You can kiss my ass from upon throne which you sit.
You can kiss my ass and everything that comes with you.
You can kiss my ass, and my happiness comes before you.
You can kiss my ass for mistreating me.
You can kiss my ass because you doubt my skills and whether I’m smart enough.
You can kiss my ass and take the shade I threw at you.
You can kiss me and take the L on the attitude I gave you.
You can kiss my ass and take your un-season, overcook, nailing biting ass with you.
When you’re walking behind, remember to kiss my ass.
You can kiss my ass and keep the friendly conversations with you.
You can kiss my ass because that’s how little I think of you
I don’t brown nose; I mix a 1/2 cup of shade, 1 cup sarcasm, and two tablespoons to defend myself. That equals = Who The Fuck You Think You Talking To?
Kiss my ass😒😒😒😒
Have you ever felt empty? As though you had no purpose in life?
Have you ever questioned yourself?
Holding my head low I walk on the sands of the beach, reflecting on a turbulent past. Some memories we can never wipe away no matter how hard we try to suppress them.
Have you ever felt empty? Questioning your purpose in life or, better yet yourself?
Confined to a dark and eerie place, the only sounds that could be heard are the tear drops falling from my face.
I scream for freedom, but no one is around to free me from my shackles. Defeated I feel, but day in and day out, I cry into the darkness, hoping to be set free.
Holding my head low I walk on the sands of the beach confessing my sins. I wish not to walk in sin, for death is the enemy that never sleeps. It lays silently in the dark for its next victim. It’s the snatcher and keeper of lost souls. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no escaping it.
I confessed to him what I could not admit to man. I turn to him when the world is against me. But I cannot walk in his step or follow in his shadow. I am not worthy to stand side by side with Thee. Even with his grace bestowed upon me, the shame of my sins will never set me free.
I confessed to you, father, what man would look down on, but I only heard your voice and felt your hand touch my heart once through my confessions.
These are my confessions.
Free me from my misery and send me to a place where I can find peace of mind. I want to make it heaven because this world is not my home, and it’s not my resting place.
But I feel trapped! Will the doors of heaven be open for me? Have my grace ran out? Am I worthy to walk side by side with you? I don’t want to be the fallen one, trailing behind you. Is heaven ready for me? Where am I on your list of lost souls? I’m rushing my time, yes I know. Why? ‘Honestly, I don’t know. Am I ready? ‘I don’t think so.’
Call upon me when you’re ready because I know heaven has a special place for me.
Holding my head low, I walk on the sands on the beach, but not alone.
For you see, through my entire journey, my father heard my cries and followed me.
This picture has no filter, and the lighting was perfect. But that’s not the purpose of this post. I feel trapped between two worlds, the real and unreal. I’m living in the present but spend most of my time living out life through my daydreams. A perfect world controlled by me, and yet I still have faults in my dreams. It isn’t easy being me. Living my life doesn’t come easy. I wish things were different, like not being emotionally attached to negativity. I want to disconnect from a bad WiFi and reboot myself.
I’ve done many things in my life. At the age of 37, I’ve not seen it all. I’m still young, although I tell myself I’m old. I don’t feel like Gillian; I understand with age that we become wiser and see life differently. We’ve taken on a different role, and reality is sinking in. There has to be a way to wash away all the sins. I’m not a child or a careless teen. I am a woman at yet I still make silly mistakes when it comes to relationships. Am I that with a teen mentality? Or is it just my personality?
I can’t find anything within myself to justify why the opposite sex gravitates to me. Within myself, I see a weak child, foolish and unwilling to learn from their mistakes. I take everything at face value, easily manipulated. I am caring but focusing energy and time on the broken, hoping to help them rebuild themselves.
Being a shoulder, they can rest their head. While my intentions are pure, I seem to always walk away with my heart ❤️ in my hands. I’m not relationship intelligent, if that’s a thing. I can’t recode my DNA or take on a new personality. I am who I am. No matter how hard I try, I always fail. There has not been one relationship that has ever worked for me😪Am I a broken child? I know a trauma victim I am. My innocence was stolen as a child😪 , A spirit walking, head low. I am unseeing by the living. I no longer exist; this how I think.
I’m not sure the path I am on. Whether I should get off and turn around, keep going into the nothing. Happiness has given up on me. Hope has deserted me. I am left to sit in a dark room and reflect on my mistakes.
Confined to a dark and eerie place, the only sounds you can hear are the teardrops falling from my face. I scream for freedom, but no one is around to free me from the shackles locked around my feet. Defeated, I feel, but day in and day out, I cry into the darkness, hoping to be heard. I sit in the dark and patiently wait.
There is no 2021 resolution. Dreams, foolish words whispered within, but the outcome is always the same😪😪 I rather not rush the future, as the present has me stuck. I’m drowning but desperately trying to stay afloat🙏 Keep your prayers. Faith no longer trusts me.
