Can I Be Really, Really Real With You? πŸŒ§πŸŒ¬πŸ’¨

*trigger warning: PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks, SAD, domestic abuse, sexual assault, criticism, self esteem*

A new blog post is in favor of the month switching over really soon. The season is, too. Snow already coated my backyard, and has started to blanket my soul. I wish it were nice, but mental illnesses make the changing of seasons very hard. At one point are the family celebrations bringing you to the brink and you to your knees, and on the other hand is loss of sunlight. You get short tempered. Nothing is good for long. If you break up with a SO around this time, you will feel empty, like you’re enduring the winter alone, like a bear without enough sustenance for hibernation.

Photo by Janko Ferlic on

Thus, I am saying my mental health side of my blog could use another post. I have a couple of diagnoses at the moment that are shaping how I live life, and did so before I knew it. I had to go to trauma therapy in order to deal with it. I, however, will be returning to it very soon after taking a, what seems to me, very short hiatus of about 2 months. It was getting too much to bear, is all.

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on

PTSD. That’s one of my illnesses. It’s more like a spectacle through which to look through, more than being ill. Here are my superpowers: hyper-vigilance and hyper-arousal. Basically, I have spidey sense to the max. And I don’t only sense these senses I sense…I react to them, no matter what reality is telling me through my eyes and ears. Because subconsciously, I’m feeling a whole other thing. My father leaning down over me from his haughty position as head of the crumbling and begging household he led. Fingers from an ex-friend barring away the essence of my safety by ripping away my physical comfort while his eyes pried away at my privacy. I also oftentimes feel the wind kiss my skin like I’m about to take a drop on a roller coaster, while I’m simply crossing the street to the next campus building, the next meeting, the next cafe where I sit and ponder my life, and pick up the phone to tap on the screen and watch it show me doing my homework.

Photo by Joy Marino on

I write. I’m an English major at (as I mentioned in my NaNoWriMo blog post) DePaul University. And everyday I walk into a writing workshop in the college of Liberal Arts and Sciences, there, I actually feel my soul dodging criticism. The imaginary bullets coming out of several college student mouths sometimes fly and hit their peers instead of their workshop piece that is supposed to be the target. And when coming from the least expected mouth, it makes you deem them an enemy of your craft, forever, and scared to shit, feeling that letting anyone critique you means they would do it in a incision type of fashion.

No part of my life is easy. I’m a bean. I mentioned that in the beginning of my blog life, here. I grow, I’m tiny, and I have lots of potential. But people look at who I am now and judge. Who grows into a beautiful plant right away? Fruitfulness is a few smiles and soothing words away, we all as fruitful sprouts feel this, so we reach to the hopeful sky, out of our muddy worlds of darkness, hoping to grab that hope. But everyday brings harsh storms and winds and scalding heat, keeping me and others like me away from their goal.

Living with a mental illness can be hard. You’d think our worst enemies as mentally ill people are the thoughts within our own minds. But, the truth is that it’s the people who belittle us for the existence of these thoughts who actually solidify the reality of our worst fears – it is then at that point when we feel like our internal and imagined nightmares come to life.

Photo by Nandhu Kumar on
Photo by Pedro Sandrini on
Photo by R Khalil on

a post by Kuudere1

2 thoughts on “Can I Be Really, Really Real With You? πŸŒ§πŸŒ¬πŸ’¨

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