Shedding light on mental health, wellness, and the struggles of BPD and PTSD.
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I seem to have everything in life except for financial stability.

A wise person might tell me to count my blessings and my therapist might ask me to make a “gratitude list” and write down all I have to be thankful for for an improved perspective. …


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Two poems utilizing the alphabet.

From A to Z

A bit careless,

Definitely egotistical,

Forgetting graciousness, he ignites jealousy.

Knowledge, like men, never obtains.

Pleasure’s queen.

Relinquishing sexual tension under vanity.

Without Xanax, you’re zen.

From Z to A

Zapped your excuse:

When vitriol understands the scene, rumination quenches

Personhood.

Omniscient nighttime monsters

Left knife-wounds jagged in

Heaven’s glory.

Forge each devious

Careless

Bullshit

Anecdote.


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My face is always unfamiliar to me.

It begins each day when I see myself in the morning. I look to the mirror and I see a total and complete stranger with oily skin, protruding eyes, and the wild hair that comes after sleep. It’s instantly difficult for me to get work done and be my own boss as a writer because as early as 6:30 a.m., my low self-esteem begins sinking its teeth into me. It seems to be in my best interests to get rid of that stranger in the mirror and bring her back to some semblance of myself. …


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The bitter fallout that came with youth sexual confusion

As a young girl, there was no easy way to approach the fact that I was positive I only liked girls, so for a while I spent oodles of time watching porn to make sure I was right about my convictions. …


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It requires both self-preservation and total selflessness alike.

Imagine, if you will, a one-bedroom apartment in one of the most crowded suburbs in the country. John and I are always bumping into one another because we both seem to always be foraging for snacks in the kitchen and needing to use the bathroom at the same time. Like most individuals, we also have our own distinct tastes in entertainment and ideas on how we like to spend our time. …


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Sitting down with them was no easy task.

I texted Evan* simply asking if we could talk, but this was received poorly because he said that we’d have nothing to talk about. He called me up and began dismantling me, saying that I’d ruined the relationship with his family over something “silly” that had happened when we were children. His slights weren’t calculated very well, and it wasn’t long before he began crying over the telephone about how much he’d missed me. …


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I’m not married yet, but nothing will stop me from acting like I am.

For a really long time, I defied any notion of getting married because I believed the rumors that married couples stop getting along and stop having sex once they exchange nuptials. I believed that once I got married, it would mean that I would have to be miserable and unhappy, but then I began to question that. …


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There’s so much more to it than eating gluten-free.

In America, we do not test infants for Celiac Disease the way that they do in other countries. I didn’t know that my body was intolerant to gluten until I was 15. …


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What I wish other afflicted people knew before pursuing their degrees.

Despite my past of being an overachiever, it turned out that I wasn’t exactly ready for the responsibilities and that college was a breeding ground for anxiety, a feeling I knew all too well but had become complacent with in high school. I wish now that I had been more prepared for what was to come, but I suffered greatly for most of the time I was enrolled.

I began my education at a community college which the locals had dubbed “the 13th grade”. Since I’d done so well in high school, my life as a commuter to an “easy” school was supposed to be a breeze. Within a month of class starting, I already began to fall behind as I quickly realized that coming to class meant trekking through a campus filled with hundreds of people and sitting down in small lectures with professors who were much more serious and crass than high school teachers. …


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My verbal tic put me up against the world at a young age.

I think that maybe there’s something to be said about my tic during the times for when I was alone. I was a solitary child who strongly preferred reading and staring at the wall to imagine things over playing with my peers. When I came home from school, I’d read, and at school it was my favorite thing to do during recess. The second I was finished with my classwork, which I’d rush through in order to read, I would often find myself imagining the books I would write once I was old enough. …

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