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Keep Calm And Love Yourself

Getting angry at a mentally ill person for anything they may say, do, feel, or think because of their mental illness is like getting angry at a person with a broken leg for wincing when they put weight on it. 

I have so many new and different followers that I don’t even know if any of you remember the video I made about Darren Criss a few years ago, but my Shane has been bothering me to make a video so I went ahead and did a response to that since so many things have changed.

It’s basically me with no make up on rambling about how I recovered. I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND if you don’t want to watch it!

As time goes on, you spend less time thinking about the exact seconds you’ve gone without it. You spend the first few months obsessively opening the app and staring at that number because you saw the razors at the store and got a cut at work and the anxiety meds aren’t working and you just need a release. But then triggers become less and less powerful and you spend more and more time between break downs and before you know it you’re almost 8 months clean. So here’s to not realizing I’ve made it this far. Here’s to forgetting important milestones. Here’s to living a life devoid of obsessive thoughts of razors and pain and torn apart flesh. Here’s to finally moving on with my life and leaving my sick obsession in the dust.

As time goes on, you spend less time thinking about the exact seconds you’ve gone without it. You spend the first few months obsessively opening the app and staring at that number because you saw the razors at the store and got a cut at work and the anxiety meds aren’t working and you just need a release. But then triggers become less and less powerful and you spend more and more time between break downs and before you know it you’re almost 8 months clean. So here’s to not realizing I’ve made it this far. Here’s to forgetting important milestones. Here’s to living a life devoid of obsessive thoughts of razors and pain and torn apart flesh. Here’s to finally moving on with my life and leaving my sick obsession in the dust.

if you try to use my disorders against me, i will invite you to fuck yourself with a rusty fork

ok, we’re all aware that i’m a pretty shitty human being. i have a lot of humongous personality flaws. i’m loud, i’m crass, i’m a total bitch, i can be hypocritical, sometimes i have a hard time considering others feelings, i’m extremely dense, i have no common sense, and sometimes i have a hard time thinking of others over myself. i’m aware of all of this. you are allowed to call me out on it. 

BUT. none of these awful traits have to do with my  mental illnesses. having bipolar disorder and generalized anxiety disorder makes me super anxious, prone to extremely high and extremely low moods, and make it more likely that i’ll engage in self harming and suicidal behaviors. 

it is never ok to assume that what i’m saying or doing is because i’m not taking good enough care of my disorder. it’s super fucking offensive to tell me i need professional help and that i have a long way to go when it comes to recovery. me and only me is the only person allowed to make such statements. if you choose to do this, you are the biggest asshole who ever lived and my bitchiness will come flooding out and you will get sworn at more times than you’ve ever been sworn at in your entire life.

this has been a PSA.

lindamiller1025 answered: The worst, for me, is the discrediting of my emotions. Anything I say is because of my bipolar- not real feelings

I COMPLETELY AGREE. sometimes i’ll get really excited about something and people will tell me to stop being manic. like no that’s not how it works. being manic isn’t excited. being manic is CRAZY LOUD THOUGHT THOUGHT THOUGHT I HAVE AN IDEA NO WAIT I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA HI LET’S BE FRIENDS I DON’T UNDERSTAND MY FEELINGS RIGHT NOW. same with my depression. oh, you’re just being bipolar. stfu. don’t use my illness as an adjective. you have no idea how offensive that is. ugh.

I had an extremely vivid dream about cutting last night and ever since then I’ve been aching for it. I know it’s sick but I miss the pain. It was always there, pulling me back when I withdrew from life too much. I just feel like I’m in a cloud without the pain there to remind me that this is real.

When did it become so miserable to let my skin be whole?

summer is a really hard time for me. my lack of things to do and my screwed up sleep schedule tends to make me a bit depressed. plus, i suspect that i have a weird type of SAD that affects me in summer instead of winter. i finished school about a week ago and since then i’ve been feeling depressed. 

