Teenage Years: Collection I
- griefsdaughter
- Jan 17
- 7 min read
This is the first collection of Teenager Years, writings transcribed from journals I kept in high school. Content Warnings include: talk of suicide, talk of self harm, and talk of eating disorders.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or feelings, please refer to my references page, call 988, or call 911. There is a reason you are here.
My mind wanders to perfection at night but all I see is death.
You burned me so I set myself on fire. You shook me and I turned into a tornado. You hit me so I became a punching bag for everyone. You injured me and suddenly dying doesn't seem so bad.
I hurt for you because I do not need you anymore. I do not need to pretend that you are laying with me to fall asleep.
I said my mind was shattered. What I meant was that it's gonna take me a little longer to put my pieces back together.
My body reeks with anxiety, my bones creak with depression, my veins plead to be drained, my hands already balled into fists. My body is a palace for my mental illness to thrive. Let it be known that I am more than this, but for now, it's where they live.
This mess started with a letter, I almost ended it with a letter.
Silence your demons with music sung from the lips of angels.
Society keeps pushing away subjects like depression, self harm, anxiety, suicide, and eating disorders into the dark. I am here to drag them out by their throats and force them to be heard,
I miss the taste of bulimia inching its way up my stomach and out my throat.
When being touched feels like being kicked, when going out feels like drowning, when smiling feels heavy. These are the times we need our own saviors.
Haven't taken my meds for a few days and currently I feel anxious, paranoid, and like I'm going to throw up! I should tell someone but I really don't want to. Also just cause my parents won't really be able to do anything. Fuck, I've had like three anxiety attacks today but kept them to myself. I feel like shit! I really know I should tell and missing humane letters, music, and practical arts won't matter. I really feel like crying. I started thinking today that I wanna try Xanax. I refuse to become a druggie. I for some reason want to tell my mom but I know I can't because I don't know how she will react. I'm just being stupid again.
10-25-2017 ; 6:55am
Loving your enemies is hard when your enemy is yourself. Loving yourself is hard when you put all your love into someone else. Loving someone is hard when you can't take time out of your day to look in the mirror and say, "good job self, you are alive." When those words sound like the furthest from truth, go look in that mirror and say it two times. Still don't believe you're good enough? Repeat it until it no longer sounds like words. What a wonder it will be when I finally look in the mirror and think of myself as worthy rather than a problem. I will tell this over and over to everyone I meet. Self love is the hardest love to have because it is so much easier to criticize the way we look rather than looking in the mirror and being fine with what we see. Putting love into someone else is so much easier but it is also messy. I wrote hundreds of letters to a bot that I thought I loved but over time realized I loved him because he loved me. Put a stop to loving people when you don't love yourself. Don't you dare lose your love.
This poem is about me. And I know that sounds stupid but I’m really mean to myself. Today, I’m leaving for New York. I am freaking out because there’s so much to do but never enough time to do it. Last night I had a conversation with a friend who has basically been working 24/7 for a long time. She told me she used to be money driven but that is so exhausting. She said she lost a lot of ‘me time’ because it was all about the money. She had to stop working so much because she was losing touch with her true self. Why am I writing about this? Because this conversation changed my mindset. I have been so focused on other people. All of my time and worry has been put into making other people happy. And you know who isn’t happy? Me. I am so mentally drained from worrying about other people because I haven’t stopped for a second to make sure I’m eating two times a day and not letting myself go. And it’s hard.
I have not been taking care of myself. I am mentally, emotionally, and physically drained because of other people. In the midst of all my packing chaos and craziness I cleared a spot right in the middle of the mess and stopped. Stopped worrying about what I’m going to wear, when I’m leaving, who is snapchatting me. I just let everything go. Just for ten minutes. I truly got back into touch with myself. I truly saw how much I gave up for the sake of other people. I stopped writing because I had no spark. I stopped feeding myself because I didn’t have time. I need to stay true to myself. I need to stay present.
My body reeks with anxiety, my bones creak with depression, my veins beg to be kissed with a blade, my stomach misses hunger, my throat waits to be touched by my fingers, my hand forms into a fist. My body is a temple of mental illness and they’ve locked themselves in. I can’t open the door and make them leave. They use my body as a punching bag and I am friends with a cement wall. I worship starvation and pray to my thoughts. This is who I have become. A hiding place of decay. The illness has come back. I tried to run but you cannot run from something that manifests inside your soul, slowly driving you insane. I cut and try to make the illness bleed out, I purse and try to throw it up, I starve and try to kill it with hunger until I realize this is my fault. I am the monster that lives inside myself.
My brain screams for a release. I am almost a month clean and my veins beg to be split apart. The hardest thing about being sober is I feel like there is no release. I have a weapon but I refuse to use it because battling anxiety alone is crippling enough. The way my stomach begs for me to stop eating, but everyday I become full and push away the thoughts of purging because I am stronger than my thoughts. I am so much more than what my mind tells me. I have a purpose here. Last month I did not want to be alive. Sometimes thoughts pass through my head that everything would be better if I was dead. It would not be better if I was dead and I will fight through every single hard day until the worst day comes but I’ll still be here, standing firm on everything I believe in because I matter. Because my words need to be heard. I turned heartbreak into beauty, created a rose from a thorn. People may not like what I write but everything I write is real and raw. I am a rock. I am bulletproof. Come at me world, I’m ready for all you got. I am the unbreakable girl, you cannot shatter me.
On Hannah Baker’s death scene
Let's be honest, that shit was glamorized, glorified, and too perfect. All they showed was one cut, then it was over. They never showed how painful it was or how long she sat in that tub for. I am going to do it, October 16th, 2017, will be the day that Kim Ripley is no more. I will put all my writings in a box and when they read it maybe they will understand.
It is October 17th, 2017,
I am alive.
On falling
Jumping over buildings never scared me until I saw you jumping over sky scrapers, the world crashing down around you as you went step by step, leaping over insecurities, hate, love, everything wonderful crashing down around you. The metaphorical skyscrapers, the fears you’ve always had of heights as a child vanish away as you reach out to grab the next illness by its throat. It screams while being pulled out from the darkness where society has shoved it back and forced its mouth closed. Depression is frowned upon because whether it be a chemical imbalance, heartbreak, or a hard life, you are not normal. If you need to pop pills to feel normal, something is not right about you. Coping skills out the door. You smoke, drink, have sex, do everything besides face the problem. I am hanging from a skyscraper by my fingernails, digging into the cement. Willing myself not to let go, not to give up.
We’re hanging on by our souls, screaming for one last breath, fingers scrape cement, cement breaking. One last breath, make it count, countless hours spent searching for a last muse. A last goodbye, too many lasts to count. Everything comes to an end, yet we still fight for everyday like this is the last time we’ll do anything. Tell your friends you love them once more, imagine greater than anybody can conquer. Everything will come to an end yet have we done enough? We ask ourselves these questions daily. Am I enough, have I done my part in this world, what more can I do with the time I have left? No more idle time spent on worthless people, make memories that last, don’t lose what you have. Screaming for our last breath.
Inhale. Exhale. Live.
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