- Staying in my dream room
- Will be home if there was a emergency
- More time with Dad
- Less hurt on my family
- Physically closer to family
- More quiet*
- Still with pumpkin
- No major change
- No feeling obligated to do anything
- Tention between me and my parents*
- Less freedom
- Less privacy
- Feeling like I can’t be myself*
- Cant be completely open about everything*
- Longer drive to school
- Feeling like I don’t belong*
- More triggers/constant reminders
- Less support*
- Less feelings of safety*
- Feeling safe in general*
- Feeling safe when wanting to SH or suicidal*
- Being able to be myself*
- Feeling like I have more freedom
- Soending time with my parents because I want to not have to*
- Earning money over the summer
- More to do
- Feeling ‘welcome’ in the entire house*
- More privacy
- My voice being heard and matters*
- Quicker drive to school
- Explore who I am without pressure from family*
- Less time on my own
- Different room/space
- Not being home if there is an emergency
- Less time with my dad
- Might hurt my family’s feelings
- A lot of effort on moving
- Overall big change
- More chaos
- Feeling like I am lost
What comes to your mind when you think of “What makes a home, a home?” Top 3:
2.Being able to be me
3. Feeling like im not invisible, being heard, feeling wanted, feeling loved.
Put a * next to each item listed that is a core value.
I walk through a forest preserve to clear my head and get some fresh aid. As I walk, I see two trails in different directions. One to the left, and one to the right. No trail markers, just two paths forcing you to make a decision. It seems like it would be such a simple decision yet if you really think about it, its a difficult decision to make. I see it like this, one path is the choice of recovery, the choice of taking care of myself, and the choice to accept my future. The other path however, is no change, no recovery, only putting others first, and pretending everything is okay. Everyone tells me to chose the path of recovery and self love but something always holds me back. Am I truly ready for recovery? Am I ready to love myself? Am I ready to face the shame? I stare down both paths seeing the good and bad to both. Which path should I go down? I talk about this trail but, this is what recovery looks like to me. A constant decision making process with no right or wrong, everything is grey. I take one step forward and look down both paths one more time before starting to walk down the path or recovery. I may stop sometimes and take on or two steps back but, I always continue to take more steps down the path of recovery. I will always make mistakes along the way but, I will always continue walking down the trail or recovery.
I walk into a room and ask for a table for four. They ask, “Who are you waiting for?” and I say “No one, they are already here.”. The waiter, clearly puzzled, walks me to my table and walks away. Only I see who I am sitting with because, they are already with me, all day, everyday. I don’t always talk to them or respond when they talk to. me but, they always follow. A party of four, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and I. That all talk while I sit with them quietly but, I can’t ask them to leave because they never leave. Everyday is a constant battle as I try to get rid of them forever, even though that might be impossible. I try to fight them until they all share on chair quietly in the corner but, most likely they will never completely leave. We will always be ‘four’ however, I will only need a table for one.
The waiter walks up to me and asks, “How many people?” and I proudly say “Just one.”
We write in pencil so that we can erase our mistake or anything we don’t like. We only use pen when we know we won’t make any mistakes, or when signing something important so we can’t quickly erase it if we change out mind. I think that’s why so many people write in pencil, if they make a mistake they think it doesn’t mean anything. The thing is, what we say and do in life is all written in pen. There is no eraser to take back whatever action we decided we didn’t like in the first place. Stop using pencil, stop being afraid of making a mistake or showing you aren’t perfect. Write in pen, be confident, be proud, accept your mistakes and be okay with nothing being truly perfect. Show the world who you are, WRITE IN BOLD! You were made to write in pen, otherwise you wouldn’t have been given one.
