it's personal discussion
Journals : Q-S
>
RECKLESS WRITING
Just ignore that bad formatting lol I had originally wrote it a certain way on Google docs but I'm too lazy to fix it right now
Lillian wrote: "Erin wrote: "List of Reasons I Hate Myself:
- too negative
- isn't perfect
- let's anxiety get the best of me too often
- hits too hard during jokes
- hates self
- suicidal
- for every self..."
*hugs back*
I wanted to be
I wanted to be a princess,
grow up with kindness, loyalty, and respect.
I wanted to be a princess,
escape the tower,
tame the beast,
and you know,
eat the poison apple.
I wanted to be a fairy at some point
and at another a wizard,
always a wizard these days,
with wands and spells
and all that knowledge,
endless ways of finding endless
possibilities to change the world.
I want to be a mermaid
with maybe a power
and an ocean
with millions of things
that haven't been discovered.
But now, looking back,
I can't name a single magical thing
my sister wanted to be,
and she's my sister
and she lived with me
and breathed the same air as me,
how can I not know?
Or did she really never believe in magic?
I don't know which is harder for me to take
because how could she have never believed in magic but how could I have forgotten if she did?
they weeped so loudly,their guts full of self hatred,
but then the crows came,
and ate their insides.
-i still don't know which was a better feeling.
Number One: Don’t. Don’t look for someone you’re willing to die for for dying is easy. Look for someone that you wouldn’t mind living for, living beside, living to protect. Don’t be so quick to throw your life away. It’s not about how much you’re willing to sacrifice for another person; it’s about how much you’re willing to adapt for a life together, not a part.
Number Two: Be honest. Be honest with yourself, with your feelings, with your loved ones, friends and family. Remember that your thoughts and feelings are forever precious, and that you’re in charge of them. Remember to say ‘“I love you” when you mean it- don’t be afraid because you never know how long you have until they’re gone.
Number Three: Goodbyes are inevitable. Don’t blame yourself for the way people leave your life. Everyone has a path in their mind and some journey to follow, and whether that is with you or without, you must understand that not everyone will stay. It’s okay to cry at them leaving, but it’s better to do it after they’re gone, and know you can’t grieve forever. Let them live the life they want.
Number Four: Breathe. You must remember to breathe, no matter how hectic things get, no matter how much you have going on. You must remember to look up every once in a while, to go on a walk, find shapes in the clouds, or gaze at the stars. You must remember to pause every once in awhile, to just stop moving and just breathe.
Number Five: Show compassion. Empathise with others. Look into another person before making a judgement. A life that isn’t yours will never follow your same thought process. You're never going to approve of everyone and everyone isn't always going to approve of you.
Number Six: Always make noise. Tell others you're still here. Speak, loud and clear. Use your words wisely. Don't let anyone shut you up.
Number Seven: Your mind isn't a cage. It's a palace, a castle in the sky with a key that you're in charge of finding. Don't take somebody else's key for their key will never fit in your lock.
Number Eight: Mirrors don't lie; people do, you do. To stop the people from lying, you must learn to see yourself in a better light. Confidence is the key. Smile more.
Number Nine: You should love yourself before anyone else, not because you're incapable of feeling love for anyone, but because you deserve it and you need to know it before you allow someone to convince you that nobody will ever love you, before you allow them to convince you that you are not worth living for.
Number Ten: You are not worth dying for, so live.
Give me a chance, won't you?
Before you bring up religion
and your political views.
Give me a chance, won't you?
Before you start noticing that all my nervous ticks
aren't nearly as cute as when you first saw them.
Give me a chance, won't you?
Before you see me as I really am
and know that my brains aren't as smart as you want them to be.
Give me a chance, won't you?
Before you decide that you're wasting your time
and chances are, I'll tell you right from the beginning.
Give me a chance, won't you?
Before you see that I hate myself
and I may never be capable of loving you.
Give me a chance, won't you?
Before my words start to run out
and my sentences are no longer clear.
Give me a chance, won't you,
a chance for me to say I won't change who I am for you,
that I am only willing to make sacrifices if they stick to my values,
that I am not willing to give myself up to you,
that I'd rather be in control of myself then to have your love controlling me.
