I’m putting together a post for Mental Health Awareness Week next month, for Tegan over at Musings of the Misguided. Not sure what I’m going to end up with – it could be experiences of therapy, or life, of medications, or acting out and self-medicating (could be an exciting ride).
I have chunks. Chunks from different periods of time.
From High School, from the HSC, from Uni. From last weekend, from last night.
From my seventh birthday.
From less pin-pointable childhood moments. Fuzzy. Sad, fearful, confused.
Unable to label.
From starting therapies and medications.
(The horror of admitting I needed help from these, that I couldn’t just will myself out of it)
Including shame at failing at things like work, or therapy, or relationships, or loving myself.
Moments of tears and laughter. Regression. Helplessness.
Disjointed and unclear, but vivid too.
All parts of my existence. Rejecting parts and re-embracing them.
On paper. To certain songs that are my soundtrack.
can’t you do it for me, i’ll pay you well
fuck i’ll pay you anything if you could end this
can’t you just fix it for me, it’s gone berserk…
fuck i’ll give you anything if
you can make the damn thing work
can’t you just fix it for me, ill pay you well,
fuck ill pay you anything
if you can end this
hello, i love you will you tell me your name?
hello, i’m good for nothing – will you love me just the same?
dresden dolls – perfect fit
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