Oh my Ward pt. 3

It’s been awhile since I have been locked up in the walls of a hospital. It’s a different hospital than the times before. New nurses, new patients, everything is different. Yet the feelings remain the same. Frustrated, angry, hurt. That part is completely the same. The hospital lights are bright. Fluorescent. The sounds of patients …

I Hear You

My sweet friend. You don’t have to tell me. I can see it in your smile. Or lack of smile. I can see you are struggling. Drowning. The waves of mental illness push you down every time your feet graze the soft sand. The wave of emotion comes at you like a tsunami. You get …

Sunset Eyes

There is a fire in your eyes. The veins of light that glow in bright orange mixed up with a vibrant red as you face the sun with heavy eyelids. The shadows flash by with a stark contrast. Almost like tv static flashing in and out of dark and light. The heat from the sun …

End the Stigma

The mental health system needs to change. The stigma needs to be erased. For years I’ve struggled with getting help when needed. It seems almost impossible at times. 2 year wait lists for eating disorder treatment or throwing thousands of dollars at private treatment centres. Going to the hospital plagued with suicidal thoughts only to …

I am the Moon

I am the moon There is a part of me you will never see. A part so dark that even the faintest light will never reach. Claimed but never owned. A space occupied by incredible darkness.   I am the stars. A billion thoughts all at once. Each one both alive and dead at the same time. …

Over What Weight?

I don’t accept my body. I don’t love my body. I don’t even like my body. In fact, I’m embarrassed of how I look. I’ve convinced myself that I will never be considered for the job I want because of my weight. I fully believe that I will never find a man who loves me …

Her Doc Martens

I miss her. I miss the way she laughed at my dark jokes about suicide and death. And her disapproving glance at my self-deprecation. A quick side-eye at my dismissal of her complements. I miss her doc martens walking towards me, inviting me into the office after waiting in the cold entrance. They knew me …

My Brain is Sick

My brain is sick. Very sick. I hate to admit that. It’s not physical. You can’t hear me falling apart. You can’t see the lack of chemicals. There is no evidence of the life I live aside from the stories I tell and the art I create. There is no way to know I’m telling …