i’m a sad little apricot

That’s it. That’s the post.

I’m kiddding. Bad joke, I know but I feel like you can make an exception for your sad little apricot.

I’ve been in a slump for a month, nearly two. Don’t get me wrong I can tell it’s coming, the sadness and all, because that’s just how it works, I get super happy and excited and inspired and then I crash.

But it always sucks.

I dissociate, on average twice a year. It’s never been as long as it was this time and it’s never had such a huge snowball effect on my life. It started off with me feeling uninspired and lost and completely detached from my feelings and then the next thing I know everything’s too vivid to be real. Fast forward a month later(around June 12) to me posting this, because I couldn’t deal with the thought of not writing any longer and then to two days ago where after nearly two months of not feeling anything I had a breakdown.

Oh how I love my life.

Totally not appropriate sorry!

But to go from not feeling anything:

Here is my heart. Place it right in front of a wrecking ball and take a swing because I can’t feel a single thing.

Here is my heart.

Place it front of a wrecking ball and take your best shot. Make it go splat against a wall. I just need to know there’s something inside of it.

I need to know I’m not losing myself.

To feeling everything in an instant, hurts.

It was one of those major breakdowns where I immediately sent out an SOS to a couple of my friends and they responded back almost instantly and they were lovely and kind and supportive and understanding. And then I felt horrible because I still felt bad after everything. You know that scene in Mean Girls where Regina George gets hit by a bus?

I’ve never felt more like Regina George.

I didn’t want to classify this as an if we were having cheesecake post because whilst I do write about some sad stuff there, that’s not why I started it. I wanted cake humor and life updates and oh dear me, I must be cake deprived.

So here’s a very boring update for you in a few sentences because I don’t think I can write much more.

I’m sad and exhausted and uninspired. And none of my coping tips are doing much of anything and everything seems topsy-turvy. And did I mention my laptop is broken too?

If any of you have any tips for getting out of a rut or passion project ideas that I could do whilst I ‘recover’ from whatever one would call this, please let me know.

xxxChips

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all the things you left behind

Hey lovelies,

I posted a couple of weeks(days??) ago but it still feels it’s been forever. I haven’t written a proper post in so long that all of this feels kind of foreign to me but hopefully by the time you’re reading this, this post won’t seem like an uncomfortable and awkward attempt at my usual writing style.

So I’ve been gone for a while and a lot has happened over the past month or so and I feel like an in depth catch up is needed but at the same time I’m in no position to be writing lengthy posts.

So I thought I’d share something else I wrote


your blue socks on the floor

your tattered copy of Charlotte’s Web

your half painted wall

your overflowing laundry basket

your favourite pen with the chewed up lid

your cd’s

your stack of cards

me

-all the things you left behind

because i continue to disappear for months at a time (see also:does it still count as a sabbatical if I’m not Dr. Bailey??)

~🌙🌹~

champagne kisses and whispered promises shared between tangled limbs//you taste like everything i could never have and yet gazing at the cotton candied sky i’ve never been more convinced that stars can be people too//in the summer we run through the vineyard and soak up the sun it’s the kind of life that’s easy to lose yourself in//weeks feels like years that melt into forever but time slips through my fingers lately


In case reading that wasn’t a major clue, I don’t have a poetic bone in my body but I’ve been forcing myself to write for the past month.

This is the part where we pretend I didn’t disappear for a month.

I might change the title at some point (or not) and I might explain my disappearance(maybe not) but in case you were wondering I’m still here.

xxxChips

sorry

Just some stuff from my old journals

I have looked in mirrors and not recognised the person staring back at me

I have sat alone at events wondering how long it would take for someone to notice

I have been on stages, and never performed as myself

 

I have read thousands of words because I needed to escape

I have written thousands of words because I am lost, I am so lost and then I am found and then I am not and then I don’t want to be

I have downloaded apps and videos and music to keep me breathing because I have days where doing so without isn’t an option

I have walked around with rocks where my heart should be

I’ve had lengthy conversations with Death and catch up sessions with the universe

 

I have existed in the spaces between everything else because I never knew how to exist in any other way

 

I have tried my best everyday to help people because I don’t think I get saved in this story

I think it ends with self-destruction

 

So I’m sorry if I’m too vulnerable for your liking. I’m sorry if I can’t hide the worst parts of me because I am broken and I’d rather save someone else than save me. I am sorry if you think I’m romanticizing an illness that became my identity way before any diagnosis. I’m sorry if the scars on my body make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that the only reason I’m here is because of the best people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, even if it was never in person and feel like I have to fill this space because I would never have seen 14 if it hadn’t been for them. I’m sorry that I’m so messed up. 

Would you like me to apologise for breathing too?

I have. Often. I do.

I am so sorry

x

civil war

Trigger warning:mentions self harm and suicidal ideations

On my best days I scream from rooftops. On my worst I become a shell. The opposite of everything I want to be. I wallow in my thoughts, flounder in my tears, allow myself to become prisoner to my illness. I smile and say ‘I’m okay’, I laugh, I flirt, I am the definition of beautiful madness. And then when everyone goes back to their lives I turn off the lights and bury myself under bedsheets the same way I would be 6 feet under.

