a conversation

him: take off your shirt

me: I, um, I don’t think–

him: c’mon baby, I know you want to feel good

me: I don’t know if I–

him: I’ll take it off for you

I have lost so much of myself in past relationships

so many countless hours of calls that I didn’t want to answer

endless murmurs of no’s that end up becoming maybes and then yeses

it wasn’t his fault that I didn’t want to do anything

wasn’t his fault that I was incapable of saying no

that I couldn’t say no

because I wanted it to be good

I wanted to be good

I still get flashbacks from times I would rather not remember

I still ask myself every day why I did those things

why I said those things when I wanted to cry

why I let him take off my shirt and unhook my bra

why I said it was okay, keep going, it’s fine, it doesn’t hurt

but it wasn’t okay, I wanted to stop, and it did hurt

did I really want to be loved that badly?

to have ruined all the parts with dignity left in me?

was I incapable of loving myself?

even now, I still struggle to say no when I don’t want to do something

and I’m slowly learning that saying no doesn’t make me weak

it doesn’t make me any less of a person

saying no makes me strong

because it means that I am choosing myself

I am choosing to love myself

things i’m scared of

I’m scared of ghosts that make lights flicker and floorboards that creak. I’m scared of failing to make my parents proud of me. I’m scared of running out of time. That no matter what I do, it won’t be enough because I will never be enough. I’m scared that people won’t like me because I’m not interesting enough. I’m scared of spiders. Big, hairy spiders. I’m scared that no one will ever truly understand how I’m feeling because I don’t say anything. I’m scared that no one will try to know me. I’m scared of all the ~~boys~~ men on the streets when I walk home alone at 2AM. I’m scared that as the years go by, I’m losing more and more of myself and eventually I will have nothing left. I’m scared of how deep I can sink. I’m scared of all the relapses and setbacks that will inevitably happen. I’m scared of dying. I don’t know where I will go. I’m scared of childbirth. I’m scared of the disappointment I feel when I wake up in the morning and realize that I am still alive. I’m scared of how well I can fake a smile to make people believe that I am okay. I’m scared of how much people do not know about me. I am scared of falling in love because of all the boys who have used me and ripped me up into teeny tiny pieces. I’m scared that people will leave me. Even though it’s happened a thousand times over and over. I’m scared that I will never be able to love anyone. I’m scared that no one will ever love me. I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared of myself and what I am capable of doing.

simple truths

adulting me It’s hard to tell the truth. But here’s my version. Within each statement is a simple truth, just how I feel. If you think that this is how I’m projecting my relapse – you couldn’t be more wrong. I would have never posted this a year ago, or hell, even a month ago. I don’t think I could’ve even gotten myself to write this. I know these aren’t great sunshiny feelings but they’re my feelings and I’m working on them. This isn’t a call for help. I’m proud of myself, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I can’t believe I’m including a picture of myself in this. I hate having my picture taken but I think it’s important for me to realize that I am a part of others’ memories and that they actually love me. Thank you for being a part of my journey, I wouldn’t be here without everyone’s love and support.

Here are my truths.

I am nineteen.

I have accomplished nothing.

I like writing.

But I am not good at it.

I have had my heart broken twice.

I’m scared to fall in love again.

I don’t like it when strangers look at me.

I think they’re mentally stripping me.

I’ve been taking sleeping pills every night for the past month.

Because when it gets too late at night, I want to hurt myself.

I miss my father a lot.

But I still remember the belt he used to strike me with.

I love reading.

I need to escape. I need to forget.

I paint my nails often.

Because if I look put together, no one can tell that I’m falling apart.

I like getting sick.

Because having the flu is a better excuse for me to stay in bed than depression.

I have recurring nightmares of drowning.

I’m scared of the disappointment I feel when I wake up.

I’m always sunshine and rainbows.

Because if I’m not, no one will like me.

I don’t like it when people tell me to shut up.

It’s taken me a while to find my voice.

I intend to keep it.