Take my survey if you feel like it!
Antagonism
For being an ally of mine
You need to recline
Just relax 'cuz
You've reached the top
Don't be so mean
You're the queen
As I just sit here
Thinking about what you've done
For me
It seems deathly
At least it was
Death was the cause
You killed me inside
How do you obtain something that died
My mind can't get off the word no
Over and over having to blow
I gave into my weakness
I had no braveness
How do I obtain the love for sex
This is so complex
Day after day I collect the anger
Understand why I wear the armor
Sex is different now a days
Occasionally I'm fine but I fall into a daze
I can't reach the top
Wishing I could change the past
Wishing I was stronger
Maybe I wouldn't have this antagonism
And stop stocking me!!
I want nothing to do with you!!
You need to recline
Just relax 'cuz
You've reached the top
Don't be so mean
You're the queen
As I just sit here
Thinking about what you've done
For me
It seems deathly
At least it was
Death was the cause
You killed me inside
How do you obtain something that died
My mind can't get off the word no
Over and over having to blow
I gave into my weakness
I had no braveness
How do I obtain the love for sex
This is so complex
Day after day I collect the anger
Understand why I wear the armor
Sex is different now a days
Occasionally I'm fine but I fall into a daze
I can't reach the top
Wishing I could change the past
Wishing I was stronger
Maybe I wouldn't have this antagonism
And stop stocking me!!
I want nothing to do with you!!
Hospital Story:
I believe on October 25th, 2012 I checked myself in at the near by hospital for suicide thoughts. My father showed up and demanded I went home with him and the cops told me I had to go home with him. I refused, as I knew that was not the best place for me. I collected bad self images from living with him, those thoughts get better every day. (Hanging out with positive people really does help.)
The ER doctor said I could go to a mental hospital for the night and figure out what to do with my life there. So I was rushed to Brattleboro, my aunt took me. My mother and step-father (who I really call dad.) meet us there. I stayed a week there. The first day I do not really remember. I had been up for 24hours before going there, and wanted sleep. Doctors came in and out. Asking many questions. I ate a meal and took a shower, then was moved to the children's floor. Because I was rushed to Brattleboro, they could only find a bed for me on the gay, bi, and lesbian floor. Which was perfectly find with me. I just needed to get away from my father and needed help.
My mental illness was out of control. I had my first two suicide thoughts within three months of each other. I had never thought about these types of things before. I knew I needed help. That Friday I do not remember much. Then it was the weekend, I colored a bunch of pictures. The first thing remember about the children's floor was a sign that read: "Hope for sunshine!" Since then that is my most used saying.
I have a simple tattoo on my upper leg saying HOPE with a sun. Everyday I hope for the sun. The sun brings life to my depression. I feel 100% better on nice sunny days. That is if I actually see the sun. Some days I just stay in bed. I have no motivation.
After the first weekend, came my actual week of going to groups. Groups are planned meetings, that are throughout the day. Each group helps with coping skills or just informs you about your illness. I was determined to get out of the hospital on Friday November 2, 2013. While I was there, the doctors had me try some different meds and the nurses reminded me why life is so important. I would like to write a thank you to all of the people that helped me. That was a hard week, but here I am. Still alive. And very content with life. Of course, I feel like it could be better, but it's stressful right now. There is so much I want to do, but no money. I do not regret going to Brattleboro, but when I got out, my world was different. I had been in a safe place. No stress, no worries, and crazy people surrounding me (they made me feel better about myself, they were crazier than me.) once I stepped out of that building, I was surrounding by judgmental people, and I was stocked. It took me about three weeks to get use to being back in the real world. And that
is my story of the hospital.
The ER doctor said I could go to a mental hospital for the night and figure out what to do with my life there. So I was rushed to Brattleboro, my aunt took me. My mother and step-father (who I really call dad.) meet us there. I stayed a week there. The first day I do not really remember. I had been up for 24hours before going there, and wanted sleep. Doctors came in and out. Asking many questions. I ate a meal and took a shower, then was moved to the children's floor. Because I was rushed to Brattleboro, they could only find a bed for me on the gay, bi, and lesbian floor. Which was perfectly find with me. I just needed to get away from my father and needed help.
My mental illness was out of control. I had my first two suicide thoughts within three months of each other. I had never thought about these types of things before. I knew I needed help. That Friday I do not remember much. Then it was the weekend, I colored a bunch of pictures. The first thing remember about the children's floor was a sign that read: "Hope for sunshine!" Since then that is my most used saying.
I have a simple tattoo on my upper leg saying HOPE with a sun. Everyday I hope for the sun. The sun brings life to my depression. I feel 100% better on nice sunny days. That is if I actually see the sun. Some days I just stay in bed. I have no motivation.
