Always Coming Back Home To You

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(C.B)(4.19.19)

In less than 24 hours, some of our and your closest friends and family will say their goodbyes and lay your body to rest. And I’m stuck here, 3000 miles away with no way to get closure. And I hate that. I hate that I’m in this position and I hate that you’re gone. And I hate that I’m so angry with you. I hate how when I think of our memories of hannaford and prom and the countless sleepovers, I feel so sad. I hate that you make me sad now. Or how I’m having nightmares, reliving the day you attempted suicide the first time and I was there to find you. Like someone ripped the bandaid off my heart and reopened the wound that took years of therapy to heal. I hate that you were so sad you felt you had to die so you wouldn’t be sad anymore. And I hate myself the most for not being there for you.

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I wish I knew how sad you were. I’m sorry I stopped being there for you. I am the worst friend ever.

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honeydips:

Me

(via imsopunkrxck)

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brennaminajjj:

Here it is, my inspirational tattoo.
After 6+ years of actually being diagnosed with depression, and 9 years of knowing something was wrong with me, I feel the need to share part of my story.
When I was 12, middle school was rough for me. I never fit in, I was significantly taller than all my friends and felt as if it made me different. I also thought that I was fatter than all of them as well, so my self image was very poor. I began to withdraw from my family and my friends, hiding in my room for hours listening to dark music and blogging. The more I sat in isolation the worse I became. I always knew I was sensitive but it became worse the more I was alone. I began to really slump into a dark place. I began to self harm this same year. It would start with clawing at myself until I made myself bleed, but I found another alternative using scissors and other sharp objects. I’d cut my wrists, not deep enough to end my pain but deep enough to remind myself that I was worthless. That way I’d have to hide my scars under baggy sweatshirts and long sleeves. That’s when I started seeing Nick. I was 13, we were in he eighth grade. He was my best friend and I found peace by his side. We spent two wonderful years together and in that time I finally dropped the blade and found happiness within myself. It was short lived but it helped nonetheless. By the time Nick and I split up, we were about to be sophomores and my father had lost his job and needed to move to California to live with my uncle to keep a well paying job to keep our family afloat. It was devastating for me, and I cut off my ties with Nick in fear of dragging him down with me. Come August my father returned home due to issues with the bank and we continued our not perfect family lifestyle. As a clueless sophomore I found comfort in an older boy. He was beautiful and charming and I felt comfortably numb in his presence. Happiness was short lived with this young man, because he tore the best parts of me that i barely could hold onto away from me. My friends most importantly. Right around the same time the most important person to me was arrested for distribution of cocaine, which left me devastated and alone, and I was once again isolated from the people I needed most. This boy began doing things to me that I thought were perfectly normal. Three therapists later I know understand that pressuring someone to have sex with you after they’ve said no 10+ times is not normal at all. But he was a sweet talker and continues to pressure me into things I didn’t want to do. I felt violated but I could never understand why. He was also a compulsive liar, continuing relationships with multiple girls while I’d sit at home adjusting to the medication my parents and myself found necessary to help boost me out of the “funk”. For 18 months I was wrapped around his little finger, fighting for a love that was never actually there, I was just another trophy on his wall. A girl he took everything from. The day he finally left me for someone else was the day my brother went to jail, and I unraveled. My thoughts were dark and suicidal and was finally in the worst mental state I had ever been in. That night I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew I wasn’t ready to die so I called a suicide hotline. The woman I spoke to was calm and reassuring that everything was going to be okay and encouraged me to bring the phone to my parents because I was a minor. I did, and that opened up a whole new relationship with my parents I never thought they would understand. They finally knew it wasn’t just a phase I was going through, every feeling I felt was real and it wasn’t going to get better until we did something. I was admitted into therapy on top of the medication they put me on. Eventually they couldn’t afford to pay the therapist anymore so I had to seek alternative ways to get better, seeing the school counselor. Although speaking to her frequently did help it still wasn’t enough. I still felt dead inside.
Come end of junior year I met Jeremy. Jeremy was different, he was gentle, and understanding. He understood that I wasn’t well and was companionate to my fragile mental state. Jeremy and I spent nine months together. Although our relationship was short lived, he showed me that even the unlikeliest of people could help mend a broken soul. I am grateful for Jeremy and I hope he will someday understand that he was so important to me and my emotional growth.
That same year a dear friend of mine also had a break from reality and attempted suicide. I was the one she reached out to and I’m the one who “saved her life.” I am forever grateful she is still alive today, but it set me back into a funk for months. I reached out to see another therapist, one who came to work at my school three days a week. This therapist told me I suffered from PTSD. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function throughout the day. I was afraid of everything. Every time I closed my eyes I saw my dear friend in the agonizing emotional pain she was in, but it wasn’t her face i would see. It was my own. It took some time before I could regain my emotional strength but I did with assistance from my friends and family.
After graduation a friend of mine set me up on a date with a friend of hers. His name was Brian. He had dark hair and beautiful green eyes, and the moment we connected I knew he was the one who would save my from myself. It’s been a rough three and half years, between losing three classmates to suicide, one to a drug overdose, one good friend to suicide, one beloved friend to a fatal car accident. Throughout all these bad times and emotional destruction, Brian kept my head above the water and reminded me of my self worth. It’s been a constant battle with my tainted mind, but for the first time in 9 years I can honestly say I am on the road to recovery. I’ve found myself, buried deep within the depression but I’ve fought my way through it and I never completely lost hope.
I am stronger than my mental illness.
I will overcome depression.
If I can do it, you can too. Don’t ever give up on yourself. You are worth it.
We’re all worth it.

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hplyrikz:

Clear your mind here

(via hplyrikz)

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Can’t wait for my family to spontaneously show up to visit ME 😕😞

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(via hey-zo)

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I hate you. Every day my hatred for you grows more and more, and its exhausting. I tried to forgive you for everything from before, letting me down, breaking my heart, reminding me that I am not good enough to be your fucking sister, but I don’t think I have enough forgiveness left in me to let this go. You are my BROTHER. And you are supposed to support me. All I have ever done is praise you, defend you, and your mistakes, done everything for you in order for you to just acknowledge me a little, and remind me that I am your family. But you’re selfish, and nothing is ever good enough. Not all the free babysitting I’ve done for you, or the lying, and the money I would lend you never expecting you to pay me back while you went out and spent it on alcohol and drugs, when you specifically told me you needed money for gas and you’d pay me back when you got paid. I tried and tried and tried to just make it so that you SAW me. But you never see me, and you never will, because I never mattered, and that’s perfectly clear to me now.
I always thought it was a cruel joke when people told me how upset you were no longer the baby in the family when I was born. You were seven, and I was a newborn. I thought they were just making it up, but I see now that maybe they weren’t, and maybe its true. So when you left me after an hour into my going away party, I knew that I never mattered. And it was clear to me that your fiance never actually cared about me either. I supported BOTH of you with whatever decisions you made. The three kids, the cheating, the money. All of it. But it was apparently never good enough. I am apparently not good enough for your flawed idea of perfection.
So I’ll take the high road. Maybe i’ll spend the $400 on the plane ticket to appear as a bridesmaid for your wedding and I won’t make a scene. Maybe I won’t. I’m not sure right now. But I will tell you, that when it’s all over, you can consider me gone. Because I’m tired of never being good enough for you, because I know I sure as hell am good enough for me, and that’s all that fucking matters.

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