Thursday, April 9, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
From Where You Are...
From where you are
from where you are
from where you stand
Is the grass green?
Do you run your hands against it?
Can you feel the pollen tickling
your
face?
Does the sun embrace you?
Do you fall asleep in its warm
embrace
do you touch him
the sun
do you hide under the
floating clouds?
One
after another
marching along
like ants in a feild
When you dream
is it with them
do you walk among them?
One
after another
like stepping stones
in a pond
Well
I can't see
where you are
it is cold here
it is dark here
it is nothing here
it is
lonely
here
But
one day
I will see you
and I
I
will touch you
and
one day
I will be able to see
I will be able to feed myself
and not bite my fingers
and not
be fed by others
One day
I will shine so bright
that even the deaf
will be able to see me
So
from where you
are
from where you are
from where
you are.
from where you are
from where you stand
Is the grass green?
Do you run your hands against it?
Can you feel the pollen tickling
your
face?
Does the sun embrace you?
Do you fall asleep in its warm
embrace
do you touch him
the sun
do you hide under the
floating clouds?
One
after another
marching along
like ants in a feild
When you dream
is it with them
do you walk among them?
One
after another
like stepping stones
in a pond
Well
I can't see
where you are
it is cold here
it is dark here
it is nothing here
it is
lonely
here
But
one day
I will see you
and I
I
will touch you
and
one day
I will be able to see
I will be able to feed myself
and not bite my fingers
and not
be fed by others
One day
I will shine so bright
that even the deaf
will be able to see me
So
from where you
are
from where you are
from where
you are.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Okay...Let's be Honest... I have...
OKAY, I wanna start out this first blog post with something many of you have probably never even heard of.
Phew! This is..uh... kinda nerve racking; but I suffer, among many other things, with anxiety and depression. And, the way I release that tension is through picking; picking my face and my back...
My shoulders. My thighs. My neck. My arms.
Just anywhere.
I pick at acne and at scars and at dry skin that flakes off. I spend hours (literally at least 2 to 3 and on better days half an hour to an hour) just dig into my flesh and skin. Sometimes, even when blood comes out, I continue, despite maybe the obviousness that there is nothing that exists. I have severely deep scars on my arm that are so brown and straight that they look as if a razorblade had created a valley tissue...
But, no. That was my nail that had dug so far deep in. And in.
And in.
And in.
And in.
Some days, like today, I just go home and run into the bathroom to check out my skin; and, for instance, today, I had gone in the bathroom of my Grandma's house to see the progress I had been making (because, for the past two days, I hadn't picked...too severely), and almost as if to reward myself I started picking at the side of my face. And, before I knew it, I had ravaged my face, with my savage bare hands. I felt real ashamed. I REALLY did. But, in the moment I felt so gratified.
I guess in a way it's like cutting. Although, I'm too much of a coward to slash my skin with a foreign sharp metal object; well, ok. I mean, I feel like if I chose to cut instead, I might have been better off only because I feel like when society thinks of cutting - an when I think of it - it's taken more seriously and seen as more of a health concern (because you can bleed out if you cut the artery in your wrist in a particular way) and directly die rather than my compulsive behavior...which can die from (and I almost did last year) but more from infection. In fact, it more commonly goes by the name Dermotillomania.
Sigh.
Don't get me wrong.
I'm not encouraging this behavior at all. I'm just expressing my coping methods.
And the worst part is when you manage to convince yourself to stop, your face aches and you have bright pink blotches everywhere. Sometimes I hate looking at myself and I get so sick of my appearance. Sometimes, I wish I looked like someone else.
After all that, I feel like shit; like a complete waste of time and effort.
But, I manage, maybe an hour later or even longer , I go back for a second helping because the anger and stress that I had caused from the previous picking session, gave me anxiety and becomes an insistent viscous cycle of worry and self hatred. And, when you pick or cut, after awhile of this repetitive daily obsession you learn to ignore the pain. (Here's a great example)
During the moment, you go into a void; a void of endless thinking:
Thoughts that haven't yet happened.
Conversations that haven't been met.
Scenarios that encircle your brain; entrapping you in the odyssey of space.
Scenarios that will never happen.
I just want it all to stop. But I'm too hooked.
I've been doing this since I was 6 years; all sourcing from when I would fall down and I would pick at the scabs over and over and over again until it was black and my father would make fun of me; calling it "a map" of the world. He'd pretend to point out countries on my legs.Then, my mother...my mother would call them ugly.
And, then it all evolved from there.
Moving upward and all over.
And, trust me. I do want to stop.
I want to leave this behind
Bury this in the ashes of my searing success
And happiness
But like a possessive lover
one minute the put their fist to your face
pulping it down like a ripening banana
and then the next they beckon
you back
But like any moment
freedom will come
you can wriggle free
and shoot that bastard in the head
while he lies in his bed
and set the house a fire
kindling his remains with the miost earth.
I will be free.
Phew! This is..uh... kinda nerve racking; but I suffer, among many other things, with anxiety and depression. And, the way I release that tension is through picking; picking my face and my back...
My shoulders. My thighs. My neck. My arms.
Just anywhere.