Dear Future Family Members Who Will Most Likely Come To Hate Me For Who I Am: a bit of a slam poem
There was a time
when I understood
that you could pray for days
and actually get somewhere
There was a time
when I could pray
and not be afraid
that nobody was listening
and you can say that I'm ungrateful for the life I've been given
or that I deserve to burn in hell
and you can say I've lost my mind
say that the reason I struggle is I don't have a God
and you can say I'm letting everyone down
because my faith has lost its ground
but tell me,
why should I believe in a God who has given up on me,
on us,
on anything, we could dare to be?
and tell me,
how are we not the Gods worst mistake?
We have famine and disease,
wars that lack any meaning,
a peace that's never found but always sought
and we have rapists and pedophiles and murders
and politicians who focus on things that hardly matter
just because they're afraid of the things that do
and governments that don't care enough about the less fortunate
and you can yell at me
for celebrating holidays for a religion I don't believe in
but I'm just here for the family
so let me stay for a little while
for a little while, please,
don't give up on me for choosing not to believe in something
that created all of us and allowed us to ruin ourselves
and destroy this world that once had a chance at being beautiful
because that's what humans do
and even if the Gods are real
why should I pray to them for all the pain they created us to do?
I don't understand what I've done wrong-
but all I can think is that you're proving my point
hating me for not believing the same things that you do
this is like hating me for not agreeing with people who are racist or the ones who used to have slaves
and you can tell me that the only reason I'm against religion
is that "I am a gay" and "gays are against everything because they think everything is against them" but I know that's not true, and if you want to break up our family because this is who I am, you better not sit around waiting for me to come back around
because I won't.
and you can say that this isn't like me,
that I was always the peaceful one,
the one who hated conflict,
and the thing about that is you'd be right,
but I've come to learn that if I don't stand up to you
how can I ever stand up to the world?this ended up being a little rant and I kinda eventually want to add more but this is it for now
she drew stars on her skinall down her arm-
she had become a little mad
and needed something safe
when she woke up the next day
the stars were gone
all except one
who decided to stay
she decided it was time
to play with fire
but no one was around to give her a match
and so she made her own
tried to die
by watching herself turn blue
and then she saw the book
in which her sister screamed SAVE HER
Erin the broken
promised to bring change
Little did she know
not all monsters could be saved
stop the fightingand the screaming
you say you're going to fix this
but it wouldn't need fixing if you'd never broke it
Dear Future Family Members Who Will Most Likely Come To Hate Me For Who I Am: a bit of a slam poem PART II
you should probably think about
how hard it is for me to stay
when I hear you bring up things
that should never have been said
I hope that you're proud of your big decision to change the world by throwing around
your negativity like the only thing
that matters is what you think
and when you die I shall cry
but it won't be because I miss you,
it'll be because you never saw why you were wrong
and that'll always make me cry
because it meant that you died
with so much hate left in your heart
and I wish you learn to love
so that I will never have to cry that hard again
and I wish you'd stop fighting
because we've heard it too much
and as much as you like to think it doesn't affect us
you should know we'll never be the same again
each word is a painful stab in the chest
it is knowing that it's all our fault
but knowing that it's yours too
only you'll never see it
because you don't give a fuck
about how easy you can break
even the most powerful people
with words sharper than swordsthis ended up being a little rant and I kinda eventually want to add more but this is it for now
To Mom
I feel like I'm falling too deep
and I'm trying to be fine
trying so hard to change my mind
but here I am
once again
falling another hundred feet under
and mama says to be strong
but she doesn't know what's going on
and I'm trying to wait it out
to knock away all the things I think about
'cause if mama knew she'd hate herself
and maybe me too
and she has to be strong
she has to carry on
even when I'm gone
and mama says to be strong
to pull through this
and mama says to be patient
things will get better
to just wait and see
but I don't think I have much longer
and I don't think I can get any stronger
please tell mama I'm sorry for me
that I was a broken disgrace
'cause she won't listen to me
once she knows that I'm gone