BUT i’m not going to let it take over this summer. i started volunteering with Best Friends Animal Society in March and so far it’s really been helping my mood! here’s a few pictures of my lovely new friends. :3

this is Boston, a three week old kitten at Best Friend’s Kitten Nursery. we help take care of kittens as young as a few days old up until they’re ready to adopt. these kitties don’t have mommies, so we do all the mommy work. we feed, stimulate so they can go potty, weigh, and give them loves and snuggles. i volunteer here with my best friend, and she’s actually planning on adopting this fella once he’s ready to go!

this is my precious Ebony, a 9 year old black lab. i took this picture at Best Friend’s Pet Adoption Center. they house cats and dogs. the cats are there all the time, but the dogs are only there during the day. they’re then taken to either a shelter or a foster family to spend the night. this baby is so so so mellow. she is such a sweetheart. <3

this is baby Freddy, a rat terrier. little thing is very, very shy and timid. it took a little while to coax him over to sniff my hand. i read the signs wrong and thought he’d warmed up to me so i tried to pick him up. he then proceeded to grown and snap at me. WHOOPS. luckily our relationship wasn’t damaged and he still let me pet him. :P

this sweet baby is Miley, a 10 month old Lab/Border Collie mix. she is so very sweet, but so very eager. when i had her out on a walk, she jumped on two people, both who proceeded to freak out. i had to assure them she wasn’t aggressive and that she’s just a puppy and has been in shelters for a while. humans just really excite her. i really hope this sweetheart finds a home soon!

and last but not least, this is my baby boy Dash! he’s a 2 year old Chihuahua/Terrier mix. he is the sweetest thing in the world and i’m in love. he was so eager for attention that as soon as i sat down in his kennel with him he jumped onto my lap and jumped back on every time i tried to put him down. it was a slow day, so i was able to sit with him for a good half an hour and he was so happy snuggled up in my arms. i felt so sad leaving him. :( poor baby really needs a home.

if you’re in the Utah area and any of these dogs interest you, just go ahead and message me and i’ll give you their adoption information! who knows how long these dogs have been shelter dogs, and it’s not right. they need families.

thanks to these sweets, my depression is at bay for now. <3 

If you have a mental illness and you’re still alive, I am so fucking proud of you.

People seriously underestimate that sheer amount of effort it takes just to keep your heart beating when your brain is doing everything in its power to kill you off. 

Does Mental Illness Make You Untrustworthy?

So I was watching People’s Court this afternoon with my mom, as I do most afternoons, and the case caught my attention. Not just because dogs were involved, but the defendant claimed that the plaintiff was a bipolar who likes to drink.

"A bipolar who likes to drink? Wow. That’s not good."

"Yeah, that’s bad."

My mom and I were both aware of how bad the mix of alcohol and bipolar is, because I’m bipolar. While we never experienced me with alcohol, we were told by every doctor and therapist I’ve ever seen not to drink. It just causes problems.

So the case continued on. The plaintiff won, and they went out into the hallway for their little interviews. The defendant was first and I mostly tuned out his bullshit until the interviewer asked him what he had learned.

"Don’t trust mentally ill people."

Wait.

WHAT.

HOLD THE FUCK UP. 

DON’T TRUST MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE?!

I’ve lived with mental illness my entire life. If it wasn’t me, it was someone around me. Anxiety tortured me my entire life and once I turned 15, bipolar disorder decided to rear its ugly head. My mom has anxiety and suffered from post partum depression after she had me (I think she cursed me tbh), my dad has OCD, my aunt, uncle, and grandma all have depression, my cousin is bipolar… Basically, mental illness runs in my family. In a way, I’m lucky to have been surrounded my whole life. I learned from a very young age that mentally ill people are no more dangerous, untrustoworthy, unreliable, or “crazy” than the average person. They simply have brain boo boos. Something went wrong. They struggle. They have problems.

But doesn’t everybody?

Hearing this guy say that you shouldn’t trust mentally ill people made my blood boil. This guy has one bad incident with a mentally ill guy (who wasn’t taking care of his mental illness, by the way) and suddenly all mentally ill people are untrustworthy? 

I’ve got something to say to this asshole.

