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[mylifeasevelyn]

Orphan

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. Yeah, it’s been a long time... I’ve written a lot of drafts throughout the past couple of months, but I could never finish them or wrap my thoughts properly... until today.

The past 15 months have all been about rediscovering myself after breaking free from my abuser. I truly thought it was going to be an easy transition, but fuck no, it wasn’t. The first six months were shit ‘cause she kept trying to contact me and trying fuck me up psychologically, and the following months were confusing, to say the least. Too much shit went down and thanks to the few years of free therapy I got from my shitty university, I’ve been processing everything without resorting to self destruction in the process. Ever since I broke contact with my abusive mother/the demon who cannot be named/former wife to my dad, my father and I have been sort of trying to bond as father-daughter. We have never been truly close and I truly can’t remember why ‘cause I cannot remember my childhood or teenage years. My memory is hazy from back then due to all the abuse and trauma I endured at such a young age. Anyways, overall, my life was going from ugh to meh (depression much? Lol)

Shit started to hit the fan on October 30th, 2019. I remember that day clearly because of what happened the following day... anyways, I remember asking my shrink to give a call asap. Within 30 minutes she gave me a call. I was studying at the library at the time. I exited the place and made my way to the closest place where I could speak privately. Long story short, I told her my depression was making a huge return. I was slowly but surely losing interest in the things I was doing, regardless of my feeble attempts to keep myself sane in the process. After she hang up, I kept thinking about how I no longer had anything to fight for. No real sense of family, no real sense of friends, nada. Not even a fucking a pet to come back home and take care of or something (although having a pet while being in this mental state is not my kinda thing to do tbh.) It was in that moment that I remembered that over ten years ago, I used to work as a waitress to grab some cash to eventually travel to Buenos Aires and see My Chemical Romance live, which I did (hell yeah.) Fuck, but that shitty dream of seeing them live again had ended there when the band broke up. October 31st came and well, y’all know what happened already. Having them back shook my world and gave me another reason to keep fighting this mental illness and all the other bullshit I’m still going through. The following weeks became more bearable, but still, something wasn’t right. Another month went by. It was a Wednesday midnight, I was about to get to bed when I got a text from my father, back at it again with the suicidal thoughts. He’s done this for the last couple of years, the first time affecting me so bad that I had a panic attack (fyi, we live in different cities, I can’t just go and see him right away.) Again, thanks to therapy, I’ve learnt how to take a step back and see things with a better perspective. After reading his text, I once again took the role of parentified child and tried my best to comfort him, and insisting on him getting therapy. And as stubborn as he is, he said no and started making excuses and me, as patient and comforting as I know I can be, I kept telling him that I couldn’t always be there for him and it would make me feel more at ease if he would just freaking go and see a professional. I gave him links to read and find the right therapist for him and all that jazz. I also told him that if he wasn’t gonna do it for him, then he should at least do it for his daughter. The following day he sent me pictures of him having a great fucking time with his friends while I was here, back home, fucking worried. So yeah, damn right I got angry at him. I didn’t reach back to him until the following Monday ‘cause he kept texting me and I was getting annoyed by the endless I’m okay pictures he was sending me. I gently told him to back off and give me space. More months went by and we kept being in touch and seeing each other, pretending like it was all freaking peachy, as always. Believe the lie. Remember?

January 2020 came by and a friend told me she was going to see a Queen tribute band with his dad and I thought it would be a great opportunity for my dad and I to properly bond, since we’re both passionate about music. I invited him to the show and he said yes. Another month went by and we met again. I could tell something was off about him the moment he walked through my door, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I was doing my make up while he waited for me to be done. Mind you, we don’t talk much because he is a really quiet man when he is around me, my brother and his ex-wife. The moment he started talking I could tell he was venting, and I was carefully listening and responding when necessary. And that’s when he admitted to me that he was back to doing shady businesses with criminals. Since he knows I’m not a judgy person, he told me everything in detail. The more he told me, the more my body was becoming tense, to the point where I pulled a neck muscle. But my stomach truly turned when he told me, casually, that he had given my security number to a thug as “insurance”. The moment he said that, I remembered when he, a few weeks back, had asked for my security number and I asked why he needed it, and he said it was because he’d forgotten it. I was stupid and naîve enough to trust him and he straight up lied to me, yet again. Whenever fucked up shit like this happened, child me would become paralysed or mute. Hell, I used to stutter and mumble till age 13. My teachers were always nice to me about it ‘cause I was a good, responsible student. That’s all I can remember. So, it’s safe to say that I was in shock. He kept on talking and I could see my reflection in the mirror starting to change. Shit. Not a panic attack. Not now. I don’t know how, but I managed to keep my shit together. We left my apartment. I wasn’t feeling well. Something was wrong. I couldn’t process what had just happened. I was back to being a child. I couldn’t talk. I texted my shrink. It was an SOS moment. She couldn’t call me. Fuck. My mind kept telling me what happened is wrong, this is wrong... but what exactly_ is_ wrong? Why am I feeling this way? A couple of hours went by and I was able to block those thoughts from disrupting me. I slowly started chatting again. My father was unaware of what was happening. I’m pretty sure he thought I was grumpy or something. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t seen me this way before, lol.Either way, he never asks about me, my life. It’s always been about him since we’ve officially “reconnected.” Well, the more I think about it, since forever.

Night time had finally come and it was time for the show. Things were still awkward between my father and me, but I was somehow more relaxed ‘cause I knew I was meeting my friend and her dad. They were late and my father and I were barely talking to one another, so I said fuck it, grabbed my phone and started checking my social media to make time go by faster. And alas, my friend and her dad finally made it. What a relief. I started feeling my usual self coming back. I was back to talking and being my usual goofy self. Unfortunately, my father was being an asshole, I cracked jokes and tried my best to include him in the conversation but he wouldn’t even laugh. He would just look away, so I retreated a bit and I went back to just being awkward with him. Right before the show started, there were two empty seats with a better view right next to were my friend was sitting, so my father suggested we should go and sit there instead. I gladly agreed. I changed seats right away. I looked back, he didn’t move an inch. Instead, he was signalling me what I think meant something like “yeah, yeah, go ahead” and at this point I was looking at him, confused. I was thinking: “dude, really? We’re supposed to be here and bond. Not sit three seats away from each other. Pff” My friend’s father was cool enough to change seats with my friend so that we could sit next to each other. So, there we were, from left to right: me, my friend, her father, and my father. At the moment, I remember telling my friend: “oh good, I hope they bond and have fun since they are almost the same age and wearing the same coloured t-shirts! Bahaha” The show went on smoothly. 10/10. But part of me was still keeping an eye on my father, making sure he was having a good time. My friend would check on him and tell me if he was having fun. As I predicted, he cried while singing his lungs out to Bohemian Rhapsody. Both him and I miss her deeply. His mother, my grandmother. Anyways, the show was over and I had to get back to my dad. The moment the lights were back on and I looked at him, I could tell he had been crying, so my stupid heart and empathic soul gave him a break and tried their best to get back on more friendly terms. Unfortunately, he was back to being unfriendly with the rest of us. So much so, that he grabbed my shoulder and moved me away from my friend and her dad. Again, it didn’t feel right when he did that. That feeling felt so familiar, but I couldn’t remember why... I eventually lost sight of my friend and we got lost in the crowd that was exiting the stadium. For a moment I stopped somewhere where there wouldn’t be a shit ton of people walking all over me and I turned around to see if I see if I could find them to at least say goodbye. My father was vocal again and told me to just keep going and I insisted on trying to find them. As you can guess, I had no luck finding them. Now it was time for me and him to go to each other’s home. At this point it was almost midnight and I had to get on a bus to go back. He insisted on taking me back home (40km away.) Had I found my friend, we would’ve gone back home together, as intended. The ride back home was filled by John Williams’ score of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I chose the music ‘cause at this point I had a headache and since I suffer from motion sickness and I was out of dramamine, I had to listen to my music. I tried making conversation and all I got back from him was “really”, “oh”, “yeah”, “oh, really?” and “oh, yes.” I was trying my best not to cry. The moment the score started playing A window to the past’s part in Mischief Managed! A memory came back. I used to lock myself up in my bedroom and play that song on loop while crying to drown out the sound of me sobbing. I also remember that whenever I cried too hard at night, the following day I’d had to wear make up on my eyes to cover my puffy eyes. I was fourteen years old back then. That was the year my father cheated on my mother and moved to my grandmother’s house, who had just passed away months prior to all that toxic drama that they always had. I didn’t cry because I wanted my mommy and daddy back together, fuck them. I cried because I had to go back to my dead friend’s house and have my happy memories turn to shit after seeing her house lifeless too. Remembering that fucked up memory puts me back on the brink of tears as I’m typing it now. Man, that’s the reason why I don’t enjoy listening to_ A window to the past _anymore. Anyways, I was back home safe and sound, him too. I was feeling mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted.  