because she said to be strong
and I had to go and prove her wrong
that I wouldn't live for long
'cause I could've never been so strong
and mama says to be strong
but she doesn't know what's going on
and I'm trying to wait it out
to knock away all the things I think about
'cause if mama knew she'd hate herself
and maybe me too
and she has to be strong
she has to carry on
even when I'm gone
and mama says to be strong
to pull through this
and mama says to be patient
things will get better
to just wait and see
but I don't think I have much longer
and I don't think I can get any stronger
tell her I'm sorry
I was broken for far too long
tell her I'm sorry
good grades weren't enough
to send the monsters in my head away
far far away
and mama says to be strong
but she doesn't know what's going on
and I'm trying to wait it out
to knock away all the things I think about
'cause if mama knew she'd hate herself
and maybe me too
and she has to be strong
she has to carry on
even when I'm gone
and mama says to be strong
to pull through this
and mama says to be patient
things will get better
to just wait and see
but I don't think I have much longer
and I don't think I can get any stronger
and I tried to get better
tried to feel less depressed
tried to give me a list of reasons to live
but none of it was enough
I couldn't stand to live another day
'cause the monsters just wouldn't stay at bay
and I kept falling and falling and falling
begging the gods to kill me
and wishing on stars I was dead
or that I'd never been born
'cause no one would have to hurt so much
and mama used to say to be strong
and I hope she'll carry on
tell her I'm sorry I wasn't enough
tell her I'm sorry I wasn't ever at my best
tell her I'm sorry I had to go
tell her I'm sorry I messed up too much
and make sure she knows
this wasn't her fault
I just could never be strong like her
and mama says to be strong
but she doesn't know what's going on
and I'm trying to wait it out
to knock away all the things I think about
'cause if mama knew she'd hate herself
and maybe me too
and she has to be strong
she has to carry on
even when I'm gone
and mama says to be strong
to pull through this
and mama says to be patient
things will get better
to just wait and see
but I don't think I have much longer
and I don't think I can get any stronger
but I don't think I have much longer
and I don't think I can get any stronger
and she has to be strong
she has to carry on
even when I'm gone
To Alec
you trusted me
but I couldn't trust you
my secret was too large
and my burden too big
you're going to be angry
and you'll never forgive me
but I hope that you can forgive yourself
because this isn't your fault
and I loved you too much to go
without letting you know
everything will be okay
even if things become a little strange
the world will be good again
and someday things will make sense
and someday you'll be happy and know
that that's okay-
I don't want you waiting in my sadness anyways
you deserve to grow up
and have fun
you deserve a good life
and to be surrounded by people who love you
and know you and can understand
and you deserve so much better
then a sister who couldn't be there
so I hope one day you'll understand that I still love you
even as I get further away
but before I go I still need you to know
everything will be okay
even if things become a little strange
the world will be good again
and someday things will make sense
and someday you'll be happy and know
that that's okay-
I don't want you waiting in my sadness anyways
and I need you to know
everything's going to be okay
no matter how far away we go
and I need you to know
I'll forever love you
even if you hate me now
and I need you to know
everything's gonna be okay
things will get better for you
even if they couldn't for me
I hope you love yourself
because that's all I ever wanted from you
and I hope you forgive all our dreams that didn't come true
so, please know
everything will be okay
even if things become a little strange
the world will be good again
and someday things will make sense
and someday you'll be happy and know
that that's okay-
I don't want you waiting in my sadness anyways
I had to write a slam poem for school modeling the poem Hair by Elizabeth Acevedo and I thought I'd share it here so yeah here it is:
