More Thoughts From my Tired Mind 

It’s 12:31am and I am laying here. I can feel my heart beating but the rest of me feels so numb. I have no emotion. I have no feelings. Im like a corpse with a heartbeat. 

It is times like this where blogging helps me most. Where I can be open and honest with others but most importantly myself. I guess there’s something about typing it out that makes it real to me. 


Cutting is my release. I don’t cut to die. I cut to feel alive. It started as a cry for help. I just hoped that someone would see it and save me from the abuse but no one ever did. Then it seemed as if every cut after that was more and more appealing to me. You may be sitting there wondering how fucked up I truly am and the truth is , I’m beyond fucked up. This is what the world has done to me. This is what I’ve become. Unless you cut, you don’t understand the feeling you get. You feel alive. Your mind is at ease when you feel the burn. And the most fucked up part is that when that blood beads up right before your eyes you sigh with relief and then a little smirk appears because for once your mind is calm. And damn it is that one hellacious feeling! 

I am in no way condoning cutting. I don’t wish my worst enemy to pick up the addiction. I wish I could go back in time but I can’t so instead I will tell my story. 

My wrists. My arms. My thighs. My shoulders. They’ve all been stained red at one point and still continue to. Scars line my body. The body and mind that has lived a thousand lives. Who continues to be dealt the absolute shittiest hands in life and for some reason can never catch a break.

Now I want to mention someone here. 

I stopped receiving help after everyone’s answer to my problems was to lock me up in a psych ward. The counselor I trusted so much lied to get information out of me and got me locked away for a week and a half. The other tried their damndest to get me locked back up again but luckily failed. That’s why so many of us struggling never seek help. Most people who are supposed to care, don’t. They pretend to. After so many times of being let down by people I was supposed to be able to trust, I gave up. I went 4 years before it even crossed my mind but I was so lost I didn’t know what else to do. 

From the experiences I had encountered before, I was afraid to open up to my new counselor. I thought if I said one wrong thing that I’d be locked back up. That she would automatically give up on me and then I’d be back to square one. I remember it kinda like it was yesterday. I had cuts on my lower arm toward my wrists from a few days before. When I got there and we began talking she noticed all my tattoos and asked to see them. I tried my best to cover the cuts but I think I failed. She first wanted me to know that she didn’t see cutting as a suicidal attempt so I could be open about it with her. She asked if I cut and I denied it. I was too scared but I think she could see me lying. She never once told me it was ok and that I should do it or anything but let me know I wasn’t crazy or disgusting for doing it. I just want to tell you that this particular counselor had a very big impact on my mental health. She never once gave up on me like everyone else in the past had. She genuinely cared how I felt and wanted to hear the many thoughts that clouded my mind. She never once made me feel dumb or like I didn’t matter. She saw my potential and tried her best to help me reach it. She was my hero through one of the hardest life situations I had been through. Never once did she judge me. She helped me more than she realized and I can honestly sit here and tell you that if it had not been for our weekly meetings then, I’m not sure I’d be here to write this now. Moving so far away has been very hard as I don’t want to go anywhere else for fear of being locked up again but I’m forever grateful for God allowing me to meet such a caring soul and the ability to keep in touch. 

Some ask well if you got such good help then why are you still struggling? Let me tell you why. No one can fix me. I can’t even fix me. It’s not a me problem. It’s a chemicals in my brain problem. One I’ve yet to figure out. It’s not my counselors fault that I’m not fixed. She tried and did what she could but no one can go in my head and balance everything out. It’s not possible. So I’ll continue pushing through each day and maybe one day in my lifetime I will be able to say I won. But until then I’ll continue fighting the demons inside me. Hopefully. 


Here I lay still numb. I feel the burning on my arm. The blood has dried but it’s ok because for the moments of positivity above I felt alive. No need to worry, I am safe. And for now I am ok. 

Until next time y’all. 

Relapse 

Relapse. A word that most of society ties to drugs or alcoholism. 

Wrong. 

Relapse: Suffer deterioration after a period of improvement. 

Relapsing is falling back into an addiction after a period of time without it. Whether that addiction be drugs, alcohol, self harm, etc. 

Wait…Self harm? Yes, self harming is an addiction to most. 