I abruptly woke up, found myself lost in my own bed, my own bedroom, my own apartment. I shook my head as an attempt to get my shit together and that was when I heard a voice in my head say: “he was abusive yesterday. He’s abusive too, just like her.” And_ fuck_. Yes. That was it. That’s why I felt weird. That’s why I almost had a panic attack. That’s why I almost cried twice throughout the day. He’s always been this way with me. He doesn’t know shit about me. Whenever I tell him something about me, he doesn’t even remember having that conversation at all. Hell, he can’t even remember my friends names! He never asks about how I’m doing, not that I care since we’re not close whatsoever, but you know, he should at least know that since, well, he’s my fucking father. Whenever he bought me a present growing up, it was always something he liked, something he wanted me to wear. Hell, I can’t even tell how many pink pieces of clothing I’ve gotten rid of because I fucking_ hate that colour, or maybe the reason why I fucking hate that colour so much is because of how much he forced me into wearing it. He’s always been a distant father, but at least he never beat the shit out of me or told me I was fat or ugly, or that he preferred my brother over me (like my abusive mother used to do.) Then again, that doesn’t make him any less abusive. Abuse is abuse. His motto’s always been “here, have this money, do whatever.” I used to appreciate that because I thought “cool, thank you for not being nosy.” Truth is, the reason why we can’t connect, bond or whatever is because he doesn’t give a shit about me. He’s been rejoicing on the fact that I’m “on his side” now because I no longer talk to abuser n° 1. On one of my sessions, my therapist told me that the reason why abuser 1 always did her best to crush my self-steem was because she considered me competition. And I dumbfoundedly asked “competition?”. And she replied: “yes, she feels like she was to compete with you for your father’s attention.” My head exploded after that statement. Right now I can’t help but think of what she told me that way. My father has kinda well more like really, been doing kinda the same shit to me, trying to keep me as close as possible to him, to the point where he texts every other day, which he never did until now. The suicide drama, the criminal activity, and a lot more shit that I’m sick of having to deal with. Like I said before, I’ve always been on the role of a parentified child. I always had to deal with this shit _and on my own. I’ve always been the punching bag. I always had to deal with all their drama when all I wanted was to have a normal childhood. All I got instead is a suicide attempt, a decade of self-harm and a long ass history of drug and alcohol abuse, which they know nothing about because I always kept it to myself. I always felt like a burden. I always felt guilty. I was always a “crybaby” because abuser 1 used to tell me that as a kid and whenever she used to see me cry about something as an adult.

So yeah, I’m fucking done with my family. Oh, and my brother? In case you haven’t read any of my previous posts, he’s just as an asshole as the other two are. He’s violent like abuser 1, so fuck you very much, I’m okay this way. He won’t talk to me and he won’t even tell me why. The rest of my family don’t know shit about me because I was always the “quiet one” so I know for a fact that I’m most likely the black sheep for not returning to my hometown in the past year or so. Abuser 1 is very into deceiving appearances and wearing a public mask, so I know for a fact that she’s playing the victim because she can’t reach me anymore, bahaha. fml.

With this post, I can officially say that I’m done grieving the family I always wanted to have but never did. I’ve been meaning to legally change my name because my middle name is abuser’s name 1 and now that abuser 2 has used my personal information against my will to do criminal activity, I have more than enough reasons to reinvent myself in every fucking way I want and need. With that being said, if you’ve got some last name suggestions, feel free to send me suggestions. This is only the beginning of the new chapter of my life. Hopefully your new chapter is starting now or soon too, dear stranger.

                                                                                                                Never give up, always fight

                                                                                                                        Love, Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Dormant

‘Cause I could touch a hundred thousand souls But none of them would ever feel like home And no matter how far and wide I roam I'm the only one I'll ever know

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. I guess it’s been a while, huh?... five months into this year and I’ve grown tremendously as a human being, yet some things can never change, can’t they?

It’s been a week since I’ve been dealing with this new feeling, and today the feeling’s stronger. I’m sure most of you are well aware of this feeling… after going through a heavy amount of emotional trauma, experiencing less painful “stuff” feels like a piece of cake, right? Anyways, maybe it’s just me. Hmm… I guess I need to explain myself better…

On the midnight of last Friday, I was on my way back home, enjoying the cold breeze on my body, when all of a sudden, my memory was triggered by something I saw on the streets... Could it be? Is this really another memory that came back? Indeed, it was. I looked at my pinky finger, and I could easily remember my grandma’s finger intertwining with mine. I remembered her mischievous laughter and the way she smiled when she made that promise to me. I was probably 8 or 9 years old. I remembered being seated in the back of my parents’ car as we saw two dogs that looked exactly like the ones I saw right in front of me as I was walking back home. I knew it was a real memory the moment the tears starting flowing down my cheeks… moments later I was brought back to the present moment, fully aware of where I was, alive and alone in the world, walking back to an empty home. I stopped walking back home, I took a detour. All it took was one memory to put me back into place, to remind me how far I’ve come and all the bullshit I’ve been through and overcome… so, there I was, in the middle of nowhere, looking at the sky, smiling at the thought that I’m living a peaceful life. Mediocre, but peaceful at last. But that wasn’t just it. I knew a storm was coming, and I had to get ready for it. And I did.

The storm came and went by this week. I prepared for it, and I survived it. It didn’t hurt, even though I could feel it all. The usual waves of pain that would invade me when I’m overwhelmed hurt me like always, but they didn’t make me want to die. I just. Felt them. I let them go right through me... I’m still in that place in between, where both pain and peace coexist, which I didn’t know it could be possible. From the moment I accepted this life choice, pain feels different. I knew that choosing this life, surviving on my own, no family and no one else to turn into, was gonna be the most painful life path. I knew that starting over without people around me was gonna be tough, but I do know for a fact that the people I truly care about are already dead or they were alive but hurting me one way or another. So solitude was the right choice for me… and that’s how peace and pain can coexist.

Life has slowed down. My anxiety has diminished. My worries are…insignificant. I live a quiet life. I help others in every way I can, I don’t take anything back. I write, I draw, I dance, hell, I’m even starting to sing again, which I haven’t done since grandma passed 16 years ago. Darkness is still there with me, but I don’t mind it. I don’t fight it. When it comes, I let it do its thing, and then I claim my body back. I no longer feel the need to self-destruct, ‘cause I no longer want to die. I want to live. For what though? I don’t know yet. I’m just flowing, like the waves of pain that used to drown me from a very young age. Now that I understand my pain, we are one.

One of my favourite fictional characters once said: “I thought forgetting would bring me peace, but I realised that sorrow and sadness are also needed in order to feel happiness” Now I can finally understand what these wise words truly mean. Now I can finally know what peace on earth feels like. I’m no longer on hell, I’m finally back on earth. I’ve settled for this minimal life, where I take what I need without being a nuisance to anyone. I’m like a ghost, living out there, but only visible to those who actually want to look around them. Whatever life choice you’ve made, I hope it’s the right one for you and only you, my dear stranger. ‘Til next time.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

When the sun turns cold and starts to fade and you don't know where your bed is made. There's a hazy glow you cannot save. Memories flood like acid rain... When the sun turns red and starts to hurt and you know what was said was undeserved. All the jealous cries of the misunderstood, currency of the restrained

        Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. Last time I tried typing a post, things took a pretty drastic turn of events in less than an hour. Whatever I was writing at that time, it doesn’t reflect at all the reality I’m living at the moment. Therefore, I won’t post that. Compared to now, it was pretty bright and hopeful. That shit’s outta the window now. This post will have no specific structure. I’ll just type spontaneous raw thoughts... I guess I’m doing this as a way to face the hurt that’s been chasing me these past few weeks. I’ve tried everything, but it’s still there, growing stronger than me...

        So first off, I hate to say this, but I had another panic attack. And it was the shittiest one so far. Unfortunately, what triggered this panic attack in particular was someone verbally abusing me, which of course triggered a traumatic memory and yeah, I could tell I was fucked from the moment I couldn’t “fight back”. Instead, I froze and barely managed to say a few words back. It was heartbreaking. Not only was I taken back to my traumatic past, but I also reacted the same way I used to do it 20 years ago. This person treated me so bad that I felt like a terrible person. I felt so bad that after the panic attack I had to ask a friend if I was bad person. That’s how bad this person made my self steem crumble. The guilt I always used to feel as a child, the fear, the helplessness. It all came back, and it was so powerful that it left me unstable and weak. So weak that I could barely walk back home because of how much my legs were shaking. At one point I almost passed out in the middle of the street, but thankfully I managed to find a place to stop and possibly sit until the tremors would stop. But I knew couldn’t stay there, it was too cold and that wasn’t helping at all. I was somehow grateful that it was night-time and there wasn’t many people around to see me. All these memories were back and flowing and intertwining, like an evil déjà vu. PTSD at its best.

        To top this off, my shrink bailed on me. Yep, just like you read it. Out of the blue I found myself lost in the pain of my traumatic past and my inability to cope with stressful situations in the present. Even though I didn’t resort to self-destruction, it’s been a hell of a month dealing with my demons consciously and without professional help, to say the least. A friend told me I was brave for doing this, but I can’t seem to see it that way yet.

        These past 40 days have forced me to face my demons, which I only face 2 or 3 times a year when I have my nightmares. But now it’s been hard for me to come back to the place that caused me so much hurt, the place where this person who I cared about hurt me so bad. A place I used to call “safe”. My friends have encouraged me to go back, but I’ve lost my strength and joy. Now I have to rewire my brain into thinking of other constructive ways to deal with my bpd.

        Anyways, as always, my mental illness is still there, being a part of me. I’m aware of it, we live as one every day. It haunts me under pressure. It makes me feel weak. But I know I’m not. Yet the pain I feel, the way it suffocates me, that’s something I wish it would leave me alone at least for one day in my life. No matter how much I try to run away from it, the harder it gets back at me. No matter how much I plead for the pain to be over, it’s never gonna happen. Call it pessimism or harsh reality, that’s the way it’s always been with me. I embraced this agony and chose to keep on living with it regardless. Sometimes it haunts me all day, other times it’s whenever I can’t keep my mind entertained.

Call it six sense or whatever, but I knew that he was coming as I looked out my window. They Will Fall Like Roses was playing out loud; the one song that calms me down when the depression-anxiety chemical concoction is too powerful to shut off when typing these thoughts away. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hear him if he ever showed up with my loud speakers blasting. And there he was. I get a visit. I’m forced to dry my tears and keep on living life normally. This man tells me that he’s been working since 7a.m. and I’m one of the last people he has to visit before his shifts ends. He’s smiling through ear to ear and trying to talk to me a bit more. Since I’m pretty good at hiding my feelings when necessary, I follow along with the conversation just enough to be polite and grateful for the good vibes and service. He drops my order and leaves... and just like that, reality shifts and so do my thoughts. You entertain your mind with other thoughts to keep you away from the dark ones. The more you can do this, the longer you survive.