My mother tells me to get a grip. And by “grip,” she means to rectify. She means cure. But how do I get a grip when I was never the one flying off the handle? The true meaning of broken, when our ancestors tap us on the shoulder and told us that we do not talk about what happened behind closed doors, did they imagine that their children would be as lonely as them- if not lonelier than them in a world full of improvement that’s only through improvisation? Did they imagine that we would hate them as we do, as much as I do? Trying to find ways to claw them out of our skin, chase them out of our minds, this crazy mess of a mind that strangles me. You call them silly flukes. I call them anxiety. Ancestors hushing. Can’t you hear them screaming their seasonal greeting, begging us to shu-- shush, to just be quiet? They say the night is the best time to cry. I mean people sleep, snore, have their own breakdown- but what they mean is the night is the perfect disguise to explain why we can’t leave our beds, blame our crying on bad dreams, and hope once again that nobody is listening. What they mean is, “Why aren’t you fixed yet?” What they mean is, “Why would you allow yourself to be seen as weak?” What they really mean is, “Have you thought of your daughter’s lack of control over her own mind?” What they really really mean is, “Why are you still alive?” And I don’t tell them that we are our own heroes, maybe purposely reckless but not a damsel in distress waiting to be rescued, that we are beautiful. That our body isn’t the only beautiful thing about us. That our intellect doesn’t determine who we will marry. That we don’t have to marry to make a better life for ourselves, that we don’t have to settle down with a partner just for the security of money. Yes, I am a female and that’s not part of a disease. Yes, I am a feminist and that’s not a bad thing to be. Grip, a reinvention. How I will teach acceptance of feelings, of ourselves, to our future generations so that they will live to love themselves, instead of living trying to find somebody else to love them. Momma tells me to get a grip, and so many words are just thrown out in the open. Because all I can reply is, “You can’t hold down the outspoken.”
Chorale wrote: "you want to be a princess?"YES!!!
Although now I'm thinking more along the lines of queen but you know, baby steps lol
she's just a sad girllost in a fantasy
he's just a sad boy
forced into tragedy
they're just a sad soul
faced with reality
Remember.Remember when I told you about how I used to love you but how I had gotten "over" my feelings for you. Or how I realized that they were just strong platonic feelings and how I kept telling people I loved them when all I was feeling was really strong platonic feelings? Do you remember when I told you that there were things I wanted to tell you but how I couldn't say them because I didn't know how to say them?
Do you remember? Please remember.
What I didn't say was I still love you. What I didn't say was that the reason I had gotten over you was because you told me your mom was homophobic and I never wanted to come between you and your family. What I didn't say was that anytime you'd talk about a boy or a date or when you would tell me how somebody had confessed to you and how you didn't know how to respond was that I'd cry myself to sleep every night because I still needed to be your best friend and tell you wat you should do and I needed to help you cope with whatever you were dealing with whenever you were dealing with.
What I didn't tell you: I was hospitalized for more than just your average depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I have been hallucinating for so long that I can't tell what or whose real and it feels like my friends keeping disappearing and I don't know if they were ever really there. That my family situation isn't so great either. That half the time I'm thinking about ending my life or cutting myself and no matter how much help I get those thoughts always come back roaring in my brain. That I'm starving myself right now because everything I eat makes me feel so fucking sick and thaty my family doesn't understand and tells me I'm wasting food which just makes me want to die even more but you know what t5hanks family I didn't know that me not eating what you made me was wasting food my fucking gid ZI hate this
i just have so many thoughts in my brain and they're racingand racing
and they just won't shut
and i can't tell if they're thoughts or voices
or both
and everything is pissing me off
and i can't just kill myself because i can't do it
if i could do it i would've done it by now but i can't
Erin wrote: "I don't want to call myself a writer anymorebecause it acts as a swear word and brings distaste
to my mouth, although we both know that I deserve quite a lot of swearing, not like you ever bothere..."
awwww poor baby XD I forgot about this
and what's sad is I actually hated writing for a couple of months (well it was more like a year of sorts so um hi)
what I think:crippled girl hops around.
some people offer her help.
unfortunately, they only help her when she's carrying a crutch although she was crippled long before she broke her ankle.
why does nobody offer to help you unless your pain is physical.
emotional pain can be seen through cuts and scars, through weight loss, through the random tears that fall and just won't stop.
i was broken before this
and i was alone then
and i'm alone now
so stop trying to make yourself feel good
and leave me
alone.
what I say:
stay, if you want.
come, if you want.
help me, if you want.
what I mean:
wait. please don't go.
I'm struggling.
