset. Well not really. Just, weed is bad. Lots of it. Most days. That was bad and turning me into a weirdo. So since then I have smoked it twice, and very little amounts of it. I made rules for myself: don't use during the day, don't use alone, don't use more than twice a week. Soliddd. The sober mind has become a pretty thing again. Not pretty in the sense that it's all flowers, but pretty interesting. I've been a bit less crazy lately, too. I started a new antidepressant and it's too soon to tell if it's really working, but it's better than not being on anything at all. That always sucks. Umm, my friend sent me flowers. They're making my entire room smell like flowers, which is nice, cause it's pretty muggy and gross in here otherwise. Tomorrow I'm going to New Orleans for a few days. I'm hoping a little family vacay will help mend any lingering negativity between my mom and I. Though that's been mending up nicely anyhow. I hope to clear my mind while I'm away, so maybe I'll feel refreshed when I return.

I got a film camera the other day! So neat, I hope I can take some pretty pictures. My collage class lately has been pretty nice. I'm not learning a whole lot, but it is getting the ideas, inspiration and motivation flowing again. I have two classes left of it. I'm pretty excited to go back to school, mostly just because I love accomplishing shit. I know most other aspects of it will suck, but oh well. The main reason I'm blogging is because my friend is paying me dolladollabills to write a 2000-2500 word essay for his online english class and I'm so bad at getting started. It's really not even difficult, I'm just a lazy butt and I wanted to have it done before I leave. WRITEWRITEWRITE.

STILL NEED TO CLEAN MY ROOM. WHY IS IT SO HOT IN HERE, ICK.

mfkldmsfmfrelf okay, essay time

poop

I feel so fucking low and I think this post will be ugly and sad, like me.
No, no negative self talk. I'm not ugly and sad at all, I'm a majestic happy sparkly fuckin' unicorn of joy.
I don't hate myself, I'm not typingtypingtyping as a distraction to keep my hands from cuttingcuttingcutting and a slew of other self destructive things not to be blogged about.
I might try to start using this blog again because maybe it'll make me less crazy.

I fucking hate myself for it, but I get so sad and sometimes downright manic after I spend time with people. Not all people though, I find it mostly just when I'm with Emily and Alexander and whoever else we hang out with. I've come to the conclusion that hanging out with them is kinda like being on drugs, and being alone afterwards is the comedown. I went to sunfest with them and connor today and then I came home and I could feel the bad feels sneaking up before I even stepped out of the car, so I talked to my mom briefly, mauled my cats a bit then had a shower, hoping it would clear my mind. It did the opposite though, shortly after dressing I found myself curled up on my bedroom floor crying about what a shit person I am, going over everysingle wrong thing I said and did today, and worrying more about the future and other crap.

I think I'm a little extra sad lately because I'm between medications which means I'm actually just a normal person not on anything for short while (madness!) and yeah, shit gets bad when I have to pretend to be a normal person. That's how I ended up at the funny farm, I think. Maybe. I've been really worrying a lot lately about how the hell I'm supposed to continue living with ~*~illness~*~. I'm going to be taking pills for the rest of my life cause otherwise... Wow it's so shitty having to rely on medication. I'd much rather just drink a magic potion, click my heels then do a somersault into a cloud of content. I've been calling myself a piece of shit for so long, I think it subconsciously now. I don't even realize. I don't know. Some days are so bad. Every day it actually takes a great mental effort to remind myself not to bully myself. Many'a day I can't eat breakfast without cutting, can't eat lunch unless I'm high and can't eat dinner without puking. I suck. I can't even control the things that give me control. I mean, I can some days, and I don't even eat three meals a day so I'm not as destructive as I could be, that's good right? I remember one of the teachers at the hospital talking to one of the other patients and she said something about how "everyone has their own personal struggle", like everyone is plagued with some shitty obstacle that they'll spend the rest of their life trying to overpower, escape, beat, whatever it is... there's something so fucking permanent about that. I hatehatehate thinking that I'll still be feeling like this when I'm 40, if I even see 40. I don't want to deal with this every fucking day. It can't seriously be true that everyone has a permanent peril problem. I can't believe every human being is strong enough for these awful lingering forces throughout earth. I guess they obviously are though and I should be inspired by that and remember this is survival of the fittest and if I'm not fit enough to deal with my own stupid mind then maybe I'm not cut out for this planet. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, steer away, don't bully yourself Mandy. Be cold, indestructible, made of steel.