        I dunno what else to say other than: it’s okay not to be okay. Cliché phrase but true nonetheless. Struggling with a mental illness (let alone 3) is quite the adventure. There are more downs than ups, but as I said typed before, I’m okay with it. If I ever lose my sense of bravery, then I might as well kill myself. As of now, I’m going through a sea storm with my mind. My mind is a boat, my feelings are the ocean and I’m on that boat trying to come back to the shore. The tide got wild to say the least, and now I’ve got to be patient and hope that I won’t drown in the ocean. We are already in the boat, might as well fight and survive together, right dear stranger? Let’s fight together, shall we? ‘Til next time.

    Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Helter Skelter

Who's gonna pick you up when you fall? Who's gonna hang it up when you call? Who's gonna pay attention to your dreams? Who's gonna plug your ears when you scream? You can't go on thinkin' that nothing’s wrong.

Oh, who's gonna drive you home tonight? Who's gonna hold you down when you shake? And who's gonna come around when you break? You can't go on thinkin' that nothing's wrong, oh. Who's gonna drive you home tonight?

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. I’ve been typing this post on and off for the past few weeks. I can barely remember the last time I truly typed something for this blog in particular and not just for me. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t truly given myself the time that I need to reflect on the recent mayhem that’s been my mental health recently. We all know that we don’t wanna deal with our feelings in times of stress but it gets worse as times goes by and you end up pretty bad (like I used to be). Today, for instance, I almost had a panic attack in the middle of the street, in the most fucking crowded part of the city. It was hell.

I know that the one thing that triggers my depression is loneliness. I know I’ve said this on some previous post, but loneliness has always been something that I fear more than any other thing in the world. I fear that shit more than death itself. A few years back, loneliness kind of felt like a phobia (if that makes any sense) and I know it’s because of how misunderstood I felt growing up. And man, who am I kidding? I still feel that way. So yeah, whenever I feel lonely, both my anxiety and depression make their appearance and it’s just… well, it’s fucking hell. Take a shot every time you read the word hell *gasps*

Anyway, back to my point, which is: loneliness is what triggers my depression + anxiety, the annoying Evelyn cocktail. Lol, I get so negative when I get sick, yet I’m so self aware but I’m still in a “fuck it” life mood.

Worst case scenario, a wave of loneliness can trigger an anxiety attack, like today. And man, those are just fuckiiin’ heeeell. Yeaaah, I really need to stop saying the word hell. I wish I could... but there’s no other word to portray how torturous is this pain. Man, it’s already hard typing this and admitting you’re going through a moment of weakness. But at the end of the day, the one thing that keeps my sanity on check is the fact that I’m not alone on this. Unfortunately, I’m the only one within my circle of peeps who’s going through this and that makes it so hard to deal with at times, not to mention talk about it. I try my best to focus my energy on all the good that I’ve accomplished and how all the bullshit that keeps coming at me it’s gonna turn into a funny story one day. But as of now, I’m nauseated just because of my feel too much gene.

And fuck, I’m truly sorry for not providing you with a better post, dear stranger. This is true life after all. Mental illness is a bitch, and you can’t always live without that needy whore, if ever. I hope you’re doing well. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

It's the end of #mentalhealthawarenessweek and it just so happened to be one of the most challenging weeks as regards my mental health. I never shy away from talking about this, since not talking about it makes it some sort of taboo which is bullshit... I've never been more excited to say that I have conquered and slayed the demons so gracefully that I'm fucking beyond cloud nine. Not only that, but also I'm beyond proud to say that I did this all by myself. Unlike most people in this planet, I'm a lone warrior. I've always had, I always will. That's how I had to raise myself, with my own rules and instinct. I have found my sense of self-worth again, and that, is what I needed all along to truly feel alive ~

[mylifeasevelyn]

The curse

        “Sometimes family is the very Hell you can’t escape.”  –Corey Taylor

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. And man, I hate typing this post today…but yeah, life’s been good these past few weeks. I’ve managed to get a hold of my mental illness. I know how to tame the beast now… but there are things that are still out of my control. I can pretend they’re not there or else... they’ll kill me instead.

These past two days were beautiful, truly. I wasn’t happy at all, I was at peace. It’s been decades since I haven’t felt this way. Even one of my old teachers saw me the other day and told me ‘you look so serene… you either truly feel that way or you’re just being a heck of an actress’ and boy, did those words hit me. I tried my best not to cry right there on the spot. You know how beautiful it felt to know that it’s not just me who’s noticed it? I’ve dealt with anxiety for as long as I can remember, and the constant buzzing in my head shows right through me. But lately the buzzing has decreased significantly enough to allow my thoughts to flow better, instead of erratically. And man, just that thought alone makes me shed a tear of joy.

Just the other day I was looking at one of my once beloved bottles of booze that I own. And now I look at them and I no longer see them as a way to numb the pain. Hell, I even thought of throwing them away, but hey, I think I’ve got my urges under control. I wasn’t a true alcoholic after all, at least not like my granddad was… everything and anything, everyone and anyone that I sought to escape from the pain I felt are no longer negative outlets. I see things for what they are now, you know what I mean, dear stranger?

Still, there’s a part of me that’s always scared, a part that’s always worried that something bad’s gonna happen… ‘cause good things don’t happen to me, good things come for a visit, they wave at me and leave again. It’s embedded in me, it runs in my blood, no matter how bad I try to look away. Even if I lock myself in a tower far away everything that could hurt me, it’d still reach me… and that’s exactly what happened last night.

I thank every day for my strength and my will to move on from the horrors of my past, but last night I had a hard awakening. Part of my past is still present, not in a “I can’t move on yet” kinda way. I bleed for the secrets that I have to bare. I bleed for the fuck ups of my family. I bleed because I’m trying to move on from that very Hell I was raised in but it still finds a way to get to me… and when that usually happens, my guard’s down and I’m dumbfounded.

I know very well that I can’t change my past, so I’ve accepted it. I can’t change the family I own. I can’t run away ‘cause that shit doesn’t work at all, believe me, I’ve tried plenty of times since I was 8 fucking years old. So, here I am, in pain ‘cause I’m the one in the family that has some sense of clarity to break free from this curse, and I know very well how it hurts to be the one that chooses a different path. I choose peace. I choose happiness, but they will always be stuck to their misery and they want you there with them. It’s not fair. It’s not life. How can you live that way? And so, I get up every day keeping those tormenting thoughts away, I focus on my well being, I look in the mirror, I smile weakly and shyly and say “It was never your fault and it is not your fault now, you are moving on. You’re now living. You can do this.” Sometimes I feel like crying, others I just let it go and cry it out. I cover my eye bags with some shitty make up, I raise my head up high and live another day. I accept the curse and pray that it leaves me alone, every fucking day.

And I leave you today, dear stranger with a thought of hope for you and I. May we both find peace and solace in this messed world. ‘Til next time.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn       

[mylifeasevelyn]

Untitled I

I will never know myself until I do this on my own and I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed. I will never be anything 'til I break away from me. I will break away. I'll find myself today. I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real. I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long. I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm close to something real. I wanna find something I've wanted all along: somewhere I belong

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. Whenever I type a new post, I always have a title in mind, but I can’t seem to choose one at the moment… though I still wanted to type something today ‘cause, well, it was my birthday this week and that’s when I truly feel that the year that has passed is finally over, and I feel reflecting upon the things I’ve learnt these past twelve months. I apologise in advance for my sloppy writing. It’s been a while after all...

So yeah, it’s been real, man. Dealing living with mental illness is always challenging, I know that very well and so, this year’s has been the loneliest year of my life- well, it still is in a way. I willingly chose to find my road to recovery alone and be my own anchor. I rely on my talk therapy and myself, that’s it. Of course there are people around me who care about me but I no longer burden them with my shit. I only talk about what I think is necessary. And if I ever need to grief, I do it in solitude… and that’s why it’s been lonely… yet liberating. I carry a huge baggage of history and pain that only I know, so I can’t really expect others to understand what I’m going through. I mean, I may try and explain myself when necessary, but that’s just it. It took years, years and years to realise that this pain is my own. And yes, I do need to talk it out (we all do), but only with the right people… though now that I’ve done my fair share of talk therapy, the pain of past traumatic events has receded tremendously…

Do you believe in premonitions, dear stranger? ‘Cause I do. I’ve already typed something about it on a previous post, so yeah, I’ll just assume you know, lol. Anyway, I had a strong premonition at the beginning of this year and fuuuuck, was it helpful. It made me shape my new found perspective even more, and since then, my mantra for recovery has been “embrace the darkness within.” Unfortunately, we live in a society that’s obsessed with “light” and positive shit and that’s as fucked as it comes. What’s wrong with crying? What’s wrong with wallowing? What’s wrong with having a shitty day and not being able to tell someone about it? What’s wrong with lying about how you truly feel when someone asks “how are you”? Fucking hell, man. Pretending that everything is okay is what makes society fake and unrealistic af. No wonder why people like me fall into that trap and get heavily affected by this mentality. But hey, like I’ve said already I am now cool with the darkness within, and I highly recommend that you do so yourself, dear stranger. There’s no point in trying to shush your demons with shit that’s just as toxic as the bullshit that affects you. In this case, two negatives do not make a positive.