Keep your love, and my heart is growing cold. Keep your hugs, and my hands are restricted. I’m not allowed to reach out for love. Comfort those who have a purpose in life.
Let me hush me to a night of deep sleep.😪
Just read me a bedtime story. Now I lay me down to sleep, and I pray for my soul the lord to keep. If I die before I wake, deny me entry into heaven, I’ve forgotten to repent.
Someone once told me I was a piece of shit because I use my depression for sympathy. Those words were and are still painful. It made me second guess my depression, and maybe I’m not sick like others. I was told my complaining is about nothing. They’ve seen real struggle, and my issues were nothing compared.
I felt sick and considered not share my thoughts. Nothing is wrong with me, and my feelings are false. I’m not the definition of natural depression. That was said a year ago, and those words still sting.
I told my therapist if my depression were natural, I wouldn’t be afraid of cutting myself. If others are brave enough to do it, then so should I. I’m too scared to carry out a suicide.
It made me emotional. Sometimes I don’t think I’m depressed, I know I feel down, and some days are awful. But am I genuinely push. I’ve always formed friendships with men since I was a child. I wanted to be and act like the boys. I wouldn’t say I like the company of women. The severe downside, I don’t like women. I just never did since I was a child.
Do you know I never look into the mirror? I hold my head down. I shower and brush my teeth in the dark. At work, I stand at the side of the sink to avoid looking in the mirror. When I do Snapchat, I tap the icon and then take the photo.
I don’t look in the mirror to see my outfit. I walk past pictures at work and look at my reflection. I hate my dreads; I look terrible.
I’m fat; my bras can’t fit. I’m not as beautiful as my mother. I’ve seen younger photos, and she was lovely. Her skin glowed. I always told my inner self, I’m the ugly version. Maybe that’s my reason I hate women, and they’re much prettier than I am.
Here I am, pouring my heart out and judging myself along the way. When I got pregnant at 15, a nasty classmate said my daughter was going to be ugly.
When Tina was born, I looked her up and down. She was pretty, and I felt at ease. I gave birth and looked at my child to make sure she wasn’t ugly. That’s pathetic, but I was 16. I’ll hold on to my tears tonight
My illness is:
It’s not negative thinking. It’s accepting the reality that I will never beat my depression. It’s coming to terms this thing is more potent than I am. It’s assuming this is now my life. No one knows how I feel and what’s taking place inside my mind. My soul has come to peace that this is it. Every depression is different. I have a personality disorder. How much can a person take? It’s easier to accept defeat, and I feel so defeated!!
You can try to convince me all you want, but I’ve come to an understanding that this is it. Last night I thought about taking the fork I was eating with and slit my throat. It was the worst thoughts, and it surprised me!! Then my thoughts said, dragged it down deep into your skin. I laid the fork down and went to sleep.
I woke up tired 😓 , Confuse, hungry, lost, and alone. It felt as if no one is around; I have no one to turn to. Like a child lost, search for their parents. I felt lonely, and it bothered me. I didn’t like it!
Go on vacation, getaway, they say. It won’t work; I can’t leave my thoughts behind. What’s the point of wasting money!!
I can’t alter time and relive happy memories. I can only move forward and create new ones. Living with a mental illness is by far the most challenging journey I’ve ever endured. It’s a constant battle to stay positive in a world that’s so negative. It’s easier to isolate oneself in a dark room curl up in a fetal position as tears roll down your cheek in a sweltering room.
Reprogramming our minds is quite tricky. Imagine living in a cave and never seeing the outside world, and when you do get a glimpse, you quickly retreat because the only place you know is inside that dark cave.
That’s how my depression feels. I consider myself to be quite fragile, not in appearance but mentally. When I don’t want to be touch, I’m often confused and become Irritated when I can’t make a simple decision. I get frustrated by The slightest movement. A simple question asked at the wrong time will trigger my anger.
I’ve spent so much time in my emotional mind that it has become my comfort zone. I stress over paranoid thoughts. There was a point when I would turn the ringer on my phone off because it triggered my anxiety and anger.
Medication changes frighten me. I often find myself fighting off my anxiety before it goes into full effect. I can’t sleep at night due to my night terrors. I am being startled out of my sleep, screaming and choking.
Yet every morning, I wake up, choosing a mask for the day and wear it. Then I return home, back to my isolation, anger, anxiety, depression, and every symptom that falls in line with it.
Then in the morning, I chose a different mask.
I’m tired of being tired and tired of being mentally ill. Today I’m emotional, and it will remain this way. I’m exhausted, and I spend most of my time suppressing emotions and thoughts.
My mind never sleeps; thoughts are constantly racing through my head. Do you know how MUCH WORK!!! Goes into analyzing and controlling all negative thoughts?