Throughout the five years of depression and four years of cutting that I suffered through, I graduated high school with the highest of honors, a 3.9 GPA, a 30 on the ACT, and a full ride scholarship. I kept up the 3.75 GPA needed to keep the scholarship through two suicide attempts and two 1 week hospitalizations. I kept a job for two years and two jobs for four months. I remained close with my friends and my family. I functioned at a normal level when all I could think about 24/7 was killing myself. I trust myself to make it through anything my illness throws at me.

My dad has had severe OCD for 15 years. And yet he continues to bring in over $100,000 a year and provide for my mom, my little sister and I. He never misses work. He doesn’t take sick days. He works and works and works and works until his mind is killing him. I trust him with my life.

My mom has anxiety and had severe post partum depression after she had me. And yet she somehow managed to raise 3 children. She managed to cook for us, clean for us, drive us everywhere we needed to go, take care of us when we were sick, and be there for us whenever we needed her. My sister is 17, I’m 20, and my brother is 23 and yet she still takes care of us like we’re little kids. She invites my brother over, who has moved out, and cooks for him and gives him things so he doesn’t have to buy them himself. She still pays his cell phone bill and together with my dad, they’ve paid for his entire wedding. I don’t trust anyone as much I trust my mother.

My cousin, who has such severe bipolar disorder that he was institutionalized for months on several occasions, is graduating high school on his 18th birthday. He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. I trust him.

My friend from college suffers from really bad anxiety and depression. I’ve seen how he gets when he’s triggered. He suffers so much. He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. He’s a psychology major and we both took an intro to counseling class. During the roleplays, he was the best at playing therapist. He’s extremely empathetic and I know he’s going to be an amazing therapist someday. I would trust him as a therapist whole heartedly.

A girl I knew a few months back but lost touch with had schizophrenia. I never heard the details, but I know she suffered. She had a bachelors degree in psychology. Even with all the hell she went through, she got through college. I’d trust anybody who could do that.

My dear friend Joy, who runs the blog I admin, healing-and-recovery, has been through so much hell that I can’t even fathom it. And yet she remains more positive than anyone else I’ve ever seen in my life. Despite everything she’s been through, she’s willing to help others so that they don’t have to go through what she’s been through. I trust her with my life.

My best friend Shannyn has suffered from horrible germophobia and depression for years. I can see how much she suffers every time she has to clean something extra good or eat something with a napkin so she doesn’t touch the food. Yet she’s 19 years old and living on her own with her girlfriend and their beautiful cats. She came out of the closet in high school and suffered through two years of discrimination simply because of who she loves. She’s been there for me through everything, despite what she was going through. She survived an abusive relationship and came out on top. She is the strongest person I’ve ever met in my whole entire life. She is my hero, and I’d trust her with my child’s life.

Demi Lovato suffers from bipolar disorder and bulimia, with a past problem with substance abuse. And yet look at her career. Look at how far she’s come. Look at how she’s become an advocate for mentally ill people and inspired people everywhere to speak out. She’s a true hero, and trustworthy at that.

ABRAHAM FUCKING LINCOLN. HE SUFFERED FROM DEPRESSION AND YET SOMEHOW FREED THE SLAVES AND GOT US THROUGH A WAR THAT COULD HAVE TORN OUR COUNTRY APART. WHO, BESIDES SLAVE OWNERS OBVIOUSLY, DIDN’T TRUST ABRAHAM FUCKING LINCOLN?

The point I’m trying to make here is that clumping all mentally ill people into one category and saying they’re “untrustworthy” or “crazy” or “dangerous” is just ridiculous. In fact, if you look throughout history, some of the most successful and creative people have been severely mentally ill. Our brains don’t work the same as everybody else’s, but so what? The complexity of the human brain is as hard to fathom as the size of the universe and yet we’re this skeptical and discriminatory when things go wrong? 

Living with a mental illness is fucking hard, and having people make ridiculous statements like “don’t trust a mentally ill person” doesn’t make it any easier. People don’t realize that we fight every day just to keep our composure. Just to function “normally,” we have to work really fucking hard. I take 6 to 7 medications a day, depending on how bad my anxiety is, and was in intensive weekly therapy for months. And yet I still feel as though I’m below normal functioning.

We work our asses off to be “just like everybody else” and this is the response we get? We take pills, go to therapy, classes, groups, fucking electrocute our brains and all people can say is “don’t trust mentally ill people”?

