hey, you can call me m. i'm twenty, totally insane and a certified loser. lover of all things nature, antique/vintage, or rock/metal music related. i also love tattoos, piercings, and alternative fashion.
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my blog will contain content related to my struggles and mental illnesses (sēlf-hārm, su!c!dal, diagnosed an0rex!a, depression, anxiety, bpd). i have no intentions of triggering anyone or promoting my issues; this is just an outlet to help me cope. please block me if you feel i may have a negative impact on you or encourage you to get worse. do not report, all that does is take me away from my safe space and support system. it does not help me get better; it only causes me to get worse.
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my inbox is always open; feel free to message me to say hi, chat, vent, or anything else under the sun. i'd love to talk ♡
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if you think you may know me from real life: no you don't. this is my safe space and i prefer to keep it separate from my in-person relationships. please respect that and do not look at this blog.
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people tell me that i can be helped, but nothing dulls the ache inside.
i've been through seven therapists, eleven days of inpatient hospitalization, multiple therapy approaches, 10+ different meds, and several halfhearted attempts at recovery in less than two years. nothing has lifted the fog of mental illnesses from my mind.
i'm tired of trying and tired of being told that i'm anything but a lost cause.
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i feel so fucking guilty every time i make someone cry because of my mental illnesses.
they've cost me my best friend, they've cost me my freedom, they've cost me my family's trust, they've cost me my life.
i wish i'd never allowed things to get so bad that others found out. i don't care how much my issues hurt me, but i never wanted to let them hurt anyone else.
but i'm so far gone i still can't stop destroying myself.
i have an awfully hard time believing that people remember me when i'm not around, that i actually exist in other people's minds. i'm always shocked when someone sends me things that remind them of me; i find it difficult to believe that people think of me when i'm not there. why would they?
maybe this is a self-worth or bpd issue, but i'm curious if i actually have some sort of impact on other people or if i'm just trapped in my little bubble of depression and self-isolation.
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my mental illness creeps in through the messiness of my room and the intensity of my relapses, the tear tracks on my face and the being haunted by memories, the emptiness and the sheer exhaustion that makes even getting out of bed a herculean task.
i've been here before. and i am so tired of always returning to this place.
my life is just a constant battle against my mind; i find myself growing tired of fighting it again.
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a part of me still can't believe that you're not in my life anymore. that the late night calls, the inside jokes, the 'i love you's, the pinky promises are all in the past. that you're not here for me to run to when it all feels like too much and i just need you. that there's no longer an us.
six months has changed everything.
the semicolon and promise tattooed on my wrist in your handwriting is now a broken mirror. my call history has a different name at the top of it. you're not there to reassure me when i wake from nightmares of losing you. you don't know where i live. we're both a year older. you no longer reply to my messages. i have dozens of new scars you've never seen. you're not there when my world is caving in and all i need is you.
six months has changed nothing.
i still think of you every day. i still break down in tears over losing you every night. mail trucks still remind me of you. i still wake from dreams where you're gone from this world. i still see you in road signs and calla lilies, pinecones and my playlist. my heart is still shattered. i still don't want to live in a world without you. the grief of missing you still takes my breath away. i'm still utterly broken by your abandonment.
i still love you.
despite everything; despite your angry words, despite your silence, despite my own grief and anger, i still love you.
time has brought doubts, creeping into my mind as i think back over our friendship and the end of it. my mind finds more proof for why i wasn't good enough for you every day. for how i failed you. for how you used me to destroy yourself. for how my struggles and sickness became a way for your mind to hurt you, despite my every effort to protect you. realizing how you used me to hurt yourself, despite my only desire being to help you heal, cuts as deep as the last words you said to me.
did you only love me because i'm sick?
did you ever really love me at all?
i told you in the very beginning that you should leave me. that i wasn't worth it, that i would end up hurting you. but you stubbornly refused to let me push you away.
until i needed you the most. until i started to trust your promises that you wouldn't leave. until you finally decided to take my advice and abandoned me.
when you left, you took my heart and my will to try with you. i've been hollow ever since, using relapses and attempts to try to fill the space where you were. cvtting, starv!ng, su!c!de attempts—they're all a poor substitute for you.
a part of me is angry. i don't agree with how you handled things; the vagueness and the blame, the lack of communication, the abruptness and the ignorance made the loss of you all the more excruciating.
six months later, and the agony of your abandonment is still just as sharp as if it were yesterday.
i miss you. i love you. and i will never, ever forgive myself for losing you.