It’s a full-time fucking job, and it comes with no benefits. Please don’t preach to me; listen when I talk. Maybe one day I’ll take enough pills to sleep. I’m not even sure why I’m still here. Am I that good at controlling Anthony(My negative thoughts)
He just woke up!! I want to know what’s bothering me, what causes my depression (Being weak)—tirelessly working so the other people can be happy while I cringe inside.
Hey! I’m not innocent. I’m just tired. Medication after medication. Therapy sessions. Depression, Anxiety, Borderline personality. Don’t tell me to be grateful. It’s hard when you live your life suppressing emotions.
I hate everything about me and wish I was never born. I’m mentally ill, and it’s no fun. At least my impulsiveness is under control.
I told my therapist, my death will be by my own hands. Deep down inside, I am trying. Some days are good, I guess.
When you see me right this way, you must know I’m struggling.
I play stories out in my head. My mind doesn’t sleep.
Alright, back to the suppression of feelings. Wear a new mask; need a new look. Maybe cut my dreads and starve myself.
Don’t be like me…I’m getting help. There are times I have text the suicide hotline.
People see their future, but I envision my death.
You see a pretty smile; I feel deep pain. Don’t trust my smile; it’s bullshit!!
Happiness is a shadow of the past.
It’s medication time; every fucking night is medication.
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As I pulled out of my driveway, I stopped my car to capture this beautiful image. I was fascinated by the snowfall and how it laid gently on each branch. It looks so magical. Mother Nature is gorgeous, and today she showed us how much. It’s the simple things that catch my eyes. It’s the simple things I find beauty in. Others may view a dirty road with a bare tree and snow-covered houses, not what I see. I see serenity. Trees are standing tall as mother winter covered each branch in the snow. Am I the only one that sees frozen branches in different directions? Two trees appear to be hugging. I see a snowed concealed sign.
There are no cars parked on this side of the road. But of course, who would want to block such a beautiful site. Pass the trees, and the snow-covered sidewalks, and all the slush. I can see the roof of the apartment buildings covered in snow. These small details can be a miss because we are too busy complaining about the dirty roads. I see a street leading me down the road, and I wonder what else mother will like to show me. I don’t usually stop my car in the middle of the street. Before the sun comes out, I just wanted to capture this moment before the sun melts away, this beautiful relaxing site. But I chose to park at the perfect spot. Look above the picture; it seems I stopped right under a branch. Thank you, Mother Nature, for such a beautiful site. I also see a vintage photo.
Maybe this is the last time I write. Writing has always been my way out, but perhaps it’s time to suppress my skill.
Maybe this is the last time I will speak about my mental illness and the uphill battle I face. I no longer want advice or a listening ear from anyone.
Maybe this is my final say.
I am writing this entry with tears. I sought out help three years ago for my depression. I’ve always suffered but did so in silence. Like many people, I was embarrassed by this illness. I felt needy and a burden. Great!! Another mentally ill one. I wanted no part of that category.
I hid my feelings very well, put a smile on for those around me. Deep down inside, I knew something was wrong, but it was my secret. It took a fail friendship of the opposite sex that sent me spiraling down. I knew then; I needed to seek help.
I’ve been in therapy for three years. You would think I would have found the cure to crush and defeat this lingering demon. Instead, I kept failing, but I kept going. Despite the number of times I fell, I kept going.
That, my friend, is the trick. Keep going, keep pushing forward. Keep up with your mental visits and swallow your medication. Fight through the side effects, keep popping the pills until your system surrender.
Despite what you think you know, there is no cure for this illness—just medication and therapy. I see no way out of this hell, no light at the end of the tunnel. Just keep fighting is all the doctors can say.
Do you know what it feels like to have clinical depression? Trust me when I say this, it’s no walk in the park. The anxiety is even worst, and then the borderline personality, let’s end it there.
My fight is over; I have no more row left in me. I gave it three years, and I’ve seen no changes. I pop medication every night because I need to sleep.
Some people think suicide is selfish, well it’s not. Sometimes you lose all hope, and then you’re gone. I understand them and will not judge.
Some will say cheer up! But exactly why? Do you know how hard it is to wake up in the morning and pick your next mask?
I envy those who live happy life. I was once pleased, delighted. But life fucked me over, and now I have a parasite attached.
Please enlighten me on how your day went. We struggle every day to stay afloat. We work every day to avoid triggers.
I suffered one miscarriage (twins).
Scratch that. I’ll leave them out of this.
I am standing on a train track; it’s old and rusty. Trees and grass surround me. It is dark, with no moon, no sky, just fog. I’m standing in the middle of the track with a suitcase in my hand, looking down with despair. I’m stuck, and this is my ending. I can’t keep going.
If you close your eyes and picture the scenery I just described, you will see me standing there with my head hanging low and my suitcase in one hand. It’s dark, and nothing will bring my soul back; nothing will make me move.
I will remain on that track until death comes for me. Only then will I move.
I wrote this with my tears. Maybe this is my final say.
Gillian Angella Griffiths
Born: Portland Jamaica
Finding Purpose again: Unknown