Now I’ve never done drugs but I’ve had my moments of drunkenness. If it makes you feel good or better then you probably want to continue it right? Well most of the time anyway. I would not classify myself as an alcoholic. However I will not turn down the opportunity to get drunk out of my mind for the simple fact it makes the problems I have irrelevant even if it ends in puking my guts up or passing out. But in the moments of slurred speech and blurry eyes I’m at peace in my mind and there is no better feeling then nothing being relevant. Even if it’s for a little while. Here lately I’ve been battling another nasty fight with depression that has led me to multiple occurrences of being shit faced drunk. No, I’m not proud of it but in that moment I was happy with my decision. But I like the way i felt so i continued to do it. I went 6 months sober and have now relapsed 3 times in the last 2 months. Looking back, I know it wasn’t the best way to handle it. Here I am a month sober again! Go me! 

I, as much as I don’t like to admit it, am a self harmer. I had my first experience with self harm about 9 years ago. It has been an addiction I’ve yet to be able to quit. In those 9 years I believe the longest “recovery” period was 8 months. And no that’s not an exaggeration. So like I said I’ve been dealing with a very nasty spout of depression lately. The one person I could talk to doesn’t seem to be interested in hearing the deep thoughts of my mind anymore so I’ve been left to fight them alone which is NOT easy. Those thoughts have been winning and I have relapsed. Last week was my relapse and I had been “clean” for about 2 weeks. Self harm to me is cutting. I know there are other ways but this is what I resort to. Why? Because the mental pain I feel is too much and when I cut it turns it to physical pain and my mind is at ease. It is a sense of relief and a beautiful feeling. 

I know you are sitting there reading this thinking how fucked up is this girl to think that scarring her skin is beautiful and you have every right to think that. Until you have so much pain inside you that the only way to release it is through slicing your own skin, you’ll never understand. Taking that sharp object and going across your skin, watching the blood bead up, and run out is a sense of mental relief. It makes you feel alive. And dealing with so much inside my head everyday it has become a feeling I need to feel regularly. No, I don’t want to die. I want to feel alive damn it! I want to feel something besides the pain from my racing mind! Cutting for me started out as a cry for help and has now turned into an addiction that I can’t seem to stop. I have become “dependent” on it so I can feel. In this stage of my depression I am damn near numb everyday and I don’t want to be. I want to feel something! 

You may think my scars are gross and ugly because of how they got there but you know what? I love them. I love every single one of them because each scar on my body is a battle scar from a fight that I did win. You ask yourself how I won when I did it to myself and the answer is because I am still here. I didn’t cut to die. I cut to feel alive and the fact that I’m still here is a victory in itself. 

My scars tell a story. Each scar that lines my wrist and arm is a battle I endured with my mind. They are a part of me and if you think that’s ugly then so be it. 

I AM NO WAY CONDONING cutting. But we are all addicted to something that takes the pain away! 

CUTTING IS NOT A SUICIDE ATTEMPT. I DO NOT RECCOMEND CUTTING. THIS IS JUST MY STORY. I AM SAFE SO DO NOT BE ALARMED! 

Loving broken people 

I love broken people. I am attracted to those who are broken. Broken meaning the ones who have some scratches and jagged edges. The ones whose shine isn’t as bright as it should be. Those who are a little crooked. The ones with the deep thoughts. 

Man, I love deep thinkers. 

I’m broken and maybe that’s why I’m attracted to others who are. I don’t care about your looks, I care about what’s deep inside your soul. 

I want to know your darkest secrets, your wildest fantasies, your dreams, and what holds hatred in your heart. I want to hear about the things that run a million miles an hour through your mind at night when you can’t sleep. I want to know what makes you pull yourself out of bed each morning.

Looks are irrelevant. They say nothing about the person you are minus how much money and time you spent on yourself. That shows me nothing. It’s not your hair or your name brand clothes that turn me on. It’s the things you hold deep inside because no one really wants to hear it. Their loss though because I do. I want to hear those thoughts. As random or deep as they may be. 

Why do you hate the sun and love the rain? Who or what caused the blades to penetrate your skin? What shattered your beautiful soul? That is what I want to hear. 

When I say I want to hear your wildest fantasies I don’t mean sexually. I mean what is the wildest things you’ve wanted to do but never have had the balls to! Skydive? Swim with sharks? Fly a helicopter? Or hell, open a coffee shop? 

Where did you want to be in life before you were broken? What were your goals and dreams? 

Broken people are God’s most beautiful creatures. They were meant to be destroyed but yet took the pain and kept on going. WE ARE FUCKING BEAUTIFUL! 