I pick at acne and at scars and at dry skin that flakes off. I spend hours (literally at least 2 to 3 and on better days half an hour to an hour) just dig into my flesh and skin. Sometimes, even when blood comes out, I continue, despite maybe the obviousness that there is nothing that exists. I have severely deep scars on my arm that are so brown and straight that they look as if a razorblade had created a valley tissue...
But, no. That was my nail that had dug so far deep in. And in.
And in.
And in.
And in.
Some days, like today, I just go home and run into the bathroom to check out my skin; and, for instance, today, I had gone in the bathroom of my Grandma's house to see the progress I had been making (because, for the past two days, I hadn't picked...too severely), and almost as if to reward myself I started picking at the side of my face. And, before I knew it, I had ravaged my face, with my savage bare hands. I felt real ashamed. I REALLY did. But, in the moment I felt so gratified.
I guess in a way it's like cutting. Although, I'm too much of a coward to slash my skin with a foreign sharp metal object; well, ok. I mean, I feel like if I chose to cut instead, I might have been better off only because I feel like when society thinks of cutting - an when I think of it - it's taken more seriously and seen as more of a health concern (because you can bleed out if you cut the artery in your wrist in a particular way) and directly die rather than my compulsive behavior...which can die from (and I almost did last year) but more from infection. In fact, it more commonly goes by the name Dermotillomania.
Sigh.
Don't get me wrong.
I'm not encouraging this behavior at all. I'm just expressing my coping methods.
And the worst part is when you manage to convince yourself to stop, your face aches and you have bright pink blotches everywhere. Sometimes I hate looking at myself and I get so sick of my appearance. Sometimes, I wish I looked like someone else.
After all that, I feel like shit; like a complete waste of time and effort.
But, I manage, maybe an hour later or even longer , I go back for a second helping because the anger and stress that I had caused from the previous picking session, gave me anxiety and becomes an insistent viscous cycle of worry and self hatred. And, when you pick or cut, after awhile of this repetitive daily obsession you learn to ignore the pain. (Here's a great example)
During the moment, you go into a void; a void of endless thinking:
Thoughts that haven't yet happened.
Conversations that haven't been met.
Scenarios that encircle your brain; entrapping you in the odyssey of space.
Scenarios that will never happen.
I just want it all to stop. But I'm too hooked.
I've been doing this since I was 6 years; all sourcing from when I would fall down and I would pick at the scabs over and over and over again until it was black and my father would make fun of me; calling it "a map" of the world. He'd pretend to point out countries on my legs.Then, my mother...my mother would call them ugly.
And, then it all evolved from there.
Moving upward and all over.
And, trust me. I do want to stop.
I want to leave this behind
Bury this in the ashes of my searing success
And happiness
But like a possessive lover
one minute the put their fist to your face
pulping it down like a ripening banana
and then the next they beckon
you back
But like any moment
freedom will come
you can wriggle free
and shoot that bastard in the head
while he lies in his bed
and set the house a fire
kindling his remains with the miost earth.
I will be free.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
I'm Changing
Hello! Out there!
I'm sorry to keep you waiting...it's been like...what? Five years? I'm in high school now and I'm getting ready to graduate. I only turned back here because I need the proper outlet to do some healing. I would start a YouTube channel but I'm not cut out for YouTube... not yet.
I created this blog today to share with you, whomever you may be (hopefully you will stumble upon this blog), my highs and lows. Growing up, i never had anyone tell me (on a consistent basis) that it's okay to make mistakes and that happiness is not a level that you achieve...it's a form of travel. And I'm only learning this now as I've made pretty dire and consequential mistakes.
Hopefully I will learn and grow and become the person I really am inside. But, I would like to be a guide as well as a comfort. I will be discussing many topics like OCD, anxiety, depression, assault, abuse; (all things that I have been through) but personally, I am doing this because I need to know that there are others out there and I want you to witness my growth and maybe even witness yours.
And, no, It won't be only heavy topics but anything that stuck out to me during the day...or, rather, the week. I'm also willing to discuss any topics that you guys are willing to shout out :)
I won't see color so don't be shy :)
Peace,
Ije <3
I'm sorry to keep you waiting...it's been like...what? Five years? I'm in high school now and I'm getting ready to graduate. I only turned back here because I need the proper outlet to do some healing. I would start a YouTube channel but I'm not cut out for YouTube... not yet.
I created this blog today to share with you, whomever you may be (hopefully you will stumble upon this blog), my highs and lows. Growing up, i never had anyone tell me (on a consistent basis) that it's okay to make mistakes and that happiness is not a level that you achieve...it's a form of travel. And I'm only learning this now as I've made pretty dire and consequential mistakes.
Hopefully I will learn and grow and become the person I really am inside. But, I would like to be a guide as well as a comfort. I will be discussing many topics like OCD, anxiety, depression, assault, abuse; (all things that I have been through) but personally, I am doing this because I need to know that there are others out there and I want you to witness my growth and maybe even witness yours.
And, no, It won't be only heavy topics but anything that stuck out to me during the day...or, rather, the week. I'm also willing to discuss any topics that you guys are willing to shout out :)
I won't see color so don't be shy :)
Peace,
Ije <3
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