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Keep Calm And Love Yourself
Escape Clause

"I could see him standing on the balcony alone. He looked quite pitiful really, just standing there. He’d been there a good ten minutes, just staring straight ahead. Suddenly, he swung his legs over the edge of the balcony and dropped off. He was only on the first floor, so he fell about 10 feet. Still hit the ground pretty hard. Landed on his chin. He lay there stunned for a moment, and then he got back on his feet, and walked back inside the apartment block.

About 30 seconds later, he re-appeared at the balcony. Jumped off the balcony again, head first. Same as last time, he staggered about a bit, went back inside and came out onto the first floor apartment balcony and dived off. He did it again, and again, and again, he just kept on going.

I couldn’t hear anything even though the window was open, but i suppose the wind must have changed… Soon i could hear him crying, in quite a wretched way, sniffing and wailing softly. After about 20 jumps, there must have 15 people just standing in a semi circle watching him, no one raising a finger to intervene. It didn’t seem appropriate really. He looked like he was in a very private act.

Towards the end, a few people in the crowd had to help him back inside the apartment. Looked like he was quite badly broken up, i don’t think he could have made it up the stairs on his own.

After about 40 jumps he just didn’t get up anymore.

Apparently someone had asked him what he was doing. He’d told them he wanted to jump 40 times off the first floor, rather than once off the 40th floor. Just in case he changed his mind at any point.

Clearly he didn’t”


-Witness report, March 12th, 2007, London, England”

… FUCK

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!

oh i forgot to mention this is the coworker who called me a crazy emo the first time he saw my self harm scars and then proceeded to offer me sharp objects the rest of the night and told me to “make some more.”

i was one week out of the hospital for a suicide attempt.

and this guy still has a job…

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.

i refuse to reblog the posts that say “if i get *this many* notes then i won’t cut, attempt suicide, etc.” not because i don’t care. i care a whole fucking lot. but it doesn’t matter if you get one million notes. if you don’t want to recover or stay alive FOR YOURSELF, not a single one of those million notes will matter.

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.

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.

My secret? I walk by the train tracks everyday on my way to work and stand up on the bridge above them and look down and I just hope beyond hope that a little burst of wind or something will push me over and then when it doesn't I come home and mentally abuse myself to the point where I have to cut to stop me from destroying myself from the inside...I want to give up but I know if I finally killed myself my girlfriend would right after me...I don't know what to do and I can't keep going..help
Anonymous

my secret? i stopped looking when i crossed the street when i was 15. i only just started caring enough to look six months ago. we all go through bad times, some worse than others, but there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. what you’re going through won’t last forever, but you have to go out there and get it. i didn’t get on the road to recovery by not doing anything to better myself. i had to get professional help, consciously take my medication every day, go to therapy, learn what to do instead of cutting myself, let people in, talk when i was sad, and most importantly, start loving myself. do i still have bad days? yes. will i struggle for the rest of my life? yes. but the important thing is that i’m trying and i don’t want to die anymore.

stand up and fight for yourself. remember that you have the freedom to choose the direction your life leads. if you’re not happy in your relationship and it’s not healthy, then you don’t have to be in it. if you’re not happy with your life, change it. i know you can do this. i believe in you.

take care. <3

missionsempiternal:

Suicidal people are just angels waiting to go home.

NO SUICIDAL PEOPLE ARE MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE WHO NEED PROFESSIONAL HELP. STOP FUCKING GLAMORIZING THIS SHIT. ITS REAL AND SCARY AND NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN USE TO GET FUCKING NOTES. AS SOMEONE WHO HAS ATTEMPTED TWICE IM PERSONALLY OFFENDED BY THIS. JESUS CHRIST.

Recovery isn’t supposed to be perfect. If you don’t mess up, it’s probably not recovery. It’s probably just denial.

exactly four months ago today, i was a wreck. i was at the end of my rope. i was the worst i had ever been. the week before, i had slit my wrists multiple times, cut up my thighs, and was taken to the hospital before being brought back home.

i shouldn’t have been brought back home.

bipolar disorder was something i’d come to associate with myself only a few months before. but depression was something that had become a part of who i was. depression had been with me for four years, but this was the worst i’d ever felt it. life wasn’t just gray, it was black. i was on several medications that weren’t doing anything for me at all. i was in weekly therapy but every session flew out of my mind the second i left. 

i felt i had nothing to live for. 

when i got home from work that night, i got one of my blades and took a bath. i cut my thighs so much that the water was tinted with red by the time i was done. i went over old cuts, newer cuts, scars; i didn’t care. i got out of the bath, went into the kitchen, grabbed my bottle of sleeping pills and a drink and went into my room. a few minutes later, i’d swallowed ten pills. i was stopped by my parents. i’d never been so disappointed in my life.

after that, i spent six days in the hospital recovering from my suicide attempt. i’d spent time in the hospital earlier that year, in March, but it was different this time. it didn’t give me as much hope as it had before. i slept through most of the first two days. they stripped me off all my meds and put me on completely new ones. i felt so lonely and helpless and hopeless. all i did was cry and scratch at my cuts and sleep way too much. when i got out, i still felt as if i was in a haze.

for a month after i got out of the hospital, i felt worse than i had before i’d gone in. life sucked. all i could think about was how much i wished my attempt had worked and i had died that night. i couldn’t do my schoolwork, i could barely do my job, i couldn’t socialize; i couldn’t do anything but sleep and eat and yearn for just one cut, just one fucking cut. 

but i held out. i stayed strong. i threw out my razors. i took my pills responsibly. and i got better.

i spend a lot of my time talking with people who have been in the same position that i have. i’ve heard a lot of the same phrases that i used to use:

there’s no hope.

i’m never going to get better.

i’d be better off dead.

my life isn’t worth living. 

i’m never going to be happy.

i’m hopeless.

i’m worthless.

i’m done. 

if you only remember one thing i say in this post, please please please have it be this.

you are worth it. life is worth it. there is help out there for you. you are going to get better. you are going to be so happy and so loved. just because it’s bad right now doesn’t mean it will always be bad. i don’t care how low you are, how far you’ve fallen, what kind of hell you’re going through; it WILL get better. you’re going to smile and laugh again. your cuts are going to scar. someone is going to love you. you will love yourself and your life. 

i’m living proof.

HOPE. IS. REAL.

stay safe, stay lovely, and if you ever need somebody, i’m here.

<3