A Time Capsule

For every year of mental illness I have endured

 

2009

Each scrap of food left on my plate

Turning into nearly entire meals

I am sure they have decomposed by now

2010

The bones starting to poke through

Her aggressive hands

The toxic words forced down my throat telling me I am nothing more than her friendship dictated

2011

The first drops of blood staining my bathtub

Dozens of razors, knives, and scissors representing an addiction and all the stark white scars they left behind

Frozen veins from each time she buried my heart further into the ground

Dozens of bruises carefully crafted by her hands

Every skipped meal my body would wish it had years later

2012

The hospital bracelet

Mapped out plans of my funeral, thought out in black ink in what I thought would be the last remnants of my life

Weeks of therapist visits and psychiatrist appointments

All the anxiety attacks induced by the slightest mistake

Every pill I tried with failure

2013

Each hallucination from bugs under my skin to phantom voices and sights

Fears of human touch and living

Hundreds of scars making a home of my skin

All the pills ingested to keep my head close to above water

A year’s worth of cigarettes

2014

Lost love and gained love

His gentle words turning violent yet tinged with roses

Each positive coping skill trying to overthrow the negative trying to still kill me

Intrusive thoughts whispering sweet nothings about how I won’t amount to anything

A year’s worth of cigarettes and additional scars

More pills

2015

The first joint I smoked

Scars and cigarettes engraved on my body

A love so volatile I thought I would drown in his poison eventually dying out

Learning to be alone and to be ok with it

Thoughts of death and self hatred

Trying to love myself the way I should be

A high school diploma

2016

Thoughts of death intermittent but acceptance of the day

Pills, scars, cigarettes

Another love blossoming and wilting

Anxiety attacks over nothing in particular

2017

Wishes of happiness but acceptance that happiness is a passing emotion rather than a permanent state of mind

Another year of pills, scars, and cigarettes

His words still haunting my dreams, waking up sweating, checking for his blood on my hands knowing he’s still alive somewhere

Flinching at hands on my face and arms

A constant state of being on my toes ready for fight or flight

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Five

Five good things that have happened to me, 5 years and a day after the hospitalization date that kept me from committing suicide

1.) Relearning to laugh

By the time I reached my breaking point, I could not muster so much as a smile

Teaching myself to laugh again at even the smallest of things was a hurdle

Now I laugh loud enough, often enough for people to recognize it as me from opposite ends of halls

Laughing at minor inconveniences was one leap I made, knowing it would soon come easier

Yet I acknowledge that there are hard days I cannot let the tiniest of giggles out

2.) Falling in and out of love many times

Teaching myself that a lover doesn’t define you, but how fully you loved

How fully you loved someone who didn’t deserve you, someone who didn’t love you back

Giving too much of myself to the wrong ones

Giving away pieces of my love to people who needed it the most

Recognizing rock bottom in other people, giving them the shoulder when I knew I would have needed one

3.) Learning I was permitted to take up space

Knowing when people were trying to minimize my shine because they were uncomfortable with it

Using my stubborn voice to never back down

Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I cannot posses the personality traits assigned masculine

Fiery, stubborn, loud mouth throwing sarcastic daggers that I have learned to embrace

4.) Realizing it’s alright to have emotions if they aren’t used to hurt someone else

Crying when I really need to, allowing myself to be angry when need be

I am not a robot and emotions are never as black and white as they seem

5.) Loving myself again, even if milestones are reached slower than someone else

My relationship with food is always tinged with the way my bones felt jutting out of my skin when I thought I didn’t need it

Days where I can look at food and not see the calories, fat content, sugar, etc. are days I count as good days

Days where I don’t calculate how much exercise I have to do with the extra food I take in are also good days

I have been allowed to accept the personality traits handed down to me, even if they are not seen in the brightest of light

Learning to accept myself at face value is a permission I am eagerly awaiting, but until then it is the baby steps that count the most

Another Starvation Poem

It has been 7 years since I first began betraying my own body

I was never officially sick but my bones poked through my skin

I lost 40 pounds in 2 years but the doctors were only afraid for a moment

Last year my physician told me to see an eating disorder specialist but that same week my therapist said I didn’t meet the criteria anymore

I tango with that old feeling starvation gave me

As if I am actually succeeding at something – as if I am making my mother proud by not weighing as much as the next girl

I do not have the words to define what was yet wasn’t

Back then I wasn’t much more than skin and bone tangled with a sadness that cannot be cured