I've been worrying a lot about being alone vs... not. I keep thinking about how at the end of the day, at the end of our lives, we only have ourselves. So I need to be strong and actually be kind to myself, because in the grand scheme of things, I'm all I have. But then there's all this talk about how humans aren't meant to go through life alone, how we can rely on good people in our lives and take help when we need it, etc. Well I can't find the balance and it's freaking me out. I like being self reliant, but I swear I get worse at it every year. I hate how pathetic and powerless I feel. It's my lonely poisons that make me feel in control, yet they drag me down in the end, too.... I hate myself. I'm going to read.

I really hope I can throw myself into a better mindset this upcoming week. I want to clean my room and put up a white board and some artwork and stuff. I want my bedroom to feel and look a bit more like my room in the hospital. I think it would be a good idea.

first post since the funny farm!

Right, so, a lot has changed. For most of February I was an inpatient in the psychiatric ward at the hospital.

I got admitted late some Monday evening because I was planning on killing myself.
I had it all worked out and I was so ready to follow through, it was terrifying. Things have been so fucked up for so long. I think I constantly forget that it's not normal to think of suicide every single day. Staying at the hospital was such an experience. I loved it, in a way. I had professional help available to me 24/7 for 3 weeks. There were no crazy expectations or pressure or any of that day to day shit. The only goal you really had was to get better. Make it through the day without being tempted to down every pill in sight. Go a week without dragging one sharp object or another across your wrist, thigh, whatever. There was usually between 8 and 15 other patients. I think the youngest one was around 9 years old, and I was among the oldest. They had depression, anxiety, eating disorders, psychosis, schizophrenia and I'm sure a whole array of other issues. We were all fragile and so incredibly close to falling apart in the most permanent way possible. There was no judgement, no harmful words, or bad intentions for the most part. Everyone in there knew they were fucked up, and they knew everyone else was too. I felt comfortable in a really weird way there. Just focus on recovery, focus on feeling better, focus on coping with life. Every single day.

I'd wake up in my sterile white hospital room usually around 7:30 when a nurse would come in. I'd get dressed and go to the dining room where everyone would eat the food that arrived on their pre-ordered breakfast trays. Hospital food isn't too lovely, but it was a comfort. I liked how much control I had over what I ate everyday. I only ate healthy food and as a result lost 5 pounds while I was in there, and obliterated cravings. I also fixed my sleeping schedule! They gave me my sleeping pills at 9pm and at 10:30 it would be lights out. The nurses shined flashlights through the windows in the door to your room every hour or so to see if you were sleeping or crying or pacing or whatever. There was no point in staying up late. Anyway, after breakfast, on weekdays we'd go down the hall to "school", two small rooms where we'd work on assignments that our actual teachers sent in, or work on things that the "teachers" there would assign, or if things were a complete confusion between your real school and that "school", you could just read or work on a crossword or something. It would go from 8-9:30, half hour break, 10-12, hour long lunch, 1-2:15. Or something like that. I mostly just worked on sketches and wrote a short story for Writer's Craft while I was in there. After school it would be "quiet independent time" until 4 to work on school stuff or read or meet with your therapist or doctor or just watch tv or whatever. At 4 there would usually be group therapy which was normally okay. It was never really that therapeutic, but it was beneficial one way or another. They taught me magical incantations to push away the suicidal thoughts, ways to cope with daily bullshit, how to improve your "sleep hygiene", how to give a great compliment, how to set reasonable goals, etc. At 5 we would eat dinner. Visiting hours were from 6-8, I think. Most nights my mom visited, and if she didn't, friends did. My mom and I juggled and played cards mostly, because there's not a lot to do. My friends and I played cards or just sat and talked the whole time. It's funny how rarely people show that they love you until something big happens, i.e. getting hospitalized. No one misses you until the fact that you're gone is blatantly thrown in their face.

I was in there for 3 weeks and there were a lot of positive things that came from the whole experience. I am by no means cured, I still have suicidal thoughts everyday, I still self harm, and some times I could swear I'm more screwed up now than I was when I got admitted, but those times pass. I'm well aware of the steps I have to take to feel okay, it's mostly just a matter of wanting to feel better. It'd be stupid to say I like feeling sad, but the sadness I feel gets overwhelming and downright blinding sometimes. It sucks you in and swallows you whole, and when you get that low, it's very difficult to break free. I've just been trying to take things one day at a time since I got out. Getting back to reality was a difficult transitition, but obviously it had to happen. My main concern is that if I ever get really significantly worse, I don't think returning to disneyland  would benefit me at all. The hospital did all it could for me, and the rest is in my hands. It's just difficult, really. I wish I had connected with people there, though I'll never forget the individuals I did meet.

But, yeah, that's kind of been life lately.. I've been keeping busy ever since with work, art projects, poetry and short stories and a ton of excersize. I don't know. It's just been so long, I figured I should post something. Yep okay bye.