Sorrowful Paper Scribbles Diary excerpt from Tuesday, February 28th, 2017 . Pure anxiety all day it was like climbing up a tall mountain without the relief of getting to the other side. . The view, the rest, the moment you way effort against the outcome. . No panic attack. . Panics attack have an end because … More Tuesday, February 28th, 2017
Happy fucking thoughts. . Anxious depressed thoughts are still allowed fo exist. Don’t erase your experiences and then wonder why you can identify your feelings. . Don’t erase your pain, feel everything. Its healthy. . * Happy Thoughts Sea Deepened Monster in pink. * .
My bones flutters from the basic terror that inhabits my daily struggle. . Struggle forward. . My rickety but willfully unable body. I’ll stay strong in reserve. . But at last the sweet release of rest, of consciousness paused. . Then. Before the dreams formed of realist trample this once lucid ground. Usually for dreams, … More ruminations before bed, 12.3.18
There wasn’t rest for me, I lived in a prisons coated in scintillating hallow praise.
It all hurt(s). All of it.
These are the scar along my being, just not the core, scars do not equal a being.
An extension of human experience so ugly and unfathomable it is easier to try and discredit.
Often, this happens. People are disqualified from life, humanity, and protection there in because them coping with their pain isn’t Lifetime materials.
Where’s that sunny disposition?
Discredit a life unknown, ugly cries to be ignored and devalued in hindsight.
It’s annoying. … More Iron Veins, trying towards life.
“Unmedicated, dedicated, ready to live” comes from an army phrase I picked up from my fiance who’s an Army veteran. The original phrase is “medicated, dedicated, ready to kill!”
Well, a lot of soldiers in the army have mental illness and are medicated for it. Thus, “medicated, dedicated, ready to kill.” … More Unmedicated, dedicated, ready to live.
“It’s convenient and safe.
Edges of shoes find a home along with my speraticly exposed spine. Boots and sneakers will remain untouched by rational hands. I’m a fettle spineded lumpy circle among the cotton blankets and pillows.” … More Edges of my Eye
“Do you care, when you hear the course rusted rasp
A voice that stills calls out crippled by mental illness
No one can see, they care about the profile
That’s all you are, a collection of instances
You can only be the person you seem to be…” … More It’s your fault