There’s three things that I’ve truly learned this past year. One: you can’t change the past, therefore, you cannot dwell on whether you could’ve done this or that in order to change the outcome of a certain situation. Two: I’ll always be broken. I can never go back to the time when my life wasn’t a living hell. There’s no point in trying to erase what made me who I am today ‘cause, again, you can’t change the past. Three: give time its time. Giving myself time to heal is what I needed. What I still need. As of now, I’m going through a major grieving process. I’ve awakened and faced demons from my past and I can’t just pretend that it’s all easy peasy. It takes shit tons of guts to do so, and it’s the only way to find peace with whom I’ve become. So yeah, time. Real time. Unplugging from anything and everything. I stopped wasting my time caring about others’ well-being and started focusing on me. God dammit, I hate to admit that I cared too much about sooo many people that I never truly gave a shit about me and my well-being... and that’s when the concept of self-care became prominent in my life.

As regards self-care… I’ve always wondered how people could handle their adult shit, you know what I mean, dear stranger? Like, how do they manage to accomplish so many things during their day-to-day lives without losing their shit? Or, like, without making it seem like a mentally draining task? My shrink recommended making a list or having some sort of agenda and yet I always failed at doing everything I had to do for that day, week or whatever. It took me a long time for me to realise… I’m not like everyone else. I can’t be trapped by a routine. I need to be free. I need to do what I feel like doing. My perception of routines are heavily influenced by my anxiety, and if I follow an agenda, I go out of my fucking mind. So I thought of different ways to go through my day-to-day tasks without losing my shit. And the one thing that works for me right now is writing down the things I want to do that day and then checking if I’ve done every single thing I’ve set myself to do that day. Within those tasks I set myself for the day/week, I always make sure to make self-care a priority, which is something I never paid attention to until now. My well-being comes first now. I need to be in a healthy state of mind, otherwise my day turns into a wasted one. Of course this method works for me ‘cause I’m a student and that’s all I have to focus my time on.

Oh, and last but not least. There’s one thing that ties in all of these things that I’ve learnt in the past year: self-confidence. It’s a no brainer that someone like me suffers from low self-esteem. As I grew up being emotionally neglected, I never truly knew if I was good enough to do certain things, and the only things I’ve succeeded at are because I had someone outside of my family circle to encourage me and cheer me up whenever I doubted myself. So I knew very well that I needed to find and “discover” this confidence within me in order to grow stronger, and I did so by recalling all and every accomplishment that I had taken for granted until now… and fuck, I had and “oh, shiiiiit” kinda moment that made me realise that my insecurities had only been fed to me. If I just focus on the facts, I can see how much of a fierce woman I truly am. Ok ok, I don’t wanna sound cocky now. But yeah, I find myself proud of how far I’ve come and man, I’ve done this all by myself?! Seriously, how badass is that?! Fuck you, BPD!

Oh shit, I also forgot to mention the fact that I am now fearless?! Again, another no brainer. People who suffer from mental illness, become fearless at some point along their road to recovery. Let’s take depression for example. Depression literally made me afraid of feeling alive. Every single time something positive happened to me when I was depressed (in the past) made me scared ‘cause I didn’t want to hold on to that glimmer of hope. I didn’t want to believe good things were meant to happen to me. Oh boy, what a broken spirit can do to us...  but hey. At some point last week, I realised that I’ve lost all fear of failing, losing, or even dying. Depression made me think about death as a way out for so long that now that it’s no longer an option and I’m finally living, I don’t think there can be anything scarier nor painful than dealing with my demons on a daily basis. ‘Cause you know what, dear stranger? Living truly is scarier than dying...

Anyways… it’s crazy to think how much a person can get affected by just one traumatic event, in my case five or more, damn. I’m just a chick who went through a lot of shitty things and had no one to talk to and when the pain become too strong, I did the one thing I could think of: numb the pain in every possible way I could, without a care about my well-being. I could’ve easily died many times before yet here I am, still standing strong. Jesus, take a shot every time you read the word “strong”. So yeah, if I’m still here on this earth, then there must be a reason for it, right? Let’s find out together, dear stranger. Shall we? ‘Til next time.

     Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

The art of being Misunderstood

Trying to be misunderstood, just a product of my childhood. Still I find myself outside. You can’t say I haven’t tried. Perhaps I tried too hard. No excuses. I won’t apologise...

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. I didn’t plan on typing something today whatsoever, but! Something happened today… something that happens all the time, yet I’ve never written about it. It is something that frustrates me on days like today… and I want to share these thoughts with you. Hopefully I won’t regret posting this ‘cause damn, shit’s about to get very real, very fast…

One of the main reasons I created My life as Evelyn was because I couldn’t find my voice out there in the real world. As of now, I believe that I’ll forever be a misunderstood soul. It saddens me to say that, throughout my existence, I haven’t found a single person out there who could understand my mind, not to mention my heart (even as a child it was hard for me to explain how my mind worked.) I guess that with time I’ve learnt how to deal with the idea of being misunderstood… but there’s days like today that kinda get me on my nerves and that’s solely because someone completely missed the point when I was talking about mental health and accomplishments. To be honest, the reason why I don’t talk about my mental health with the people I know it’s because it’s all very taboo in my country and they literally look at you like you’ve got leprosy. *smh*

Ok. Warning. Here comes the very real part. It’s kinda graphic. You’ve been warned. You may keep reading.

Anyways. It’s important for me to put this out there in order to make my thoughts as clear as I can. I suffer from BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) since I was 14. Fourteen fucking years old, damn. So young yet so old... Like I mentioned on previous posts, I asked for help when I was that age and then again when I was 16 but, unfortunately, my parents never gave a crap about my mental health. And so, as expected, things got worse in no time. It is only now that I’ve started therapy that everything started to make sense… and most importantly, learning more about this disorder made life easier to live. Oh, and as much as I hate labels, once I was diagnosed, I felt free and most definitely not crazy. I was a victim of child abuse and that, dear stranger, corrupted my well being for many many years. If I had to describe what it’s like to live with BPD, I’d say that darkness lived within me for way too long and it couldn’t leave my body in a “healthy” way, so I became more and more isolated, which made me resort to quiet yet harmful escapes, like alcohol, drugs and self-mutilation, being mutilation both my favourite yet hardest habit to quit. I still see self mutilation as a way to release my demons without anyone noticing. I won’t lie, I like self-mutilation. It’s the one thing that kept me alive all these years. Regardless of how “harmful” it was, the pain left my body when I could no longer take it. The bigger the crisis, the deeper the cut, being those deep cuts the ones that have left scars on my body. And in case you’re wondering dear stranger, no, I don’t regret slicing my skin with a razor. I regret not being able to see sooner that all the memories, all those thoughts about me not being good enough were all lies fed into my brain. I was a victim and unfortunately, everything I went through was never my fault. Man, heaven knows how long I blamed myself for all the things that others did to me. I used to cut myself because I thought I deserved to be punished for all the troubles I caused those who hurt me in the past or for whenever I’d fuck something up. I lived half my life thinking I was a waste of space… fuck, I still think this way sometimes, but it’s not as bad as it used to be… at least not bad enough to resort to self-destruction.

My last post and pretty much all my posts are named purposefully. Resurrection is the most fitting description of what I’m going through now.  The road of recovery has proven to be a very lonely one. Like I typed before, I happen to live in a country where mental illness is pretty much taboo and so it’s hard to find people out there who are open minded and won’t run away the moment you open up about these hardships. Yet, I feel stronger than ever. The battle for survival is mine. I never deserved the things that happened to me. I know I deserve more better in this life. And that, my dear stranger, it’s the one thing that’s kept alive all these years: hope. I’m a warrior by nature. I’ve got a lion heart. I’m a dreamer. I see good in the most evil person. I see good in the devil herself (if you’ve read my previous posts, you know who’s my personal devil. Not worth mentioning that person at all.) Even the most evil person I know hasn’t earned my hate. That wouldn’t be me. That’s not in my nature. I’m angelic at best, if you will. I was corrupted from a very young age, but I still believed in miracles. My ability to dream is what made me survive the horrors of my past and it’s that ability that I hold onto the most. I guess I can also say that I’m pretty stubborn ‘cause no matter how many times I was beaten down (both literally and figuratively) I got up and kept fighting for survival. At times it felt like it was useless, but it was those glimpses of hope that made me see the good in life. And no, I’m not a fucking hippie nor anything like that, baha. I’m still me, Evelyn, I’m just letting the light in to balance out the dark ☯

With all that jazz outta the way, What got me frustrated today was the fact that no one, and by that I mean, no-fucking-one seems to understand where I come from when I explain/tell someone something. I usually go about my day just fine lately… but boy, don’t ever expect me to talk about something without my insightful thoughts. I have a very politically correct way of expressing myself, and at times, poetic. But! I never ever talk about my mental health ‘cause nobody gives a shit about it, so as a default, it’s not something I talk about unless it’s my shrink *sheds fake tear* So yeah, today I found myself talking about how well I’ve been dealing with my BPD hardships (btw, I never use the term BPD because it literally freaks people out. Sad but true). And I ended up getting a negative response? This person missed the entire point of what I was trying to say? Why do I have to say out loud “I’m a recovering BPD patient and and that’s why the progress I made is huge!”? Can’t you just put yourself in my shoes and try to understand how much this means to me? No? Yeah, I thought so. I’m alone in this battle once again. When will people try and be kinder? Man, I’m lucky I survived but damn, not finding someone who at least tries to understand what you have to fight through on a daily basis is also a bitch. There’s nothing more isolating than feeling like you’re a fish out of water. It is days like today that make me upset ‘cause I really, truly want to live my life unapologetically (which I do, don’t get me wrong), without having to deal with people who couldn’t care less about trying to empathise with you. I want to live without being ashamed of having BPD. Live and let others live, man!