After the first weekend, came my actual week of going to groups. Groups are planned meetings, that are throughout the day. Each group helps with coping skills or just informs you about your illness. I was determined to get out of the hospital on Friday November 2, 2013. While I was there, the doctors had me try some different meds and the nurses reminded me why life is so important. I would like to write a thank you to all of the people that helped me. That was a hard week, but here I am. Still alive. And very content with life. Of course, I feel like it could be better, but it's stressful right now. There is so much I want to do, but no money. I do not regret going to Brattleboro, but when I got out, my world was different. I had been in a safe place. No stress, no worries, and crazy people surrounding me (they made me feel better about myself, they were crazier than me.) once I stepped out of that building, I was surrounding by judgmental people, and I was stocked. It took me about three weeks to get use to being back in the real world. And that
is my story of the hospital.
This was my first writing piece:
I’m going to start my story off with me in the middle of a break down. I am lying on my couch with a blanket on my head.
Screaming, crying, and dying of heat. I have no idea why I’m crying. I lie there thinking bad thoughts. Trying to think about what’s bothering me. What is bothering me? What is going through my mind? Life. The past, the future, but not the present. I want to run. Run hard. Run like I have never before. I want my heart to beat fast! I want my legs to hurt. My chest already hurts, but I want a different kind of pain. I want a healthy pain. I want all my negative pain to disappear.
“I’m going outside” I tell my uncle. Randomly, I decide to run down the stairs and outside. I decided quickly, if I wanted my jacket or not. I hear voices. I hear someone asking me questions but I’m really not paying attention. I repeat “I’m going outside.” Without caring I walk outside. At first, I think RUN! But I can’t. I cannot do that, guess who is behind me. The uncle. So I think hard and fast. What else? What is something extremely crazy. Something new. Something that’ll jump me back into reality. I still have no idea. Thoughts are racing through my mind. But again, I’m really not listening. I can’t even hear myself think.
I fall to the ground. “snow” that’s all I’m thinking about. It’s the first thought I could actually, clearly hear. I feel my pants getting colder. I feel the thick snow on my hands. But my dogs distract me. The only fucking thought on my mind, is gone. I try to keep thinking about the snow. But I truly can’t. As I lay there, I hear my aunt’s voice. No words, just the waves of noise. I’m trying so hard to communicate with myself. Then my mind starts racing. I can feel my thoughts hitting the inside of my head. My mind tells me to do something crazy. Jump into the river? No, too fucking cold. So I get on my knees. Still thinking. Then I fall, face down into the snow.
I wish I was naked. Then my body would be all the same temperature. Freezing. At the beginning of my break down I wanted to be hot. Sweating hot. But it’s fucking winter. So I’m going to have to deal with freezing. Next, I hear the dogs barking again. How long have they been barking? Seems, like one is inside and one is outside. “I don’t remember anyone letting in, the annoying one.” I lay there thinking about life. When I say life, I mean anything outside. Animals, people, cars, and even the wind. I listen to my uncle moving around. The snow is crunching with every little move he makes. I hear my uncle bend down, pick up some snow and crush it into a ball. And at the same time I hear the sound of his leather jacket.
My hearing is gone. I stare up into the night sky. There are no stars, just the over cast of the wintery weather. I see two trees. Bear trees. Dead trees? One to my left and one to my right. As I try to look at more stuff that surrounds me, all I can see my hair in my face.
I’m telling myself “pick up your hand and just move it out of the way.” I move my hands and lose the motivation. Now my mind is stuck on art. A picture? A painting? I keep looking at my inspiration. The dark, gloomy, starless sky. “Could I paint this moment?” I ask myself. I could, but what would it look like? Would it look good? At least good enough for me. While I sit here typing this, I can hear my uncle saying “just do it”, in my head. I know he believes in me, but do I believe in myself? That’s an easy question, no. I start replaying my night. Trying to figure out what the hell just happened. I tell myself “go, go write this shit down! Get up!” And at the end of my story I realize life happened. I got too stressed out and had a break down.
I stood up and started walking. I knew my uncle wanting to know what the hell happened too. But all I can say at the moment is “come on”, my uncle didn’t hear me. But I kept walking. I think he was talking to me but I blocked him out, I didn’t want to lose my story. I didn’t want to forget this. I knew I could get distracted if I heard his voice. The words which were coming out of his mouth. Words, which I did not want in my story. Words that I would have to think about. Words that wouldn’t help at the moment. I knew I needed to turn my computer on and turn on some tunes. I was not wanting my uncle to follow me, but It kind of helped. Now my story is over and I feel better. None of my problems are gone or solved but I worked through my break down, safely. I would of rather cut or drank my problems away, but couldn’t with my protective uncle following me everywhere. Maybe, this way is better?
