I Remember When I Was Happy, blog post

Original Image by Bonny Saint Andrew. I made it b/w.


Life was never rosy, full of blue skies and dandelions. No.

I grew up on a rollercoaster. Threw up several times. Fought my way out and dragged myself down. Been on the whims of chemicals, toxins and the like. Chronic pain. Chemo at 3. Always hurting and at the hands of a bad man into my teens.


And here I am now, on the wrong side of my twenties, pretty fucked up.

And the worst part is- I remember when I was happy.


That’s the worst part. I remember when I didn’t wake up with overwhelming depression every day. When I wasn’t angry at myself all the time. We all know I’m a long-time self-harmer, but it was easier then even though I cut more. I had longer ups, I suppose. I was always overwhelmed. Anxiety. On the brink. But there was something. A hope. A hope to keep me going.


I actually thought I might have a future.


Now I’m old. And I’m not stupid. Now I know I don’t.


I’m tired of defending my realistic expectations of myself to people. I’m tired of defending my sadness to people. Defending my depression. Defending my PTSD. Defending why I don’t talk, or conversely, what I say when I talk if I do talk to try to explain to the ignorant asses why I don’t talk.


I just want to be relatively normal again… self harming, pill popping, not going out too much- but not in the never ending wrath of anxiety and depression. I miss having an objective perspective that I could occasionally glimpse at mid-way in the middle of the night, on even my worst of nights.


I miss having passion for things, even stupid things, and real desire to accomplish things.


I look at pictures and see genuine smiles. I can’t remember a genuine smile I’ve had otherwise. I hate those pictures. They remind me of the old me. The hopeful me. That person left. She doesn’t even look like me.


I’m much more locked in myself then I ever was.

I make plans to do something but know I probably won’t be able to do them. I can’t remember the last time I was legit sober. I know I’m mutilating my body to make men find me unattractive. I can’t keep swimming, so stop saying to do so. You think I want to drown?


I miss attention from good people. A community. I’m completely detached from my entire family. And I fake it with most of my friends. I never, ever liked circles- just as a shape. I always preferred lines, lines that didn’t cross. But now, I miss having a circle in my life Because I’m feeling more and more unsafe as I get older.


Sometimes I miss being able to love.





(Scheduled Post. May not reply. On hiatus).

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