And I convince my brain that I’m not okay, that I need to try my coping mechanisms and so I run my hands under cold water and draw on myself with markers till I look like artwork. The world’s definition of beauty. But my eyes betray me. Red not from hash but from war. I am fighting my own mind.

It says Drown. Recovery says Swim. I compromise Float. In between both.

It says Cut. Recovery says Colour. I compromise, Both. I cut anyway tinting my skin red.

It says Stop Breathing. Recovery says Deep breaths. I give short panicky painful I- Can’t-Breathe ones.


“The Civil War!”

“The war we fought against ourselves.”

“You actually studied this?

“I’m living it.”

my thoughts on the terrorist attack in New Zealand

When I started this blog I made a promise to myself to talk about whatever I wanted to as openly and raw and real as possible. And somewhere in this promise, right at the end actually, I made a promise to myself to talk about everything except race and religion.

For a few reasons

a) I’m not as educated on these topics as I would like to be

b) There’s a bunch of backlash that comes with talking about those two things

c) As much as I believe those are both things that should be talked about, it also tends to divide people and I didn’t want this space to be like that. I wanted to have a space that didn’t have anything to do with either of those topics, a space where none of those things had to matter.

I say this a lot but I truly have grown a lot since I started blogging and there have been things going on for some time now that I’ve continued to ignore on here, for the same three reasons I gave above.

And I can’t do that anymore.

 

“You cannot be an ally if you shy away from confrontation

-Vianna Goodwin

If you watch the news or you’ve been on Twitter today, there’s a chance you’ve heard about the terrorist attacks in New Zealand. Earlier today, Brenton Tarrant walked into two  mosques in Christchurch New Zealand and proceeded to open fire at the people praying inside the mosques.

So far, there have been 49 killed and 20 seriously injured. The shooter, a 28 year old white man with an 87 page manifesto with anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim ideas.


To everyone who blamed his actions on mental illness I say this:

There is no excuse for a racist, radicalized adult who thinks it’s okay to hurt innocent people. And I would just like to clarify that not every terrorist has a mental illness and not every mental illness makes you violent.

He is not mentally ill, he is a terrorist. It is not just an act of violence, it is terrorism. And there is no excuse, there is no fucking excuse for the crimes he has committed.

Terrorism has no religion. No colour. No country.

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I’m just going to leave this here for you to think about

This is about so much more than just a hashtag. This is about the 49 people who lost their lives today and the 20 others in critical condition.  This about the hate directed towards the Muslim community. To those who live in fear, who are not safe in their homes, in their mosques, in their cars and in their schools. Who go about their daily lives petrified, wondering if each day will be their last.

50 million hashtags or tweets or Instagram captions, may spread awareness, but they will only change so much in the long run.

Read the entire thread. And do something about it.

Your hashtag will not save a life, but taking further action just might.

I don’t want this to just be a headline. Big news today, and then nothing tomorrow until the next terrorist attack.

Here are some ways to support New Zealand’s Muslim community

 

a million little pieces

15/01/2019

01:46

I don’t know if I’ll get better. Or if I’ll live long enough to finish my before I die list. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a friend like Leonard or meet someone who makes me feel the way reading Tigerlily does. I don’t know a lot of things.

But I do know I want to hold on. And I hope that I am strong enough to. I don’t know how long it’ll take for the scars to fade, or if I even want them to. But I do know that I live in a world where people like Leonard exist and that gives me hope.

I know nobody is planning on swooping in and saving me, for two reasons. One, I’m not a damsel in distress and two, the only person who will ever save you is yourself. I feel like that’s the only way I won’t relapse,getting better for the right reasons.

I don’t really know how to feel about a million little pieces but I know that it did something for me, and I don’t think I can quite put into words something I don’t understand yet.

But it was special, in its on way. Not like The Catcher In The Rye or Tigerlily or The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, books which mean everything and more to me.

It has it’s own special place in my heart.

I want to get better. I want to get better. Fuck. I want to get better.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough.

And it’s too late for a quote stolen off of Pinterest to save me now, or maybe even for love letters to myself. I think I need to accept and move on and be analytical and firm if that makes sense?

 My mental health is still being figured out and I’ll probably be recovering for the rest of my life but I do know what I need to do to get to the point I want to be at. And if I get there and I’m not happy then maybe I’ll give up. But for now I’m holding on. Partly for myself, partly because a part of me feels like I owe it to Leonard, a man I never even knew.

But I find it cool how you don’t even have to know someone and they can change your life. Impact you in ways you didn’t think were possible. I will grit my teeth and I will slug it.

I will take the bullshit if that means someday I’ve got my own apartment doing whatever the fuck makes me happy and that list gets completed.

I will pick up the million little pieces of myself and put them back together. Differently this time. I’ll do it my way. A million little pieces, and I can be whatever I want to be.

There is no blame.

Just a choice. Yes or no. A decision, I’ll have to make over and over again. To get better.

And I hope I choose yes.

I hope I choose to hold on.

For myself. And for a man I never knew.


I finished reading A Million Little Pieces by James Frey a while ago and I got the urge to write this the second I finished it.

I’m fine… I think