Anyways, does this happen to you too, dear stranger? I hope not. I hope you have someone who accepts you and loves you unconditionally, but most importantly, I hope you have someone out there who gets you and stays by your side no matter what. We all deserve to be cherished. Man, I don’t even know that feeling… I crave that feeling more than life itself. As of now, I’ll keep on living… half alive. Sending you lots of love and strength from my home to yours. ‘Til next post.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Resurrection

I tried to be someone else but nothing seemed to change. I know now, this is who I really am inside. I finally found myself fighting for a chance. I know now, this is who I really am.

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. I want to type something quick yet simple for today tonight, so I apologise in advance if my writing seems too sloppy. I want this post to be a testament of positivity and hope for all of us who struggle with any mental illness.

As I was packing my bags a couple of minutes earlier, while listening to music on my headphones (I’m still listening to keep my muse awake), everything clicked, in an epiphany kind of way…

I know how much I’ve grown in the last couple of months. I’ve been telling myself over and over every single thing I’ve accomplished but I’ve never really processed it until now. I remember vividly how I told something to my friend last night. And then I apologised about what I said… on the inside I was like “WTF, why am I apologising? Since when do I freaking apologise for being who I am?!” I know I’ve lost a lot of people who meant the world to me at the time (notice how badly I used the term lost, bahaha) yet not once I regret ever being myself. They all left because didn’t accept me for who I was… and for sooo long I’ve been sad about those goodbyes… and you know what, dear stranger? FUCK THEM. Just fuck ‘em. They were the biggest pieces of shit to me. The moment they saw me crying, getting wasted (getting Glenda out in the open more like it) or having a panic attack, they walked the fuck away from me.

Anyways, Back to what I was telling my friend. First off, I told her that “the moment I left the ICU (where my uncle was hospitalised) I teared up a little. I really wanted to cry… but my mother was there. My cousin wanted to hold me but I told him I didn’t want to be touched.” And the devil, I mean, my mother had the audacity to say, with a condescending tone if I may add, “she’s like that”. Of course I didn’t tell this last bit to my friend ‘cause she wouldn’t understand. If you’re an abuse survivor, you know how it is with physical contact... And to that my friend told me I needed to be strong. So I told her: “I am strong. In fact, I am a strong woman, but most importantly, I am an adult, and that’s what makes me keep my head up high whenever I come here for a ‘visit’. And that’s probably why I’ll never truly be myself when I’m in my hometown. It’s like a defence mechanism I’ve developed throughout the years... that’s what’s been eating away at me these past few days, not being who I really am. I’m staying here for my family (aka anyone that didn’t share the same household with me. Just so you know.) Not my parents nor you nor the rest of my friends over here… ‘cause everything I’ve built, everything I’ve accomplished, the woman I am today, I did that myself. No one else helped me. With time I learned that no one can nor should save me.” Here comes the apology. Dun dun dun. What an asshole. Sorry, keep reading. “I’m sorry. I haven’t told anyone how I’ve truly been feeling these past few days so I guess I’ll leave it at this.” So yeah, that’s pretty much what I said and wanted to share with you, dear stranger.

Ok, back to that moment when everything “clicked”. This conversation I had with my friend... this whole trip made me completely and utterly realise how much I’ve grown these past few months. There’s things I cannot change and that I have to accept, but now I know that none of this bullshit that I have to endure whenever I come to my hometown is going to kill me. I did get toxified. Dammit, I still am, and I can’t waaaait to be back home, enjoying everything’s that’s real and right in this world. My world. Whatever the fuck this is that I get to live, it’s misery at its best, at times it’s Hell... but it’s only temporary. And these past few weeks of seeing and witnessing more traumatic shit, makes me truly grateful for having a home to get back to. I just really hope that this small piece of Heaven I created for myself will last and won’t get ripped away by my old ways. And most importantly, I hope that you, dear stranger, have also created your own piece of Heaven, Nirvana, whatever you call it. Just know that sometimes you gotta fight alone, but it’s oh-so worth it! Please don’t self-sabotage. Please don’t succumb to self-infliction. Please don’t take your life because of it.  I went through those 3 roads before, sometimes more than once, and it didn’t work at all. I mean, fuck yes, I’m not gonna lie, it does work for a little bit, but then you’re back to the real world and it’s all still looking the same. You gotta keep pushing. You gotta keep fighting. Sorry for my shitty and abrupt typing. I just wanted you to have this for whenever you’re feeling like shit. I’m here for you, in some way or another. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

  Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Baby steps

I settled down a twisted up frown disguised as a smile, well, you would have never known. I had it all but not what I wanted 'cause hope for me was a place uncharted and overgrown. You'd make your way in, I'd resist you just like this. You can't tell me to feel. The truth never set me free. So, I did it myself... You can't be too careful anymore when all that is waiting for you won't come any closer. You've got to reach out a little more, more, more... Open your eyes like I opened mine, it's only the real world. A life you will never know. Shifting your weight to throw off the pain. Well, you can ignore it but only for so long. You look like I did, you resist me just like this. You can't tell me to heal. And it hurts remembering how it felt to shut down... You can't be too careful anymore when all that is waiting for you won't come any closer. You've got to reach out a little more, more, more...

The truth never set me free The truth never set me free The truth never set me free So, I'll do it myself...

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. First off, happy new year to you, reading this post. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to type ‘cause… well, I’m not the most decisive person out there, you know? Part of me wanted to type about the fucked up stuff that’s been happening in the background, but! After careful consideration, I’ll focus on what “normal” Evelyn would type. In other words, I don’t want the things (people really) that hurt me to be ever so present on this post in particular. So! Without further ado, here it goes…

As of now, I find myself lost in my roots, so to speak… without any poetic decoration, I’m at my parents, doing my duty of daughter. And if you haven’t guessed by now, dear stranger, I’m quite the loner. I was unintentionally raised that way, so much that now I can’t really stand being with people who I barely have something in common other that shared DNA. Man, I sound like a bitch, but that’s the way it is with my family. Cold and distant. A civilized relationship at best… *pain starts crippling in*… I set myself up in order to come here and not dwell on traumatic events. It’s not easy, but! It’s possible. Throughout the years I’ve learned about the things that trigger my anxiety and I try my best to distract myself as quick as I can. For example, as I’m typing this, I’ve got my headphones on and I’m listening to 976-evil by Deftones. For every ship, there has to be an anchor, and mine’s always been music or someone who inspires me to be better. But yeah, it’s mostly music. And this “he” individual I mentioned in The mask has left the picture now and I’m way better off without him.

I’m sorry about the rant but I honestly didn’t know how to truly start this post. Now that I warmed up (it’s been a while since my last post, I know, I know), let me tell you about all these good things that I want to focus on.

2017 was a year of growth. Little did I know that in order for me to move on from the many things and people who were/are hurting me, I basically needed to grow up. Whoooaaa oh shit. You see, most of the traumatic events I went through happened when I was a child. And, in a way, most of my fears come from my inner child. I truly needed to set apart “my child self” from the mature woman I am now. And that, my dear stranger, was the thing that made me heal the most these past twelve months. I had to grow up and become the woman I am now in order to see things differently. Holy shit, who would’ve known? Even though I’m in a much better place now, the one thing that still haunts me are my nightmares… I hate them. They catch me off guard every time… but they are rare, so it’s not that bad anymore.

Today I stumbled upon a thought: “if only I’d grown up in a different place or with a different family… man, I’d be this mellow person that I know I am deep down. No trauma. No pain. Just this peace of mind that I’m now starting to find.” But hey, the past is done with me. I’m stronger than ever now and I’ve learnt a lot. I guess that’s what happens when you’re born backwards, you live all the hard stuff first and then you’re out there living life feeling empowered af. Right? Whatever.

As I’ve said on previous posts, I’m more in tune with my dark side and that’s helped me tremendously. Rejecting this part of me that carries all the bad memories was never gonna work. By accepting and understanding this part of me made all the difference in the world. Again, another sign of maturity. Oh shiiit. Who’s dat girl? Lala lala lala lala lalalalala🎵

Another good thing that I did for myself this past year was art. Yes. I focused a bit more on my artistic side. For as long as I can remember, I always enjoyed painting and drawing and doing all sorts of artistic stuff. And, I’ve never really done art as a thing, you know what I mean? So yeah, this year I was determined to have my art in some gallery out there. And I did. Man, that was one of the most rewarding moments of my life. I created something that I was very proud of and I got the best feedback I could’ve ask for. The response to what I created blew me away. A lot of people were intrigued and wanted to know more about the creative process and I gladly talked everyone through the entire process. It was fuuun, to say the least.

Oh, shit! Another thing I almost forgot to mention. Yoga. Yes! For so many years I didn’t do yoga because of my back injuries, but when I heard about Rachel Brathen’s story about yoga and her own back problems, I was inspired to give it a shot, and I did. So worth it. Yoga has definitely strengthen my mind and my body. Most importantly, yoga is one of those activities that are most definitely in tune with my soul. I’m a peaceful being regardless of my anxiety. So, hooray!

Ok, there’s plenty of other things that I did that filled me with both joy and pride, but I don’t wanna pinpoint anything else. I guess that the point of this post is to remind myself and everyone reading this that it’s okay to live your truth, your dreams, anything that brings you peace, no matter what. If you wanna grab a boat and go live on a fucking island, do it. If you wanna leave the city and move to a cottage in the woods, then fucking go for it. Fear isn’t an excuse. Hell, excuses aren’t an option. That’s it. All it takes is one decision, a lot of guts, a little vision to wave your worries and cares, goodbye. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

The mask

There is no pain, you are receding. A distant ship smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying. When I was a child I had a fever, my hands felt just like two balloons. Now I've got that feeling once again. I can't explain, you would not understand. This is not how I am. I have become comfortably numb.

