Mental Health Update June 2017 & 9-29-17

Hey guys, what is up.

This is gonna be a personal update. These past few months, since I made this blog, my mental health has been shit. I don’t really know why. Like it has just kinda tanked. I think it’s the house I live in. See we moved here in December and it has been hell ever since. *

Hey guys what is up,

So the first part of this was from the beginning of  June. My mental health was absolute shit then. I was constantly depressed and most days didn't even wanna get out of bed. I never wanted to leave the house to go do anything. Now I have had depression since I was 10 years old (I'm now 21) but when i was about 15ish it wasn't as sever as it was.  Then in Aug of 2014 my grandmother, who i loved dearly and who made me the person i am now, passed away. Obviously this took a toll on me. I was more depressed than i had been in years. But then after about 3 years since he had passed i had kinda gotten better again. Then we moved into her house as our new home. And it tanked again. I personally kinda think it was all just too much for a while. Now from June of 2013 - June of 2017 I was dating someone. He was there through it all, my grandmother dying, my finally dealing with being raped after repressing it for 2 years, etc. I would be lying if i said i didn't love that man. He was my rock through some of the hardest years of my life.

However, I had always kinda been in love with someone else. The other guy was someone i had met back in 2010 and we have been best friends ever since. He struggles with depression, anxiety and self harm like i did back then. He got me. He understood me. Talking to him about how I was truly feeling was always so easy to do because i knew he had been there. Then in 2013 he went to prison. He had stabbed someone in self defense and the cops couldn't prove it was self defense so they sent him to prison. On June 12th of this year he was released from prison. And we started talking again. And i was happier than i had been in months. I felt like my old self again. Until i went to see the guy i was dating and then i was depressed again. So i decided to take a leap of faith. I dumped the guy i had been dating for the past 4 years so i could date the guy who had got out of prison. Now here it is in almost Oct 2017 and i can honestly say I am happy. I have smiled and laughed more in these past few months than i have in a while. I am so in love with this man. I have loved him for 7 years now and time has only strengthened it. Sure dating someone who is on parole and who lives a state away and isn't allowed to leave the state sucks. It really sucks. But I still have the man who makes me happy. I knew dating him wasn't gonna be easy. Nothing in my life that i love ever is but he is so worth it.

Well there you go my mental health update. I may try to do these once a month or once ever two months. I don't know for sure yet.

Poem I Wrote *TW:Rape*

"Poor Sweet Girl/There Is A House"

 

There is a house in a small little town. It's just an ordinary house to most people. A house where a family lived. A house where people grew up. But to me it's different.

To me it's a house of horrors. A house that contains a nightmare that I can never wake up from. A house who's road name is the same name as the man who destroyed me inside it. A house that's good memories are oven taken by the bad. I loved that house just like I once loved the man who was in it. There were plenty of laughs had in that house. But no matter how much I try I can't forget the bad memory that is also there.

I can't forget the weight of him. The feeling of his cum hitting the inside of my thighs. The sound of his breathing beside my ear. The words he said. "I won't put it in" "Just for a minute baby" it's like a never ending movie that is stuck on repeat. Every time I look at that house, that window on the end of the house, all I think is: that poor sweet girl.

That poor girl who just wanted someone to love her. That poor girl who just wanted to say she was dating the star football player. That poor sweet girl. That poor girl will never walk out that door. That poor girl is still on that bed. That poor girl is forever stuck just inside that window. That poor girl who if you listen close enough you can still hear begging for it to end. That poor girl who told herself over and over that it was ok. It was her fault. Her pants were too tight. She should have just said no the moment things started. She should have tried harder to get him off of her. She should have said no I'm uncomfortable with this when he said " I won't put it in." She should have pushed him off when he said "Just for a minute baby." She should have screamed. She should have fought harder. She shouldn't have given in to it and just accepted it. She should have kicked, clawed, bit when he ignored her saying no. Maybe if she did nothing would have changed. Maybe it would have. She shouldn't have felt bad when he cried when she called him a rapist. But that poor sweet girl had such a big heart. She loved him and it hurt to know she made him cry. If only that poor sweet girl had known what would happen when she went over there that October afternoon.

Part of her hates him for what he did. Part of her still thinks he was sorry. That poor sweet innocent girl wonders if what he did haunts him. If he really was sorry. If she is the only one. That poor sweet girl just wants to forget. That girl is so tired of being scared all the time. Is tired of living in an endless loop of pain and fear. Is tired of feeling him, hearing him, smelling him. She wishes she could erase what he did to her. She wishes he understood how much damage he did. That hormones don't just take over. That no means fucking no. That stop means stop. That she never asked for this. That she just wanted to feel loved. She didn't wanna feel like she is damaged. She didn't wanna live her life scared of the dark. That she just wanted to be his. That poor sweet girl. That poor 14 year old girl. That girl will never grow up. That girl will forever be 14. That girl just wants to be okay again.

