This took a turn

Don’t you hate that? How the night before, you feel motivated, have a plan for the next day, even feel a little motivated the second you wake up. But then, it starts slowly. Something feels a little off. You make up excuses for it. It hits you, you feel a little off.

That realization, that moment. The moment you realize it’s you, you’re the one who feels off. That’s when it happens. You start slowly spiraling. Not too bad at first, though. Not very noticeable because you’ve put it in the back of your mind. Well, at least you think you did. But it’s growing. It gets bigger and bigger. You start actively thinking about your anxieties, fears, mistakes, things that make you wrong as a person. Things you’ve decided are true, that must be true because why else would you feel this way. Why else would it be so damn hard, so damn exhausting to get yourself to make at least one phone call, check off one thing on your list.

You make up these things, these facts about yourself, convinced they are true but in fact are the complete opposite. Yes, maybe it’s exhausting to fight yourself to even get one thing done on the list but you did it. You, on your bad day, got something done. Even if you didn’t manage to get something on your list done, you managed and you know fucking what? That in itself is strength.

People don’t see mental illness, not all the time. They don’t see what we are fighting. How fucking exhausting it is. How the simplest thing makes you tired and ashamed because you can’t do it like the “normies” can but fuck them. You are, I am, so much stronger for it. We have to fight everyday. It’s not easy. Life’s not easy, but we do it.

So, this started as a rant but turned into a pep talk. I think mostly I needed to hear it. I needed to know it was okay. But if anyone else needed to know, know it’s okay to survive, it’s okay to just breathe. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.




2017, pretty much a big fuck you but with a cherry on top. A very big sweet red cherry on top.

The highlights; I failed nursing school, I got back in, passed my third semester and made it to my final semester but not before the worst and best summer of my life.

The summer of 2017, started out amazing. I was ready to study for school, I had friends, new friends, I had purpose. Then I was all alone. Everyone fell off the face of the earth. I couldn’t study. I was all alone, all the time.

I learned a lot in my loneliness. I learned to take care of my myself. Become healthy. Even lost 20 lbs.

I got back into my art, in any creative outlet I could. Writing, photography, drawing, making jewelry.

I learned how to cope. Cope in a healthy way. Listening to music again, art, going to the river. I learned to be alone and be okay with it. I started to enjoy myself, my company. I have never done that.

I decided it was time to meet people, specifically start a relationship, and maybe make some friends. I set out on a few dating websites. I went out on a few meets.

But, the second to last one… July 30th… I’ll never forget. I made 17 cigarettes for that night. It’s funny the things you remember. That night, I was raped.

I didn’t think of it walking back to the car. Not until I started the car and an overwhelming urge to vomit came over me. The next weeks were hell. I was late. My period was late.

But for some reason, I kept talking to another guy I had given my number to. I remember the day after it happened, he texted me for the first time. I was skittish and I was not really into it but over the next few weeks he was persistent.

I eventually told him what happened. I hadn’t told anyone. Not even my mom. I trusted him. There was something about him. He had been touched by the darkness too. I just knew.

I finally got my period, day 40 of my cycle. A week before I had told my mom. She urged me to go to the police but in the past when I went to them about my past, they never believed me, there was no justice. So, you understand why I didn’t trust them.

Time went on, I was numb, depressed, drinking. I barely left my room, the chair in the corner by the window. Where I sat and smoked. But he was there to talk. He was the only person I spoke to.

I didn’t withdraw from school, I thought going would help. I tried to study before the semester but I couldn’t and my mother was not helpful. Always on me about studying.

In August, that guy and I got closer. He asked me to be his on the 15th. He knew I was fucked up, he knew I was not interested in anything sexual but he wanted me. All of me. So I said yes.

I was in a downward spiral. Looking for anything to help. I met him, he made me feel safe. In control.

School started but we made it work. He lived over an hour up north. He would come once a week and get a hotel room. School got bad, my home life got worse. I was drowning. It was worse than the summer.

I decided to leave my last semester at school. I just couldn’t. The PTSD had set in. My moms abuse was too much.

I had finally had enough. I left. At 28, I left. I stood up for myself and left. He saved me. I packed all my stuff up in my car and his. He took me home.

Then I went back. I thought it would be different but it wasn’t.

Days later, he saved me again and I never went back.

I don’t know what I would have done if I had never met him.