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. This is gonna be a different type of post. I want to write something that’ll definitely shake my comfort zone… and the only way to do that is by waking Glenda up… yeah, I’’ve written about this alter ego of mine in the past. Glenda is pretty much the darkness within; that part of me that needs to be kept under control… but not anymore... given the fact that I’m going through a sort of “stable” time in my life, it’s safe to say that I can have a healthy conversation with her… So! Here we go… *continues getting drunk and smoking*

Every time I try to hide away from these waves of pain, I get wasted, I do drugs and or, worst case scenario, I self harm (the latter being the one that truly makes the pain go away.) As of now, I’ve never been more in tune with my dark side… yet that doesn’t mean that the healing process is over. My shrink has assured me that my grieving process is far from being over. I guess that the fact that I’m opening up about past traumas has helped me tremendously… but fuck, I still can’t see past the self destruction path. I know it’s wrong, but oh man, it’s the only thing that really makes the pain go away, at least for a few days. And yes, I know it’s not the fucking solution… but little do outsiders know that when you’ve been through hellish experiences, self destruction is nothing compared to the pain that others have caused you. In my case, life feels weird now…. I feel caught in between this pain and “real life”. Sometimes I feel so much joy that I can’t seem to feel like it’s the right feeling. All my life I was led to believe that being put down, look down on… basically being treated like shit was the way life should be lived… and now I find myself living life “the right way” and fuck, I just don’t get it (yet.) How do people live their lives like this?! I often wonder how beautiful their surroundings must be… how precious their lives must have been and how cool it is that they actually know how to live their lives without their past haunting them or being triggered by past traumas… this is something that I have now accepted… I’ll never not remember these shitty memories, the fucked up things that I had to witness and what my body can still remember… I now know that my past will always haunt me… and at some point every day, some dark memory comes back and I’m reminded of that darkness I can’t seem to bury… sometimes I feel as if the darkness tries to creep in and ruin the moment, but I fight it with all my might… ‘cause I know now that it was never my fault, I was always the victim… I still am.

Daily life, in a way, has turned into a task where I have to remind myself that this is what I always dreamed of all along… but now that it’s slowly turning into a reality, it doesn’t feel right. At least not yet… I find myself looking away from people, places, faces… I look up to the sky or any place where there’s no one looking at me… just to pull myself back to the present. Other times, I find myself half smiling when others are laughing their asses off at something… I’m just not there with them yet… I won’t put a name on this psychological state… but those who do feel the same, you know what I’m talking (typing) about… *lights another cigarette* The funny thing about this bullshit is that it started happening the moment I stopped resorting to self-destruction, and fuuuuck me, I just can’t seem to find some peace of mind yet… The brain is such a mysterious fucking thing, man. So yeah, this past week has been filled with these moments. They just lie there, in the background… and it sucks.

Anyways, back to the “real” world… regardless of these shitty short lived moments that crumble to the surface, I’m doing well, dear stranger. The episodes only last for a few minutes… I’m thankful for my resilience and my strength, but most importantly, I’m thankful for my will to move on. But man, I’m well aware of how fucked up it is to go through these episodes. On the bright side, I’ve still got my anchor… he (not to be confused with He; seriously, who believes in He when you’ve been through hell anyway?) is the one person who can pull me out of this insanity. When he’s around, I feel normal, and that says a lot. Sorry for not giving names nor speaking about this one person in particular, dear stranger, but you see, I love mystery… And let’s be real though, who the fuck cares anyway? *drinks another sip of mojito*

Ok… so I guess that the point of this post is to type something true (and encouraging, I guess.) After all, that’s what I do, I type things from the heart. I don’t ever hold back, you know? It breaks my heart when people can’t seem to tell their truth unapologetically. I try my best to let people know that I’m not a person who judges. All contrary, society is so fucked up that we can’t tell our truth out there without sounding crazy and, in return, we have to hold back and pretend that we’re okay. That’s the real bullshit, my dear stranger.

Anyway, again, I want you to know that I’m okay. Things are better. I cope with things in a more “normal” way now. I do my talk therapy, I learn to love myself every single day and I learn something new every day as well, whether it is something about me or the world that surrounds me. I embrace my past and let it prove to me that there’s sooo many better things to come… but for now, the pain needs to be felt. I need to embrace it, let it be part of me so that I can, eventually, lead the life I know I can have. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Schism

When the sun turns cold and starts to fade and you don't know where your bed is made. There's a hazy glow you cannot save, memories flood like acid rain... When the sun turns red and starts to hurt and you know what was said was undeserved. All the jealous cries of the misunderstood; currency of the restrained. What I wouldn't give, what I could never give, I would have given to you. I swear I would have tried to have you in my life, to make you happy... but you break everything you touch. For me it was too much. Hoped to make me brighter, stronger... but you took away my light, till I was left with night. Dreams that just grew longer, harder...

Hello again, dear stranger, it’s me, again. Evelyn. If you’ve read my previous post, thank you for reading. It’s time for me to type a part II of the Pandemonium post... ‘cause things happen for a reason, right? Again, this is another spontaneous post. I won’t hold back at all… I dunno if this is gonna be helpful for others, but hey, Imma post it anyways.

Ok, so in Pandemonium I typed about self-loathing and the need for validation. Before I continue, just know that this is something I hate talking about. I avoid this subject entirely in real life. Honestly, who the fuck likes to admit that they’re weak? Yeah, I know, right? *lights yet another cigarette* But yeah, fuck it, better out than in. Not gonna lie about it, dear stranger, I’ve been stalling like a motherfucker on this post for too long now…

After years and years of being in toxic relationships, I now find myself free of almost all of them. I do admit that at this moment I haven’t cut ties completely with people who I know aren’t really adding anything positive to my life. But how can I explain to you something I can’t even understand about myself? I guess that, in a way, I’m used to being intoxicated by others. There’s a part of me who loves helping people and so, I want to be there for everyone, even if they don’t deserve my attention at all.

Love, in every shape of form, is supposed to be a positive feeling, right? Then why do I find myself in need of love of those who can’t even love themselves? Why do I still want them in my life when I know 100% that they’re using me? Do I want them in my life because I love them or because I need them to need me? Is it really a relationship worth having? Deep down I wanna tell ‘em to fuck off… but then I’m like, meh, whatever. It’s just another bad day between us. Why the fuck are we like this?!

Cheap thrills. That’s what first comes to my mind. We use each other and then move on with our lives… but there’s a part of me now that cares too much. And it wants to let go…but I’m weak. I need them. I need them for some sort of validation. And fuck me, I’m such a fucking weak asshole sometimes. It’s like I forget how to be the badass woman that I know I am… I get bored and I forget about the previous bullshit that they’ve done to me just to hang out again and pretend like everything’s okay.

And so I try my best to forget about these assholes and move on with my days. I get bored and lonely, and when that happens, my anxiety kicks in. I need the cheap thrills. I need to get out of my head. I need to get away from my dark thoughts… and I struggle to find solace in the stupidest things. My self-destruction kicks in and I know it very well. Sometimes I go out at night and walk alone. I walk and smoke some cigarettes. Other times I stop somewhere and have some Irish coffee. By the way, I no longer have alcohol at home. It’s for the best… in some ways it works, but it’s not completely effective. A couple of weeks ago, I had to rush back home because I started having a freaking panic attack at a bar (my worst one so far. Fuuuck.)

Loneliness has proven to be my worst enemy my entire life. Even now I can feel that motherfucker eating away at me. If only I knew the right people to trust…unfortunately, the right people live kilometres away from here. And so, I paint the most toxic people with bright colours in an attempt to make the loneliness go away… and the vicious circle continues… it never ends…

I’ve got nothing positive to say about this post ‘cause there’s nothing positive about toxicity. I’m well-aware of its existence in my life, yet I crave the things that hurt me the most… ‘cause that’s the only type of love I know. I was never loved the right way. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been loved unconditionally. They’ve always loved me with conditions. They love the cheap thrills too. They loathe something about themselves too. And so, we feed of each others’ bullshit. We move on until we need each other again… or we even reach for one another out of guilt, only to realise that it’s still the same bullshit over and over again.

The only way I’ve managed to end toxic relationships in the past was because they’ve hurt me in some way or another, and that’s made me end things right away, without looking back… but if they haven’t hurt me, how I can hate them enough to tell ‘em to fuck off? All honesty, I’m not capable of hating anyone… the ones that I’ve let go haven’t truly had an impact on my life. But those who have… hmm… how can I say this? I’m like Samantha Jones with her beau Jerrod Smith. If you don’t know what I’m talking typing about… fuck it, I’m too lazy to explain right now. If you know, great. If you don’t, well, let’s just say that I suck at letting go sometimes. I’m a rational human being. I’m cold and distant in many ways. And I’m also a perfectionist, so if you add loneliness and a desperate need for validation into the mix, then you can guess how fucked up I am.

Before I go, just know that these are just my thoughts on a shitty day like this. I’m both enlightened and disgusted by my own demons. My body fights these dark thoughts, this shitty feeling, but it’s not enough. My mind and heart disconnect. And so my body can’t take the pain that tears me away and it eventually gives in… until the next day comes and I feel reborn (or not). But man do I hate these wasted days. I hate this illness. I wish I could be okay. I wish I could find peace for good. But it’s not enough. We’re not meant to survive on our own. I’m too young to feel this old… That’s all. Wish me luck as I try to detoxify from these shit habits lifestyle of mine in the hopes of finding strength without anyone’s validation. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

    Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Pandemonium

...and so I cry sometimes when I'm lying in bed just to get it all out, what's in my head, and I, I am feeling a little peculiar. And so I wake in the morning and I step outside, I take a deep breath and I get real high and I scream from the top of my lungs, ‘what's going on?!’

