I found self love through a 15 pound weight gain

and other things I have to tell my therapist i. I gained 15 pounds in three weeks. ii. I can't tell if my boundaries are getting more rigid or I'm just putting up walls. Again. iii. I gained 15 pounds in three weeks because instead of talking about my feelings, I ate them. Which I guess is better than starving myself, but not by much. iv. There's a thin line between self-confidence and...

Abandoned: trigger warning

“Abandonment!” He exclaimed in the middle of our safety planning. “That’s your trigger! Whenever you feel abandoned or alone, you start to panic, start to relive the trauma, start to become suicidal.” Which makes sense when you know how the story ended. They say that speaking your truth allows for healing, that giving words to the trauma reduces the power it holds over you. Well, If...

How does one put themselves first anyway?

"Do you have any tattoos?" was not a question I expected to be asked in the Psych ER. But there I was--curled up on what Plato would refer to as a couch that's not ideal, with one of my friends next to me--so unprepared for the question that followed: "Do you have a boyfriend? Because I want to be yours." Apparently not having tattoos is not a prerequisite for love. I told him I'd think about it,...

I’m having a flashback right now, a trigger warning.

The coolness of the bathroom floor, a stark contrast to the sweaty guys surrounding me. We had been like this for fifteen minutes: me, lying on the ground, clothes askew; them, forcing their way into me, on me, around me. 10 hands tracing my body, forcing their way inside. I remember the way it felt: like being stabbed over and over and over again. Of their erections pushing against my back as...

Maybe home is more than just a place

Six months ago, I never thought I'd find myself here--in a room with white colored walls and a stippled ceiling, a place to call my own. "There's no place like home." Dorothy once said, as she tapped her ruby slippers Together one by one. "Home is where the heart is," They all say as if a heart can fill a place, take up Residence in a building full of feelings. Maybe home is more than just a...

I challenged her to write a post in which she doesn’t mention her past (stolen from my old blog)

I forgave myself today, kneeling at the altar. You can't move forward if you're angry at the past-- angry at yourself for things that are not your fault, for relapses you could've controlled if you had just. . . just . . . re  a   c  h  e   d   out, for relationships you purposefully sabotaged because you don't feel worth anything. Maybe forgiveness can't change the past, but maybe it...

Letter to a suicide note

I found you tonight, tucked away amongst books I haven't read in years but love too much to throw away. I'm getting ready to move, packing books in suitcases and clothes in boxes because I can't stay here forever. I can't stay here forever: trapped in the past--but I can't move forward until I move out, can't live until I leave the place where I tried to die. I found you tonight, and I'm not sure...

Apartment hunting in the age of depression

How does one even make a budget, I texted to my friend, a mixture of panic and frustration washing over me. Like, I know I need to move out, but I just don't know how. I don't know how to even begin apartment hunting, and besides. I have a crockpot and a mattress. Life has this way of sneaking up on you: one minute, you're a child, being carried to bed by your father; the next, you're an adult...

Time is a construct and emotions are fleeting: On New Year’s Resolutions

I'm not going to stop you from crying. Tears are good, healthy, a sign of healing, my therapist told me yesterday, as I sobbed across from him, unpacking the last sixteen years of my life. This is the missing piece, he continued, tears in his eyes, I've been trying to figure out why you have such a hard time opening up to people, and this is it.  Life has this way of moving forward, marching...

How trauma helped me find my words

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar Growing up, I was always told to use my words, but every time I opened my mouth, I was afraid the earth was going to swallow me whole. I was afraid of people telling me no--no, they didn't want to play with me; no, they didn't want to be my friend. No became the worse word somebody...