I need help.
I need a shoulder to lean on.
I need somebody to carry my bag because it's making everything worse.
I need somebody to distract me from the pain
or to remind me to take my time
or to just be there
what I feel:angry and confused
and stuck and trapped
and lost and scared
and sad and tired
and like a whole lot of stuff
but I'm okay.
"I'm okay," that's what I'll say.
mom.mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom
please mom
mom I'm begging you
mom please
mom
mom
MOM!
To say I'm sad is an understatement. It's so much more and so much worse and I hate myself for feeling this way. But you broke me and you stole a part of me and I can't get her back. She didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this.
I put you on a pedestal the way religious people do with their God(s), the way that I've grown to hate and despise, and for that I'm sorry. But I'm tired of feeling guilty for telling you how I felt because no matter how many times I try to analyze it or break it down, it still remains the truth: I love you.
I wish I could say that it was you who broke my heart. I wish I could blame you and be angry at you, but I can't, and it's not because I can't see your faults but it's because I know that I'm the one who did this. I'm the one who confessed and changed things when you were just looking for a friend. You once said that I inspired you, but you've inspired me from the first day we talked, and now I don't know how to stop writing about you.
One dayI swear that I'll turn off my alarm
and get my sorry ass out of bed
and when I start to think of you
I won't pick at my skin.
I will smile at myself in the mirror
and repeat all these damn affirmations
until I no longer have to carve them into my skin.
I will give myself love and care
and I'll learn to be patient,
like you used to be-
you were so patient
when my anxiety wouldn't let me leave my mind,
when my depression wouldn't let me out of bed,
when I became so disconnected from myself and you and from life,
when I would disappear for long periods of time
and not give any explanation as to why
and act as if I had never left.
They say people can't love anybody
until they learn to love themselves
but fuck them because I loved you so fucking much
and I hated myself for being who I am
and I still hate myself because I was the one
who pushed you away
when I knew that you deserved better
then a person like me.
the truth is that people can't love others right
if they don't love themselves first
because then there's insecurity and accusations
and fights and it takes longer to move through them
because nobody's listening and people leave in the middle of the night
and they fuck up a family and don't have the audacity to leave in broad daylight because they're scared
that one might be a TBC because I just got too emotional and hit post because I just couldn't
tie my arms behind my back.tape my mouth shut.
yell at me.
scream.
tell me everything I've done wrong and how I'm such a spoiled child
and how I'm the reason you can't keep a man
and how I'm the reason you're unhappy
but don't you fucking dare blame your other kids.
blame me.
hate me.
hurt me.
I'll take it all and keep my mouth shut
if you stop treating them like shit.
stop hurting others
just because you're hurting
but if you can't go cold turkey on that
then just hurt me.
I should have never told you I loved youand I see that now
and I'm sorry.
I said it would be okay if you never wanted to talk to me again
or if you disappeared without saying anything
but I was naive.
I miss you
and I miss reading what you had to say
and getting to know you and your thoughts
and I'd do anything if you'd just come back
because I don't remember how to live without you.
I don't want to guilt-trip you though
because it's not your fault
that I've got a fucked up head
but I just need to know that you're alive and okay
because not knowing is the worst thing I've ever felt.
Lillian wrote: "Erin wrote: "I should have never told you I loved youand I see that now
and I'm sorry.
I said it would be okay if you never wanted to talk to me again
or if you disappeared without saying anythin..."
aweee I'm sorry but I get that
I dared to love youAnd you dared to break my heart
So I slit your throat and
Gave you a very personal burial
oops.