And I try, oh, my God, do I try. I try all the time, in this institution. And I pray, oh, my God, do I pray. I pray every single day for a revolution.

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. And here I am, 8p.m… ish. Cigarette in hand. Not knowing where to begin typing… this year I’ve found myself typing tons of posts but they end up on the draft section… and that’s mostly because my thoughts have been all over the place this year. Even though I feel the urge to type something, it’s always hard to wrap my own fucking mind around these thoughts… so I thought it might as well be better to type what first comes to mind… after all, I’m known for being spontaneous… so here it goes…

Ok, so like I said, cigarette in hand and I’m typing something… in a way, I’m forcing myself to type something as a way to avoid self-destruction. Things have been doing better, yet that doesn’t mean I’m fully recovered. Hell, I will never be 100%. No one can. I know depression and anxiety like the back of my hand, and it’s safe to say that I can handle both fuckers pretty well now… yet I’m still shit at dealing with my self-loathing ‘quality’. And today’s one of those days when the three of them are present… usually, that’s when I resort to self-destruction. It hard as it is dealing with two mental illnesses at once, but man, when I get possessed by this fucked up demon that tells me at shit in every sense of the word, it’s hard to ignore that fucking voice entirely.

You see, we’re all products of our influences *lights another cigarette* I, unfortunately, grew up in a very toxic environment, to say the least. But even though I broke free of that toxicity, my mind is still detoxifying from the brainwashing I had to endure growing up. So yeah, I can still hear that demon telling me I’m not pretty enough, that I’m fat or… well, you get the idea. And so, I turned into this adult who needs validation from others in order to feel self-sufficient. But here’s the thing. I don’t go around asking people to like me, love me or tell me that I’m this or that… ‘cause I’m pretty aware of my flaws. And I fucking hate being needy. Again, another ‘quality’ (good or bad? who knows) I developed growing up.

The problem with growing up with so many shitty qualities is that it’s pretty fucking hard to evolve and move past those dark thoughts that were fed into your brain from a young age. And yeah, I hate it when these thoughts freeze me the fuck out of me, you know? It’s a never-ending battle, man.

Anyway, today was one of those ays when I woke up on the wrong side of my bed. Usually, I have nightmares and they kinda cloud my thoughts for the rest of the day… and so, the day drags like a motherfucker… ‘cause it’s not like you can go out there and talk about it with everyone you meet… society it’s still pretty fucked up. Mental illness is still a fucking taboo subject and that makes it really hard for people like me to go around and “pretend” like everything is okay. It all stays in your head and you have to try your best to work it out before these thoughts destroy you... and then people are shocked when they find out someone committed suicide or did something that ‘isn’t like them’ *smh* I’m truly thankful of the fact that I’ve become the best version of myself, even though it stil hurts having to deal with this suffering on my own. I know, it’s not fair, it’s not right; it is what it is. I’m pretty fucking sure I’d be a better functioning human being if I only knew the right people to trust... I know there are people out there who are struggling like me but are probably doing way worse than me… and that breaks my heart.

Ok… I feel like I’ve been ranting more than anything. Sorry about that. I won’t go into detail about what is truly hurting me right now. Like I said typed earlier, this is an spontaneous post and I don’t intend to edit whatever it is I’m trying to convey. I guess that I’m mostly typing something for those who are fighting a harder battle than mine. I really hope this post helps you in some way.

Oh, and since I didn’t really type what is troubling my soul today… I’ll end this post here and type something more eloquent next ‘cause why the fuck not. Thanks for reading.

    Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Revival

Though I take hit after hit, I realise the higher reason is accepting challenges as gifts. And through the fight I never really knew that I would find myself, that's why I give my thanks to you It doesn't have to be a world away. I can feel the sun like it's inside of me I know that if I get to know my pain, I unlock a hundred different doors to better days My life is what I make it. I choose to rise and take it from your hands This is not my punishment, this is my catalyst for growth I know I will survive this I'll be the strongest person I know

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. I’ve been meaning to type this post for the past three days and it’s time for it to leave my head. So yeah, here it goes... Mind you, I typed fuck a lot in this one.

After typing cleanse, I was 97% sure that this elated feeling I was left with was gonna last for two or three more days tops but fuck, how am I still in this state of mind?! The more days go by, the more I feel like this old self of mine is coming back, which I never thought possible. I like to think that each one of us changes in a way that some of our traits cannot be revived whatsoever. I guess I closed my mind into thinking that once you’ve been hurt past your point of tolerance, a part of you dies, living room for another self to pull through out of all the darkness that is now rooted within your soul… but if there’s anything that I’ve been reminded of these past few days is that I’ve still got a not-so-defectuous soul left in me after all.

Now, this post was born in my head three days ago when one of my dearest friends asked me “What are you so afraid of?” We were interrupted so I couldn’t give her an answer, yet that didn’t stop me from going through my head trying to figure it out… and the answer was so clear. For sooo fucking long I’ve been afraid to face the pain that tears me apart on a daily basis. I’ve been lying to myself for the last couple of months. I did choose the statu quo over the real deal. And for fuck’s sakes, how could I have been so blind?! I remember clearly how, decades ago, my heart was deeply hurt by a feeling that will always haunt me… today, that same pain is still there, along with what my mind and body can still remember. I’ve experienced three different types of heartbreaks and yet, here I am, still alive. But that’s not it. Fuck, that’s not even close enough. There’s still a part of me that needs to die before another part of me can break free.

I’ve experienced grief three times in my life. First, when I was 5, the second was when I was 12 and the third one when I was 23. And hell, I’m no different from that 5 year-old Evelyn. Whenever someone came to console me, I’d let them hold me but I never let them see my pain. I developed that statuesque façade when I was only 5 and I unconsciously kept it going my entire life. 'Til this day I can’t even hug someone without feeling awkward. I’m still as cold and distant as I was 20 years ago. People mistake it for shyness, whereas I, well, I just keep my feelings to myself. You see, my love comes through actions, not words. I’m no close to saying I love you than I was 20 years ago. I’ve only dropped the L bomb out of pressure, not out of genuineness. All my life I chose to be nice rather than a bitch. And that’s my problem. I haven’t quite figured out how to be at ease with how I’ve chosen to let my feelings out, thus I remain cold and distant, or awkward and shy… so yeah, when I hear someone telling me how much they care about me I just nod instead of saying “yeah, me too” or “yeah, I feel the same way”. Fuuuuuck. Funny enough, for the past two months, this new voice in the back of my head has been saying “I really want to hug my friend. Go on, do it now!” or “Tell her/him how grateful you are for having her/him in your life. Now it’s the time, bitch!” and I completely ignore those thoughts. Oh, well…

If there’s anything I’m trying to change at the moment, is shaking my comfort zone. I still haven’t made my smile reach my eyes and I really don’t give a flying fuck about what that means either. All I know is that I want to convey whatever it is that I’m feeling through real, outspoken words, not just on paper or here or whatevs. But fucking hell, it’s just abso-fucking-lutely hard. I see people throwing words and feelings at each other and I find it either overwhelming unfamiliar or obnoxious (some people abuse their use of words, man.) As far as I can remember, words have hurt me more than anything, so they’ve always had a very negative impact on how I feel… (except for when I listen to music or write something of my own.) But things are different now, I’m finally surrounded by people how truly care about me, instead of trying to use me for some fucked up purpose. Ugh. End of paragraph. Fucked up memories coming through.

It’s funny to think that breaking out of my comfort zone implies saying how I feel out loud without losing myself, when in reality I’ve been lost all along. I was born backwards, and this is what I get in life. I experienced everything in reverse. The fucked up stuff came way too early for me to learn how to kill it away and thus, it shaped this darkness within from early on… and now that it’s finally time to let the light in, I don’t even know how to deal with it. Everyone tells me how they live their lives and how they’re doing and I’m left here wondering: “wow, is that a thing? My life can actually turn into this ‘positive’ thing?” “Can I actually be a loner no more?” “Can I truly find peace by surrounding myself with the right people? But most importantly: “Is it possible for me to become a ‘proper’ functioning human being, leaving behind my tortured past?” “Is there really a chance for me to become this woman by reviving the Evelyn that was put to sleep 21 years ago?” “Will I be a vessel no more?” “Will I ever stop feeling like a stranger in another land?” Only time will tell. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Cleanse

You don’t know a thing about this life And we are up for everything it takes to prove we’re not the same as them And we will wear our masks again out after dark ‘Cause we are up for everything it takes and we are not the same ‘Cause we are not afraid and we are not ashamed

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. This post is gonna be a special one. I’ve been writing these thoughts in my head for a couple of weeks now. I knew I needed to process all these thoughts before giving you something eloquent and proper. So, here it is...

It all started after Chester Bennington’s alleged suicide. ‘Til this day I haven’t cried about it, yet I still I can’t shake this feeling of discomfort in my heart. A couple of days ago I tried listening to his songs again but it feels like shit, man. To clarify, I don’t claim to be a hardcore Linkin Park fan, but I did grow up listening to their music. After all, I was only 9 years old when I first listened to One Step Closer… so it’s safe to say that they earned a place in my rock heart… Even though I don’t listen to their new stuff, I still supported them, especially Chester. I followed him on Twitter and I was up to speed with his endeavors and contributions to the world. He was truly inspiring… and seeing him go like that hurt terribly… but it mostly made me feel frustrated. There’s nothing that hurts more than seeing a beautiful soul being taken away by his own demons. Chester was a warrior and no matter how his life ended, he will remain a hero to millions of people. He fought hard and I have no doubt in my mind that what happened to him was only a moment of weakness. And, oooh man, don’t I know that feeling. Sometimes the anchor is not heavy enough to keep you ashore. Sometimes the rope rips off and you drown in the ocean. ‘Cause that’s how I see depression, as a big ocean: you can swim back to the shore, but other times you are dragged so far away that your arms are too tired to swim back… Man, it’s crazy to think that the moment I was at home listening to LP’s music, Chester was being taken away from us… fuck, it hurts like a bitch.