It’s 2018, now. Life is hard. I’m just learning to be an adult and I still take baby steps. I still ask for help with everything. Being under my mothers thumb, feeling feeble for so long, has damaged me good but I got this.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s never too late. Follow your heart. Follow your dreams.



Silver Hills Chronicles: The first time in

I was 16, in tenth grade. It was November. To give you some background information before I go into detail. I was in a program, kinda like special education but this was called the fragile program, for kids who had issues but intelligent. It was based in a regular school but was not apart of the school district. Back to the story, I was in tenth grade. 16 at the time. Dating a boy named Jason. I had just started at the beginning of the school year, at this program. 

One day, in November, after one of my classes. I overheard the programs, psychologist, speaking on the phone with my parents about sending me to a boarding school. What I didn’t know at the time was that the boarding school, had a day program. 

So, being a 16 year old girl, hormones and all, I yelled, very loudly, “if you send me away, I’m going to kill myself.” 

They wanted to send me to the hospital right there on the spot, but my parents calmed down the psychologist and let me finish out the day. I took the school bus home. When I got home, my parents told me I was going to go to the hospital. I cried, pleaded, screamed but gave up. I told them I’d go if, my boyfriend could come over first to say goodbye.

He got off the train, crying. He hugged me so tight. We hung out for an hour, I think. Before he left I gave him my art journal to write in while I was gone, he gave me his hoodie. Saying goodbye, felt like the end of the world. I was so in love. 

We left the house around 7. I was crying the whole way. The hospital was only 17 miles away but it was in another state. They told me how nice this place was, how famous people would go here for help, it’s true. 

We got to the hospital, walked to intake. It seemed like an eternity but the process took 3 hours. Afterwards, they took us to the main house. The adolescent unit was on the top floor, sorta in an attic looking space but really nice and cozy.

They took my belongings, searched them. Took away belts, laces, my nine inch nails sweatshirt. They took my parents and I into a room to talk, a dr and a nurse. I only remember one thing from that conversation. My mom told them that it was no big deal everyone tries to kill themselves. This struck a cord with the lady, she raised her voice and said, “your daughter cuts herself at every major artery, do you realize that, this is serious.” 

After that my parents had to leave. I was so scared and so alone. I hugged them goodbye. I made sure they were coming back. 

Then they took me into a back room, where a big scary nurse did a body check. She said take off all your clothes. Scared, I asked why. She told me they had to check for scars and cuts. I had no choice. I did what she said. She checked my whole body, not even in a way that made me feel comfortable. I was left ashamed and embarrassed. Horrified. To this day, I can still remember how horrible that felt. Dehumanizing. 

I got put in my own room. I tried escaping that first night but the window locks wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t sleep, so I went up to the nurses station, they gave me Benadryl. 

I woke up that morning to a note in my bathroom, it had an eye, a heart and a U. Like when I was little, my mom used to leave me them. She had one of the nurses put it there. 

I was there for ten days, it was the best time of my life.

*more hospital adventures to come 

The Adderall lifestyle 

I was diagnosed with ADD/ADHD at 7 years. But don’t get it wrong, I’m not one of those people who was just written off as having it, that is really just a “problem child” growing up. Trust me. I have stories I could tell you, but that is not what this is about. This is about now, me, 28 year old, me. As you have read the title of this, so named because that is what adderall is. Maybe it wasn’t at first. At first it was so I could focus in school but as I got older, it became my monster. I loved it. Then it was a problem. And now, now that I’m getting it in control, it’s a lifestyle. 

I call it a lifestyle for a few reasons. You see, as I got older the effects of it changed, morphed in how it worked on me. It stopped being the kind of pill that would turn me into a robot that sat for hours focusing on school, to a superhero who could do anything, and finally to a functioning human being. 

I now take it to feel normal with a side of pep. It’s the only way I can do daily tasks. Things that “normies” wouldn’t bat an eye at. 

Now, instead of it being my focusing med, it’s my motivation med. I can get out of bed because of it. I can think clearly, take care of myself, do creative things, have energy. 

This is why I call it the Adderall lifestyle. Because it really is a lifestyle. It changes everything. Having BPD, PTSD, anxiety, these are fucking exhausting. Battling myself everyday is exhausting. So, if I need a little help to get up and do the most mundane tasks, ones people don’t usually need to think about, then I think it’s okay. As long as I’m careful because that lifestyle can become a problem real quick. 

But that’s just one of the meds that keeps this borderline functioning in society.