Things do continue

I was suprised when I saw that people have checked this blog! Like, I haven't written anything onto here for a long time and still there have been some readers. Haha, funny writings, me writing about how bad I feel.
But that is the thing about blogs touching self hate as a subject. I used to go into all kinds of hashtags in instagram only to watch cuts and blood of other people. That was some time ago too, I haven't touched those hashtags for a while, while I still know people upload thing there all the time.

Depression.
Suicidal.


And so on and on.

I am depressed? No, I don't think so. I have anxiety, yes. Sometimes loads of it, and I once though of jumping out of the window. I said that to my boyfriend and he confronted me. Everything is fine.

I do almost never talk about this to my friends. Like never. My boyfriend knows and my mum knows, but not more than that, which I think is good. I don't want people to know how sick my mind can be, for no good reason.

That is also one reason I haven't uploaded this blog. I might even consider deleting this, when I grow older, as I don't want future friends  knowing about this part of me.

But right now I am happy. Happy happy happy. Feed on this feeling,

#sekasin (about "mental illnesses")

This is something that I wrote quite a long time ago, but never dared to post. There's almost no one who knows this story about me, except the ones who were there and even they have their own point of view of what acutally happened back then. I am the only one with my story, my point of view of my behaviour. And if people now would know of this, they'd see me different. I am scared, I'm a coward. Who would tell this story to someone? Who would admit they'd been straight up insane? I haven't ever dared. Why would I ruin the picture people have of me? 
But right now there's a campaign called #sekasin and it's about talking about mental illnesses and feeling bad. I have to jump on the band wagoon.


Once upon a time I met a friend who changed me. For the better of course.

Before I met her I was a nerv wreck, someone who found trust in knives, someone who relied on violence, someone who drowned in music to stop the pain.

When I was thirteen I hated the person I was, and I got really wild in school, tried sniffing, hit my head in walls, even cut myself sometimes and I was someone who was all alone when she waited for the bus.

People got scared of me, as I became violent and my patience didn't exist. I felt shame and failure. I found a safe heaven from the internet, where I spent all my nights. Watching anime, reading blogs, watching youtube and dreamt away.

I was fourteen when I met her. She got to know I was violent. I hit her a couple of times, she saw the knife and I was so angry with myself for treating someone so precious so badly. And she didn't leave.

She stayed by my side.

In a few months my anger eased. I didn't cut myself anymore, I didn't hit my head in walls and I felt like I had a good friend.

If she didn't become my friend when I was fourteen, worse thing than that could've happened.

Breathe in

Breath out. Everything is okay. It really is.

I can sleep well now. I can smile now. I can love you more than ever.

I have seriously cried every single fucking day in February, and god knows how many times during Janurary.

My dream came true this year and I am happy a lot.

But I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK ISS WRONG WITH ME. I can't handle stress anymore. I get panic attacks.It feels like I might get suicide thoughts.

Small things feel like the biggest thing to me, I cry to everything.

e v e r y f u c k i n g t h i n g.

I feel like people hate me. But I know they don't.

Like, I have put so fucking much time and energy into this one fucking project and nothing I've done is good enough or apprieciated

Dead Boy's Poem

"I live no more to shame, nor me, nor you, I'm sorry"

Born from silence, silence full of it
A perfect concert my best friend
So much to live for, so much to die for
If only my heart had a home

Sing what you can't say
Forget what you can't play
Hasten to drown into beautiful eyes
Walk within my poetry, this dying music
- My loveletter to nobody

I am so graphic.

I can talk about disgusting stuff like blood and puke and piss for how long I want. Others turn green and feel bad when I talk about incest or other controversial topics. Because I describe every detail.

And I try to understand them, but it is hard
Why can't they understand me? Like why can't they understand I need to talk graphic to express myself.

I can't help it