Well you know what I say? Don’t trust someone who discriminates against an entire group of people. Don’t trust someone who spews ignorant bullshit instead of taking the time to educate themselves. Don’t trust someone who won’t trust you because of something you can’t help.

Humanity thrives on the fact that we’re all different. We progress because we all live with our own perceptions, realities, thoughts, dreams, ideas. Our consciousness is ours and ours alone. No one thinks the same way that we do. Everyone in this world has something to offer, and yet we’re going to discredit an entire group of people just because their brains work differently? Doesn’t everybody’s

Isn’t that the point?

Embrace who you are. Embrace your skin color, your body shape, your hair, your eyes, the size of your nose and feet, your brain, your strengths, your weaknesses, your illnesses, your realities, your perceptions, and share yourself with the world. I don’t care about your differences, and every other decent person alive won’t either. 

Be yourself and fuck those who don’t like it.

The first picture was taken about a month after the cuts were made. The second picture was taken tonight, about six months after. 
Having suffered from mental illness since I was 15, I&#8217;m very familiar with the relapse-recover-relapse-recover cycle that&#8217;s very easy to get stuck in. I&#8217;ve been cutting myself since I was 16 years old. The longest I went between relapses was no longer than a month. Until now. 
Tonight marks 200 days since I last brought that evil blade to my skin.
Cutting was something that I learned to depend. It was a crutch that stopped me from dealing with my problems. With every scar that I left on myself, a little bit of myself died as well. It was an addiction; a horrible addiction that stole my sleep, my appetite. my grades, my family, my friends, my sanity, and my love for myself. NEVER underestimate how much hate it takes to take a blade to your own skin; the beautiful skin that holds you together, keeps you from getting sick, keeps you alive. Tearing it apart is synonymous to tearing yourself apart, and nothing will get better if you&#8217;re still doing it.
I&#8217;ve come a long way since I last relapsed. I take medication three times a day, every day. I was in weekly therapy for months before I went to once a month and then stopped it altogether. I&#8217;ve had to relearn how to live my life without the a constant cloud hanging over my head. I had to learn to embrace my beautiful skin, my beautiful body, my beautiful face, my beautiful heart, my beautiful soul. I had to learn how to choose happiness every single day. I had to learn that I had the freedom to decide how my life would go. I had to learn to be happy.
I&#8217;m so happy to wake up every day. I&#8217;m so happy to be living this life, in this body. Recovery is possible. Hope is so real. 
I&#8217;m so happy to have clean skin for the first time in four years. I&#8217;m never going back.

The first picture was taken about a month after the cuts were made. The second picture was taken tonight, about six months after. 

Having suffered from mental illness since I was 15, I’m very familiar with the relapse-recover-relapse-recover cycle that’s very easy to get stuck in. I’ve been cutting myself since I was 16 years old. The longest I went between relapses was no longer than a month. Until now. 

Tonight marks 200 days since I last brought that evil blade to my skin.

Cutting was something that I learned to depend. It was a crutch that stopped me from dealing with my problems. With every scar that I left on myself, a little bit of myself died as well. It was an addiction; a horrible addiction that stole my sleep, my appetite. my grades, my family, my friends, my sanity, and my love for myself. NEVER underestimate how much hate it takes to take a blade to your own skin; the beautiful skin that holds you together, keeps you from getting sick, keeps you alive. Tearing it apart is synonymous to tearing yourself apart, and nothing will get better if you’re still doing it.

I’ve come a long way since I last relapsed. I take medication three times a day, every day. I was in weekly therapy for months before I went to once a month and then stopped it altogether. I’ve had to relearn how to live my life without the a constant cloud hanging over my head. I had to learn to embrace my beautiful skin, my beautiful body, my beautiful face, my beautiful heart, my beautiful soul. I had to learn how to choose happiness every single day. I had to learn that I had the freedom to decide how my life would go. I had to learn to be happy.

I’m so happy to wake up every day. I’m so happy to be living this life, in this body. Recovery is possible. Hope is so real. 

I’m so happy to have clean skin for the first time in four years. I’m never going back.