April 18, 2013
As a little girl, I told my mom that I wanted to be 18. I wanted to be an adult. I wanted to shave. I wanted to swear. And I wanted to be 21. I wanted to drink. And most of all I wanted to drive.
Now a days I want to drive away. Drive, till my problems are gone. And sometimes I want to drink my problems away. I truly don’t want to be 21.
If I’m already over whelmed, fuck that’s 3 more years on my shoulders. Shit! There I go swearing like a sailor. I wish that I never started. I get a complex every time I’m with my little sister. I feel like a horrible person. I can’t even look at her. But that’s not the only thing I have a complex about. I wish I listened to my mom. I wish I never started shaving. Now it’s become a chore.
Mom, I don’t want to be 18 anymore. I want to be that little girl. I want my family back. I want to know what’s wrong with me. I want to know what happened when I was little. If anything happened. Why can’t my uncle talk to me. Why can’t my sperm donor, of a father, talk to me. They can. They just choose not to. Crazy, how did I get to that?
I’m not quite sure. I guess, with you in the room I get more open. Yes, you probably don’t know who I’m talking about. But This is me. Being all over the place.
This is my story. These are my words. My words came from my thoughts. And my thoughts came from my mind . And my mind selfish. It likes to wander. But luckily, my stories always tie together. Like a knot. How am I going to tie my childhood into the present day? Well I don’t want to be 18. I don’t want to be an adult. I want to be that little girl. The girl that had no scars, inside and out. No mental break downs over silly shit.
*smile* (Right now I’m lost in thoughts about my writing. It’s crazy. It’s all over the place but that’s me. My sentence structure sets the mood.)
The mood of being a lil’ bipolar. A lil’ confused. A lil’ distracted. A lil’ high. But that’s not why I’m distracted. The weed is letting my mind expand. Slowin’ every thought down. Thank you, now I can understand myself. Understand my writing just a lil’ more. Because I can appreciate my personality, that much more. I need more self-confidence!
So, to my readers; My break down today was over my insecurities. Insecurities makes you have shitty feelings. Those feelings will haunt you, as a
little girl and as a grown adult. I was selfish then and I am selfish now. I need to let things go. Move on. Don’t worry so much. Brush those negative self-images off my shoulder. And now my story is complete. You might not think so, but I do. I got my release. Now it’s your turn.
Now a days I want to drive away. Drive, till my problems are gone. And sometimes I want to drink my problems away. I truly don’t want to be 21.
If I’m already over whelmed, fuck that’s 3 more years on my shoulders. Shit! There I go swearing like a sailor. I wish that I never started. I get a complex every time I’m with my little sister. I feel like a horrible person. I can’t even look at her. But that’s not the only thing I have a complex about. I wish I listened to my mom. I wish I never started shaving. Now it’s become a chore.
Mom, I don’t want to be 18 anymore. I want to be that little girl. I want my family back. I want to know what’s wrong with me. I want to know what happened when I was little. If anything happened. Why can’t my uncle talk to me. Why can’t my sperm donor, of a father, talk to me. They can. They just choose not to. Crazy, how did I get to that?
I’m not quite sure. I guess, with you in the room I get more open. Yes, you probably don’t know who I’m talking about. But This is me. Being all over the place.
This is my story. These are my words. My words came from my thoughts. And my thoughts came from my mind . And my mind selfish. It likes to wander. But luckily, my stories always tie together. Like a knot. How am I going to tie my childhood into the present day? Well I don’t want to be 18. I don’t want to be an adult. I want to be that little girl. The girl that had no scars, inside and out. No mental break downs over silly shit.
*smile* (Right now I’m lost in thoughts about my writing. It’s crazy. It’s all over the place but that’s me. My sentence structure sets the mood.)
The mood of being a lil’ bipolar. A lil’ confused. A lil’ distracted. A lil’ high. But that’s not why I’m distracted. The weed is letting my mind expand. Slowin’ every thought down. Thank you, now I can understand myself. Understand my writing just a lil’ more. Because I can appreciate my personality, that much more. I need more self-confidence!
So, to my readers; My break down today was over my insecurities. Insecurities makes you have shitty feelings. Those feelings will haunt you, as a
little girl and as a grown adult. I was selfish then and I am selfish now. I need to let things go. Move on. Don’t worry so much. Brush those negative self-images off my shoulder. And now my story is complete. You might not think so, but I do. I got my release. Now it’s your turn.