Obsidian Whipsers

My name is Ember. This is where I lay it all out- the raw, unfiltered chaos of being mentally and chronically ill. I’m not here to inspire anyone or tie my pain into a pretty bow. This isn’t a story of triumph; it’s a story of survival, one shaky breath at a time.

You’ll find pieces of me scattered across these posts: the days I can barely get out of bed, the nights I lose to racing thoughts, and the endless battle to just exist in a body that feels like my enemy. This is a space for the broken, the bitter, the struggling. For the ones who keep going even when it feels pointless.

If you’re looking for light, you won’t find it here. But if you’re drowning in the same darkness, maybe you’ll see yourself in my words- and maybe, just maybe, we’ll feel a little less alone.

Welcome to the edge. Let’s fall together.

Professionally diagnosed with:

Bipolar 2

BPD

CPTSD

Severe GAD

Severe Panic disorder

OCD (magical thinking and contamination aspects)

Professionally diagnosed with:

Fibromyalgia

Sjogrens

Scleroderma (SCL-70)

RA

CFS/ME

Migraines and Ocular migraine sufferer

Peripheral neuropathy

Dysautonomia (POTS and IST)

E. Coli colonization of my bladder

Asthma

My thoughts turn sharp, slicing through reason like paper cuts that never stop stinging. My emotions don’t settle; they riot. I try to hold myself together, but my skin feels foreign, my body a cage for something too wild to contain.

I want to scream. I want to disappear. I want someone to notice without me having to say a word.

But I won’t say a word.

After 30 years of therapy, I think I’ve finally hit the wall. I’ve tried everything- CBT, DBT, EMDR, every acronym they could throw at me. I’ve cried, screamed, journaled, meditated, done the breathing exercises, the worksheets, the self-compassion mantras. None of it stuck. None of it saved me.

It’s not that I didn’t want to be fixed- I wanted it more than anything. But at some point, you have to stop throwing yourself at the same brick wall, hoping it’ll turn into a door. Therapy didn’t fail me, and I didn’t fail therapy. It just wasn’t enough to untangle this mess I’ve become.

✨ If you’re struggling this season:

It’s okay if “merry and bright” isn’t in your vocabulary right now.

Canceling plans doesn’t make you a bad person- it makes you a human protecting your peace.

You’re allowed to prioritize survival over celebration.

💡 To everyone else:

Stop assuming the holidays are magical for everyone. They’re not.

Offer support, not judgment, when someone says they’re overwhelmed.

Don’t guilt people into participating- sometimes the best gift we can give is space to breathe.

🎁 The real holiday spirit? Empathy. Share it freely, especially with those quietly carrying more than their fair share.

Every sound feels too loud. Every thought feels too big. My chest stays tight, my mind restless, waiting for a crash I know is coming but can’t stop.

It’s terrifying to watch your mind slip further from your grasp. Worse, it’s exhausting. Yet here I am- three hours of sleep, countless hours of spiraling, bracing myself for another day I don’t feel ready to face.

Every small thing they do for you feels like another nail in the coffin of your independence, and you hate yourself for it. For needing them. For burdening them. For taking up space in their world when you wish you could just stand on your own.