YunoAtsuko
Member
- Jul 9, 2025
- 32
I went to the bathroom and just stood there for a while. I looked at myself like I was supposed to recognize the person looking back. I think I do recognize her. That's the worst part. HATE. HATE IN MY EYES. I CAN SEE IT, I CAN FEEL IT. HATRED FOR MYSELF AND ALL VERSIONS OF HER.
t's not even one thought. It's like a crowd of them, all talking over each other, all wrong, all loud in different directions. Some of them don't even feel like mine, but they're still in my head so what does that even mean?
I try to ignore them
Two years in those psych ward and residential rooms stole pieces of me one pill at a time. The girl who loved drowned in medication fog and therapy circles and became the girl who HATED. They said recovery was possible- that "progress" looked like learning to live with it- but what about when it is *you*? When every mirror shows a monster? When prayers turn into screams because God's voice sounds suspiciously like your own?
I tried so hard not to be broken. To wake up without wanting scissors pressed against wrists or razors tracing patterns down thighs until blood bloomed like flowers under skin too pale from hiding inside four walls painted hospital white-the color of surrender.
I see now why birds sing sweet melodies before flying south-they're warning us winter comes sooner than expected.
t's not even one thought. It's like a crowd of them, all talking over each other, all wrong, all loud in different directions. Some of them don't even feel like mine, but they're still in my head so what does that even mean?
I try to ignore them
Two years in those psych ward and residential rooms stole pieces of me one pill at a time. The girl who loved drowned in medication fog and therapy circles and became the girl who HATED. They said recovery was possible- that "progress" looked like learning to live with it- but what about when it is *you*? When every mirror shows a monster? When prayers turn into screams because God's voice sounds suspiciously like your own?
I tried so hard not to be broken. To wake up without wanting scissors pressed against wrists or razors tracing patterns down thighs until blood bloomed like flowers under skin too pale from hiding inside four walls painted hospital white-the color of surrender.
I see now why birds sing sweet melodies before flying south-they're warning us winter comes sooner than expected.
