Nightmare

in general, everything was so much more bearable when i was still abused. i’d locked myself away and i wasn’t affected by much, just to be able to live the life i was living. you try to make it ok, you try to feel like things are how they should be, you make yourself think there is no other way or choice. 

Starving yourself is dramatic and beautiful but overeating is just disgusting

Hurting yourself by cutting or burning your skin means your scars are beautiful but if you pull your hair out or pick at scabs that’s just gross

Smoking cigarettes or pot is rebellious and cool but the line is drawn when hard drugs are involved

Drinking vodka straight from the bottle is ever so dramatic but when you’re puking and blackout drunk no one thinks that’s poetic

Smudged eyeliner and black clothing makes you mysterious but it stops being attractive when you haven’t showered for a week or changed your clothes

Having depression or anxiety means you’re interesting but having OCD or schizophrenia or bulimia or BPD makes you a freak

Mental illnesses aren’t cool, or pretty, or romantic. It’s not aesthetically pleasing or dramatic or adventurous. It’s not red lipstick and black hoodies and ripped jeans and colorful hair. It’s nausea and exhaustion and acne and infected wounds and vomit and greasy hair and dirty clothes and red skin and bad breath and numbness and fog and desperation.