I just wanna be okay. I don't wanna have my skin crawl every time something touches the inside of my legs. I don't wanna have to be scared if my boyfriend is gonna listen when I say no. I don't wanna have to be scared to say no. I shouldn't have to live like this. Why couldn't he just listen? Why did he have to do this to me? Why doesn't he fucking care how fucked up I am now because of him? Why has he never said he was sorry for what he did? If only he could live a day in my shoes. The shoes I didn't wanna have to wear. If only he could feel the fear, see what I see. The shoes that someone may make his daughter wear one day. If she is forced to wear those shoes will he see how bad it is? Will he feel horrible about what he did because now he sees the effects of it.

I keep telling myself he is sorry. That he didn't mean it. That he loved me. That I am not worthless. But he isn't sorry and most days, I don't feel worth anything. I am damaged and cracked and the pieces just don't fix together anymore. They will never fit again. There will always be a hole missing from my soul because that piece is that poor sweet girl.

There is a house in a small little town. A house who's road name is the same name as the man who destroyed me inside it. Inside that house is a piece of myself that I will never get back.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Lets be honest, our family is messed up mentally. You have depression, you may be bipolar, and you see a therapist every week. Dad has a temper although he has gotten better. Your son has depression, has suicidal thoughts, and hears voices and he is only 16. I have depression, PTSD, had an eating disorder, have tried to kill my self multiple times, and struggled with self harm and I'm only 21.

Mama, do you know that I knew he was cutting. He talked to me about it. You know what I said? "Don't tell mama." See I remember how you reacted when you found out I was cutting. you got upset and then mad. Dad got mad too. You didn't help. You got mad when I told you I couldn't explain why I did it. It just made me feel better. Dad told me if I was gonna do to kill myself do it 3 times for him. I WAS 10 MAMA. I was 10 and I wanted to die. You weren't there. When I became depressed over my dog dying and tried to talk to you about it, you would just yell and say it was just a fucking dog get over it. Mama I needed you. I needed my mama to hold me and tell me it was gonna be ok. You weren't there so I went to my grandma who I became like my mom. I told her everything. But she is gone now. She is gone and the demons are back inside my head.

When I told you after 4 years that I was raped, you said you could have guess HE was the one who did it. I guess since I was already depressed no one noticed. Once I told you about it, I thought we could talk openly about it since you were raped when you were younger too. Once again, I was shut down. "It's been 4,5,6 years. You are just playing the victim card get over it." Mama, you of all people should know rape isn't something that you get over. I am not a victim. I am a survivor. I repressed it for years, acted like it didn't happen. But mama that isn't healthy. Now I am dealing with it and I feel like I am fighting an uphill battle. The flashbacks hurt mama. I need my mama. I need someone who get it to talk to. Brother told me that you said I was lucky it only happened once. Mama who says that. Rape isn't worse if it happened more than once. This isn't a race to see who is more fucked up. I was raped mama. My life forever changed that day. I can't just get over it. It's like there is a black hole inside me now that I just wanna cut out mama.

Mama did you know that my depression has gotten bad again? Did you know that every day for the past month, if I didn't have to work I wouldn't have gotten out of bed? Did you know that I fight everyday to get up and put on my clothes and go to work. I can't remember the last time we actually had a conversation. You no longer ask me how I am.


Mama I needed you. Mama you weren't there. Mama I am not okay but you know what I don't need you anymore. I have learned to deal with it myself. I have learned to fight alone. I have learned that I am gonna live with this forever. I am gonna be this broken shell of a person for the rest of my life. And you know what mama, that's ok. This broken shell has become my home. Happiness is just another name for when the demons aren't screaming as loud. Happiness is when it takes me 15 minutes to convince myself to get up instead of 3 hours Happiness is sitting in the dark in my room and being numb. This fucked up broken shell I am is me now. I will never be truly happy again. Yes I may get better but it will never be back to the way it was. I am broken mama, but it's ok. These cracks and holes make me feel worth something. They make me feel like a beautiful old antique doll that only certain people see the beauty in. I am broken mama but I am beautifully broken.

Intro

Hi,

This blog is just gonna about my thoughts and feelings on random stuff and just personal stuff. This kind of an anonymous blog because I don't want people that know me in real life to know it's me.
My name is K. I am currently 21 years old. I live in SC. I hate introductions. If you wanna know more always feel free to just ask. I am an open book. I have another blog just for my work stuff if you wanna follow/ check it out I'll link it here. I don't know how regularly I will post on here. All this stuff on here is just my opinion and it may not be yours. Well that's it. Short sweet and to the point.