Our souls are deep. Our skin is tough. Our hearts are lined with barbwire and our minds are never ending. 

Our voices are as calm as the trees on a beautiful fall day. Our thoughts are as intense as the overtime in the Super Bowl. Our ideas are as organized as the Presidents office. And our hearts are as big as the Texas sky. 

I fucking love broken people. I love myself and I don’t give a shit if you do or not. You will never find a love truer than that of someone who has been beat down but still chooses to keep moving along. 

Thoughts from my Overly tired mind. 

Hello readers. It’s been awhile. 

I’m still kicking obviously. It’s been almost 2 months since I’ve come to share my thoughts with y’all and I apologize. I’ve been dealing with some issues lately and haven’t been much on anything.

  • So first off I finished 13 Reasons Why in like 2 days. The message it sent was amazing. I could relate to so much and it helped me as well as taught me other things. 
  • Secondly, I learned that no one really gives a shit about what goes on in your mind. They just pretend to and then will turn around and pretty much say fuck you. Lovely feeling,right? Not…
  • Thirdly, I’m so fucking tired of people telling me that I’m choosing to be depressed. Hey, fuck you🖕 If I could make this disappear I would. Believe me. I DONT WANT TO LIVE LIKE THIS! So if you have some magic fairy dust that makes me better please share. 
  • Fourthly, my number things are probably getting annoying lol get over it😜 
  • Don’t trust anyone except for your dog or cat. And still be cautious with them. It goes back to my second thing above. They listen to pretend to care and then they’ll use it against you later. I’m so DONE with everyone. I’m tired of people pretending to care about me and then not actually caring. Oh and lying. Fuck liars. 
  • I cuss. Get the fuck over it. I’m not damned to hell for saying some “potty words.” If I offend you with my words then please go to the nearest shower and wash the sand out of your vagina.😂

Hmm. This blog may seem a little unlike my usual and you are correct. This is the bitch I’ve become from the people in this world. The ones I thought actually cared. The ones who used me. The ones who lied to me. The people who said they’d always be there and now are nowhere to be found. Yes, they created this “don’t give a shit” bitch. People will destroy you mentally. Because no matter what anyone says at the end of the day not a single soul actually gives a flying fuck about you. And that is the straight up #truth 
Oh, and in case you are wondering, I am ok. Like for real. I’ve never been more content to get something off my chest and move on with my life after eliminating the reasons for my failure and sadness. It’s not like they’ll miss me anyway. Their loss though. So I’m back! And I look forward to writing more for yall! Check back for my first attempt at a poetry slam type poem! 

Until next time✌️

Her💔

Her. The one I talked about in my previous blog. 

The woman I fell so hard for. The woman who ended up using me. The woman I loved with every piece of me. 

Her. 

Her beautiful blonde hair. The way she held my hand even though she hated sweaty hands. Her kisses, her hugs. Her. 

I’ve been thinking about her a lot here lately. Shes a thought that doesn’t seem to leave my mind. Well, next thing you know there she is popping up as a suggested friend on Facebook. 

Can you say heart attack. Anxiety attack. Depression episode. And the biggest cloud of sadness EVER. There she was doing just fine without me. Still beautiful as ever. 

I wonder if she ever thinks about me.

I gave up everything for her once and I know I couldn’t do it again but that won’t stop my heart from hurting. Its been almost a year since I had contact with her and it still hurts just as bad as the day I lost her. 

She, for a split second, cured my sadness. She saved me. 

Then she broke me. 

It’s funny how love works because no matter how many times she did hurt me, I still to this day love her. And I believe that I always will. 

I’ve got a new life now. One that I will cherish with my husband and son. But regardless, she will always hold a place in my heart. 

My Mind is Gone 

It’s currently 2:41 am. I just hit my breaking point. I threw some of my stock pile out the front door…(yes I coupon and that’s the stock pile I’m talking about. Its a big deal to me) 

When my depression hits a 10(boiling point) I go into a very self destructive rampage. Meaning im going to tear something up. Now that its passed I feel like an idiot.

I’m shaking but yet I feel so numb. This is the aftermath of what I call an “episode.” I go through the rage and then I become “dead.” I don’t feel anything other than my nerves tingling and my muscles tensing up. 

This is my life. Its rough. Its painful. And frankly, its effing hard. 

Living like this is becoming too much. I really wish something would change. This demon is seriously sucking the life right out of me little by little and its really starting to take its toll…

Pray for me please…