Tag Archives: my brain chemicals are wonky

I fled, as I do, as I must. It’s a different world I have to go to, to run away from myself. They say, hell is other people.

It’s wrong.

Hell is always, endlessly, myself. Locked inside my own head, own voice searing across old wounds, ripping and prying and tearing.

I don’t cut with blades.

I cut with words, and you cannot see my scars.

I ran away, cutting my souls/soles on the sharp truth: I failed. To be sorry, to be kind, to be good.

To be wanted.

You see, I write because I have to. The words jostle in my mind like a thousand thousand razor blades, cutting and cutting. You cannot see my scars, though I lay them out in text, fine lines of script linking wound to pain to bruise. I write because the pixels, the ink is blood, sliding down my fingertips.

You say to me: it hurts too much, I can’t tonight. I hear you but I can’t hear you. Do you lock it inside, then? How do you do that? It writhes inside me, clinging with claws sharp as kittens’ teeth, pricking marks that only hurt later, when I’ve stopped running.

Do you understand? I’m asking, always asking, only ever asking you to help me heal. I thought I heard you say, No, so I fled. I ran away to find the words I shape around that pain, and I didn’t know my leaving would hurt you. I never want to hurt you.

I want to show you my scars, the ink that runs in my veins and spills out on the page, and say: we are alike. I can write you the path I walked before you, and maybe, just maybe, if the words shape themselves right you don’t have to hurt yourself on the same things.

I ask you to help me and what comes out is always ugly and wanting, greedy and selfish. Ragged-edged words with too-cruel edges.

The truth is that I say it wrong. The truth is that I love you, and I love you cannot say as you wish until after I say my wishes too. I wish you to come back. Let me try again.

I write and write and write; the words spill like blood across the screen and swirl away. They will never be enough; I want to peel open my cheat and show you the parts of my soul that are yours and always will be. This is a love letter to you.

I’m sorry. Please forgive me my mistake. Let me make it right. Let me try again. I give you the truth: I shape words, and the story bleeds my pain. Here are my scars, self-made. Will you help me, now, to carve out my pain?

past-timeofthe-teenmind:

coollikerinthetardis:

jordansjourneyto130:

This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. People do not understand that mental illnesses, such as depression, are actual chemical imbalances in your body. They are not brought on by choice. My dad was diagnosed with depression. He was so ashamed of it that he hid it from me and my brothers. A month later, he killed himself. The stigma that comes with mental illness made my Dad embarrassed to talk to his own kids about this problem because he felt like less of a man.

Erase the stigma. The more we talk about mental illness, the less likely it will end in suicide.

Please reblog.

City of Heroes

So I’ve figured out why I woke up this morning feeling like hell. I kind of hate when my under-self doesn’t talk to the aware part of me about what is going on.

See, I play this MMORPG called City of Heroes. I can still say that in present tense right now, but two days from now — I won’t.

I don’t — I’m not sure I can put words around why this is so upsetting for me. The game is eight-and-a-half years old. We had eight years in May. And my relationship, the guy I’m marrying, he introduced me to the game, by loading up the character creator and putting his laptop in my lap. It’s an important part of our lives together, this game. Not MMOs in general, /this/ one.

I lost touch with my best friends after college, and I found one of them again because of City. She plays. I didn’t even know, until after I subscribed, and then I found her in the chatroom. I think I still have a text file recording our reaction. She’s one of my bridesmaids.

There are so many other people that I’ve met, who’ve been — and always will be — an enormous part of my life, because of this game. I’d need extra hands and feet to count them all. They — literally — saved my life. At the panels we have at Dragon*con, I’m known. I’m the Girl Who Needs No Mic.

It /hurts/, knowing that all that is being taken away from me. Not the memories, of course, but there won’t be any new ones. We, as a community, have done so much over the last three months, trying to change this, and two days from now our efforts … won’t mean anything. I’m holding back tears. You really don’t realise how deeply something has entwined itself into your heart until you have to face its absence.

We made — make — that game live. City is the base inspiration for my character here; Summer originated there. Me, if I were truly a superheroine, instead of just merely a human trying-to-be-heroine.

I just … needed to write all this out. To shape it in words and remind myself it’s okay to be upset about this. I don’t think I’ll really be here Friday night, because I’m going to be in Paragon City until they turn off the servers.

To everyone who is feeling like they’re not going to make it this Christmas,

norulesnobras:

Your life is worth so much more than notes on a post.

  • Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
  • Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
  • LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
  • Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
  • Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743
  • Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
  • Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673
  • Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272
  • Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000
  • Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253
  • If you ever want to talk: My tumblr is always open.

are you standing up there
are you watching me fall
waiting for the crash
do you know
how far down this pit goes
i’m putting out my hand
i’m lost in burning sand
i can see everything you do
why are you not falling too

i wait and wait
and wait some more
leave little messages
‘Miss you’
why don’t you ever miss me too