hold onyou told me to hold on
and when I finally believed
that maybe I could this
you, you let go of me
and I just kept falling,
hitting new levels of rock-bottom
why'd you gotta go and fuck me over
screw me up as soon as I'm alright
you'd said you loved me
you said you cared
but everything you've done
suggests you don't even want me here
so why the fuck am I still here
what am I doing here
I gave my entire life trying to make you happy
you took advantage of that until you broke me
so come on, come on
why don't ya start being a mom
tell me that you love me and mean it
why don't you mean it
where did you go
who are you
who am I
every part of me is somebody elsenothing I am is myself
I don't know who I am
without someone to hold on to
I tried to make everybody happy
tried to be this perfect little girl
who got along with everybody
but that little girl is grown up now
and she's always had a fucked up head
and now she's on the edge
of killing herself or killing everybody else
she tried her very best
until she lost everything she had
she was the one who needed someone
but she grew independent and put up too many walls
never showed her heart
always hid her scars
so what does she do
where does she go
what happens next
when she still wants to make everybody happy
but she's gotten tired
and she keeps fighting
'cause she's angry at everybody else for not seeing her
why'd nobody see me
run run rundon't look back
don't pick up the phone
just drive and drive
and keep on driving
get away from this old life
get away from the pain of your past
find who you are
in a whole new space
all by yourself
you gotta learn
you gotta learn
you gotta remember how to be independent
how to okay
how to smile and mean it
how to breathe on your own
I think I thought you could save meI think I thought you could love me
I know now that that's not true
There's nothing I can do
I think I thought I could save you
I think I thought I could love you
I know now that that's still true
but there's nothing I can do
so I'm just waiting for a clue
but there isn't gonna be one
the universe is done handing out signs
to a girl like me who keeps
fucking everything up
You loved my writing. When you left, I couldn't write about you. It hurt too much. I tried and then I could never get it right. I still can't.
I wrote a lot about you in my head. I planned these perfect sentences. Couldn't bring myself to put them on paper. You once asked what inspires me. I can't remember what I told you then but what I didn't say because we weren't close was pain, grief, trauma zkgxkgxhx
because it acts as a swear word and brings distaste
to my mouth, although we both know that I deserve quite a lot of swearing, not like you ever bothered to hide it before.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because writers are magical and real and I'm just a lie wrapped with pretty descriptive words and an occasional heart breaking heart warming dialogue.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because that'll of course just bring more writing and I'll continue to have the restless nights where all I can do is write, and I'll continuously protest my sleep medicine until it no longer has an effect on me.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
but I still have hands and a brain and I'm a living person, and how can that not make me want to write?
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because it's a label and I've always hated labels. I always swore I'd never be apart of them or let the define me.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because I don't write to breathe like so many others
have claimed. Instead, I write because I want to create my own universe and I want to be the brightest star in my constellation, and because I want to do everything
and writing gives up everything so easily. Being a writer allows you to do anything, be anything, and I was okay for a while just being a writer, but that was before I questioned everything and then became in love with the idea of perfection. Writing held out everything in the palm of its hand and like the bidder of a reckless mind I took it all without a thought beforehand, except maybe, I win.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because I'm tired of making it seem like all writers are like me, like we all want everything. No, all writers want to tell a story of any variation. We do not all want everything. There they go again trying to group us into a label that none of us will ever accept. As writers are we supposed to accept these labels, these words, these dividers that they're trying to carve between us? I don't think so.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because I've started using it as an excuse the way my anxiety became an excuse for the list of reasons I can't breathe, because I never wanted to make it an excuse, because I'm tired of feeling and writing reminds me to feel. In fact, writing shapes my feelings the way an artist may shape clay or the way teachers shape a students education or the way families can shape family members. At the same time, not all artists use clay and not all students have a shape shifting teacher and not all families shape a person. Do you see the point yet? Let me try this again.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because I am scared. Scared of the list of words I will never get to write and of all the stories I'll never tell. Scared of inspiring someone and scared of being a trigger. Scared of the ambition to do everything and scared of the limits that people try to put on me and the limits that I put on myself. Scared of poetic whispers that keep me up at night and the feeling like I can't do anything but write or I'll never be able to do anything again.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because that's who I am and I'm not so sure that's what I want to be.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
and yet I do, yet I am and will always be,
because I've never been good at letting go. Letting go of anything. Of feelings. Of creations. Or words. Of make believe situations. Of threats that are jokes. Of a days mistakes. Of literally anything my mind can grasp onto.
I don't want to call myself a writer anymore
because I hate myself and what if I begin to
hate writing, too? I don't think I'd be able to handle that.