I admit my mistakes, not always to others but to myself. Some say that doesn’t really mean admitting my mistakes but, I view it as owing no one a explanation. This is me, not you. This seems frequently lost in translation because some still look for this explanation even after hearing “no”. Why would anyone think they have rights over my body after 20 years? Those rights expired on my 18th birthday and I didn’t exactly let anyone sign up for those rights again, yet they felt entitled to them and took them. Who knows, maybe I gave some of them away. I still let others speak and I take what is said into consideration but, when it comes down to making a decision, I’m the one signing the contract of life. What I have never really been able to understand is why we are forced to begin inclement in this contract the second we are born. I earned the rights to the contract at age 18 but, not completely. No matter what, I cannot terminate this contract unless I tear it apart. Doing this however, makes the original owners of the contract break. After all, they loved the contract beyond belief even after losing rights to it. I may no longer like all of the pages I have signed in this contract, but I can pick some words from each page and slowly change them one by one in the future. Someday I will love signing a new page everyday but, its okay if that day isn’t today.
I did something today and truthfully I am actually a little scared to type it out on here. We all make mistakes but it can be hard when the mistake is something you want. There are a lot of words to express how I feel yet I find myself speechless right now because I know what I have done. Today I did something that I never thought I would do, something I never thought would even be a thought in my mind. How do I pick myself back up from here? How do I fix this mistake when everyday the suspense of the mistake grows? I admit that I self harm, and it is not something I am ashamed of. Its frustrating and hard to explain and talk about sometimes, yes, but I am not ashamed of it. What I have done today, I am ashamed of and I deserve to be. I messed up and now I am stuck having to figure out how to pick up the pieces. Today I was 18 days with no self harm.
Today I disappointed myself in ways I can’t even explain. Today I self harmed however, that’s not what I am upset about. I am upset because I self harmed at someone else’s house, I let others down instead of just myself. I thought about making a different choice but in the end I made the decision not to stay safe. How do I come back from something like this? I really messed up. Damn.
I’ve never understood why I am more scared to be called a disappointment than worthless. Maybe because being worthless only impacts me, whereas being a disappointment can hurt others. After all, I care a lot more about others than I do myself, which is something I am still trying to balance out.
I have gone two months and two weeks without self harm. Being able to say that I have gone this far with no self harm makes me beyond proud of myself. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to though. The urge to self harm gets stronger and stronger each night and every night I have a anxiety attack because I’m scared one night I will cut and it will be the worst I have ever done. I’m not scared that I will do it to the point something bad could happen, but I do worry that someday I will cut and I will actually need stitches. I think i’m even more scared of feeling like a disappointment in my own eyes than cutting too deep on accident. I don’t want to disappoint myself and have to said that I didn’t make it three months. I just want to continue feeling proud.
I have felt like a disappointment my entire life, so I guess that’s probably why I am so scared to be seen as a disappointment now. I want to go as long as I possibly can without feeling like a disappointment, because it feels pretty dang good being proud of myself.
On a completely different topic, this memory keeps coming up and I don’t really know why. I don’t think it would bother me as much, except that it is the memory of the first time I attempted suicide. I’ve never really forgotten it but it usually doesn’t keep coming up. The memory sucks, but what its also making me remember is some of the things that happened when I was with my grandma. Both good and bad. I remember when I was younger and my grandma would get home from delivering news papers and she would sit on the front porch waiting for me to get there. We would usually sit outside for a few hours, and I actually enjoyed that most of the time. I had a iPod when I was in junior high and I remember getting to grandmas house and sitting on the front porch with her, and we were both listening to all of the birds that were in the tree in the front yard. Grandma got the idea that maybe if we played Lady Gaga as loud as we could, maybe the birds would chirp to it. It still makes me laugh remembering that, it was one of those times that I forgot everything that was bothering me and could just laugh. I wish it was always like that, but most of the time it wasn’t. Most of the time, there was screaming and fear. I wish I could go back and change it, because when she was nice, I loved spending time with her. I have moments where it still seems like it isn’t real that grandma passed three years ago. There are times when it feel like what happened when I was younger wasn’t real either. It feels like it wasn’t real and wasn’t that bad the majority of the time to be honest. I wish I could understand how bad things really were when I was younger, so the times when I feel like I can actually understand what happened clearly are somewhat nice to have.