I just call it the disorder now – I knew it was anorexia but doctors are skeptics

My physician knew I was afraid of food but my therapist knew they wouldn’t give me a second thought at the psychiatric ward because I wasn’t small enough to fit in their box

6 years ago I was 2 pounds away from the help I so desperately needed

I have so many female friends who have suffered been in the grip of food and the fear of but most were never given the treatment

When you see how many of us are sick you begin to wonder when people will realize it’s not an isolated issue, but maybe an issue with what we are taught to look like

Food and I still have a strained relationship, we are reconciling after a bitter divorce

Some days I still wish to return to starvation’s grip

Women in the Spotlight and Such

Nowadays society is kind of screwy with females in general and the females that are in the limelight. Now you’re probably thinking oh god another feminist rant but there is a point that needs to be seen, not only by the general population, but by magazine editors, politicians, etc. See feminism isn’t the yearning for the matriarchy to rule society, but for males and females to be equal. The US is certainly not perfect, and one of the more worrying pieces of American society is how women are seen and treated.

Let’s start with women in general. First off, magazines and such make women believe that they are nothing if they aren’t thin with large breasts and a nice butt. Thus, an epidemic of eating disorders has arisen. Many girls suffer from bulimia, ENDOS, anorexia, and other various eating disorders because of this type of thinking. You see models that look like they’re on the verge of collapsing because they’re so thin for the sake of “fashion”. Many have rigorous training to look that thin or fit. Many also starve themselves to look that thin, some dying from doing so. I can gladly say that there are some good campaigns for loving yourself as you are, using more normal sized models of various colors.

Another thing about women is that they’re expected to fit all these impossible norms that society has set up. For example, women are expected to be hairless like a baby. That’s not too possible, now is it? Women use to stay at home to raise children, but now we live in an era where pairs need both members to work to survive. We have turned to babysitters and daycare centers to raise our children until kindergarten or 1st grade age.

Something that irks me as a LGBT member, is that trans* women aren’t included in the whole thing. They’re still regarded as male, despite many going through the MtF changes with hormones and such. These days trans* males are started to get recognized, but not trans* women aren’t regarded as people. Trans* women are no less women than biological females. These women are always left out of things because they aren’t biologically females. We, not just males, but females need to recognize these women as women, not as males wearing a female skin.

Bills regarding women’s rights also need to be extinguished. There have been between 600 and 650 bills restricting women’s bodies, while there hasn’t been one single bill restricting men’s rights. How did this happen? Someone should step into the government and state that these bills aren’t constitutional. We can start with Texas. Wendy Davis is a woman to admire, yet Texas legislators decided to break rules to benefit themselves, despite her 13 hour filibuster. Why do we stand for this?

When female celebrities do something that someone doesn’t like, the entire world knows about it. Kim Kardashian gained weight when she was pregnant? Good, that’s suppose to happen when you have a baby growing in your stomach. Miley Cyrus is acting like a slut? Cool, let her be. You’re not worried about the man she was grinding on singing about blurred lines of consent. Nicki Minaj is being a bitch because she is speaking her mind? Awesome, we need a woman who is in the limelight bringing it to our attention that women are mistreated so. She is probably one of the most fabulous female role models in the limelight, along with Béyonce. Have you listened to Béyonce’s new album? If not, go listen to it’s entirety.

There’s also this awful rape culture. Everyone is teaching girls from a young age to make sure he rapes the other girl rather than you. Don’t dress to modestly, but don’t dress too much like a slut. If you dress like a slut, you’re asking for it. If you drink too much, you’re asking for it. If you put your drink down and it gets spiked, it’s your fault. This needs to end.

I’m not saying that all feminist movements are great, but this stuff towards women needs to end. Rrriot girls aren’t the best people in the movement, and neither is the radical group called Femen. Many people are afraid to call themselves feminists that have points that aren’t accurate or going for the image that the entire movement is looking for. An example of this is colored women are told by white women to embrace being a slut while they are already fetishized and defetishized beyond belief.

We’re suppose to be equal, not having women making 20% less than men and all these negatives with women. There is a few hundred million dollars between the man that makes the most money and the woman that makes the most money. I am one of those who are so sick of these grey haired men thinking they can be the voice of millions of women, yet throw out bills against their rights. Women shouldn’t be afraid to walk the streets in the night because of potential rapists. Trans* women need recognition. It’s necessary to do so much more work on this kind of stuff.