After Chester’s passing, I’ve been thinking of him on and off these past few weeks and I’ve been trying to make something positive out of it. I’ve been trying to make myself remember to stay in the light... I was so caught up in that thought that I was sort of missing the point, which is to keep on living with my head up high and staying strong. For someone like me, it’s truly hard to find people who’ve been through the same thing as I did. I know that we’ve all felt pain at some point in our lives… but Chester and I have similar pasts, therefore it’s a similar type of pain… so yeah, whenever I talked to someone about Chester’s passing, they didn’t quite get where I was coming from story of my life.

Anyways, I think that Chester’s death comes to all of us as a way to appreciate the life we’ve been given (at least that’s how I see it from my perspective.) I know for damn sure that my mental illness is something constant in my life, something that you learn to live with. You can learn how to live with it, but most importantly, you need to learn how to accept it. As crazy as it may sound, I see my mental illness as a blessing in disguise. Yup, you read it right. I know I’m fucking strong. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m ready for whatever hardship may come my way. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’ve been through Hell and back, and there’s really no other worst place you can go to after that. And I also know that there could be more fucked up things coming my way but I’ve accepted my faith… and that’s what’s given me peace. And to use Riley Blue’s words, I think of myself as:

So yeah, these past few weeks I felt a bit isolated whenever this feeling of grief came to my heart.Then, a beautiful blessing came this past weekend. The man I love the most. The man who saved my life. If you’ve read the post where I typed how much he means to me, you know who he is. But yeah, if you haven’t read it, it’s Gerard Way. Oh man, just typing his name makes me choke up a little. He’s the only one that makes me feel, the only one who makes me feel like I can love in the most pure way, he’s the only who makes feel alive, like I’m actually living and breathing along with the rest of the world. Fuck, I even get all poetic and shit when I talk about him. Ok, back to the blessing… my hero had his second annual charity fundraising. He raises money by livestreaming with some friends playing and creating art for 24 hours during the weekend. And man, wasn’t I blessed enough with his presence these past two days. Fuck, I don’t think I can ever put into words how motherfucking happy he makes me (and happy is a word I rarely use.) He saves my life by just existing, man. He reminds me that I’m capable of loving. And I love him in the purest form. He makes me feel pure. He makes me feel like all the pain is gone and all that’s left is happiness. And it is with this elated feeling that I wanted to type this post. I wanted this pure Evelyn to come through and type with her heart on her sleeve… ‘cause it’s this pure Evelyn the only part of me that remains sane. The one part of me that keeps me alive is that piece of heart that this band called My Chemical Romance saved with their music. It’s with that purity that I’ve stayed alive this long. And it is mostly this man named Gerard Way that makes my life worth living. His presence will always be a reminder of how happy I can be. Gerard Way makes the pain go away, man. No matter how fucked up and dark it gets, only this man can pull me through. No one can take this away from me. No one can ever tear this apart. This form of love can only happen once in your life, I’m sure of that. It is a kind of love that I never knew I could feel, but I do. Don’t get me wrong here, dear stranger, I love Gerard Way with all my fucking heart, but no, I’m not in love with him. This type of love is celestial. It is this type of love that helps me see the light. This type of love is the one that that cleanses my soul. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for days, but it helps me through. It is this type of love that keeps my feet on the ground and helps me see past all the bullshit that’s been going on in my life, in this case, these past few weeks. ‘Cause it’s not just Chester’s passing that impacted me in some way, it is also this stage of rebirth that I’ve been going through. All these changes that have been happening during this rebirth have been a part of me and only me. No one is aware of it ‘cause this is a change that I don’t feel like sharing with anyone but you, dear stranger. After all, I relate better with strangers more than anybody who’s present in my life. It might be a choice, it might not, but all I know now is that I am as alone as I could ever be, yet not once I have felt lonely. I know now what/who I should be holding on to, and that’s good enough for me, that’s all I ever needed to survive. I know what I have to do stay alive. I take everything I can get, right or wrong, but I’ll stay here, fighting like the motherfucking warrior that I am. And, as I sometimes tell you, if you don’t believe in yourself, I’ll be right here, believing in you. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Unbreakable

You'll never take me alive. You'll never take me alive. Do what it takes to survive 'cause I'm still here. You'll never get me alive. You'll never take me alive. Do what it takes to survive, and I'm still here. You'll never take me alive. You'll never get me alive. Do what it takes to survive and I'm still here. You'll never get me. You'll never take me. You'll never get me alive.

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. Today I’m typing with tears in my eyes. I’m letting the pain in, and it hurts... SO much... but at the same time I’m proud of myself ‘cause this is one of those nights when everything could turn to shit and I could quickly relapse... but tonight I choose to be strong. Tonight I’m letting the pain pierce through me like a bullet. Today I won’t feel sorry for myself. Today I hold my head up high and embrace whatever comes my way... the pain is so strong that my body is shaking. The more I try to hold it together, the more it hurts and the more I embrace this pain, the more okay I am with it.

I guess that for years I tried to be what everyone else wanted me to be. I’ve tried to be normal and pretend that I’ve got my shit together and that couldn’t be any further from the truth... Truth is, I’m broken and I might always be that way. Truth is that for years I’ve been holding back these tears ‘cause big girls don’t cry. And fuck. How can that be fucking healthy?! I’ve spent all these years numbing the pain away with pills, booze, cigarrettes or bleeding and what for? This shitty pain won’t leave me alone, it haunts me and gets the best of me whenever I let my guard down. And those who have found me in these conditions, don’t dare to look me in the eye or offer a helping hand. People are not cut out to deal with people like us. People who have been through Hell and back. People who have seen evil right in the eye. People who would give anything to live for a day without these demons living in our heads. People like us will never know what it’s like to live a day without worrying about fucking things up with their troubling thoughts. People like us can only dream about a future where we are saved from the horrors we’ve once seen; horrors that the blessed ones can’t ever think of... People like us are forced to face the demons day by day. We are forced to push away every thought that threatens to break us apart. That’s who we are: warriors & survivors. All that’s left of us is a glimmer of hope whenever something nice happens, and it is up to us and only us to hold on tight to that light that can save us from our damnation.

All I know right now is that there’s two paths that lead to two different doors. The first path is the one where we came from, and the second one is the new one, the one we created for ourselves with both our hopes and dreams. But here’s the thing: choosing the second path does not mean it’s all sunshine and rainbows. In fact, you may run into some obstacles along the way, and those obstacles may be ghosts that are living behind the first door and they miss you sooo much that they beg you to come back... ‘cause they know that’s your comfort zone. There’s a reason why ghosts haunt you: they hate being alone. They want you to turn into one of them. And it’s oh so simple to give in... But you need to be strong, dear stranger. You have to be strong. You have to prove your worth... not to anybody but yourself. Bleeding hearts like ours are the ones that are meant to save this fucked up world from its misery, ‘cause we know very well what’s it’s like to survive in the dark.

I believe that love is the one thing that can save us. I believe that the love that has been denied to me all this time is what hurts the most. I think that I have been storing this love for as long as I know or I have let it be something toxic for my well being. My sense of love is what makes me pure, what makes me feel everything deeper. Love is the one force that makes sense in this universe. To love is to be human. And Hell, I know that right now I crave to be loved... but first I need to learn how to love myself. It’s time for me to love every part of me as it is. No buts nor ifs. I am who I am and I don’t ever want nor need to change that. I refuse to let this bleeding heart get more intoxicated by those who don’t know how to love me for who I am. It’s not their fault that they’re fucked up. And it is also not my fault that I was brought up into this world in a blanket of darkness. And man, it is definitely not my fault that I feel so deeply. I’ve been waiting in vain for years and years and I know now that toxic love is not love at all; it’s all fucking bullshit, a complete lie; it’s love that’s been corrupted. I have been corrupted. I’ve been so corrupted that, for as long as I can remember, I believed that self-destruction was the way to change and fix the parts of me that people wouldn’t and couldn’t love. I’ve been so corrupted that I’ve been led to believe that I was never good enough. I’ve been so corrupted that I’ve been led to believe that my existence was not worthy of this Earth... but now it’s all very clear: I’ve never truly been loved, but hated, rejected and tossed like garbage. And as I come to this conclusion, I can feel how cold my soul has been all my life. I can feel the naive and innocent child inside me finding peace and comfort. I can feel that first door closing, slowly... but surely. I feel ready. I am now unbreakable.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[mylifeasevelyn]

Rebirth

The surface is cracking. The lines on my face show the courage that I'm lacking here and the beauty that awaits Home is just a word, without a time or place I've fallen in and out of love with the loneliness I've traced And I can't wait to start again. No, I can't wait to start again When the darkness and unknown become your friend No, I can't wait to start again The voice of a thousand whispers with answers I can't find I made promises to the wounded love in the corner of my mind When the night before has left you and the smoke has filled your lungs When you don't know what you've come here for or the person you've become. And, I can't wait to start again. No, I can't wait to start again When the darkness and unknown become your friend No, I can't wait to start again Oh, oh. And the agony's turning into thought Oh, and nothing is what I thought it was And I can't wait to start again. No, I can't wait to start again When the darkness and unknown become your friend No, I can't wait to start again

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. It seems that, lately, the reason why I post something new is because something unexpected has happened to me and I deeply wish that was different. Unfortunately, I’ve been going through some writer’s block. It is actually an artist block, per say. My heart & mind have been at war for the past months. The disagreement is strong, and I can’t seem to find my way to prosperity.

Anyways, I’ll cut to the chase. My heart is sinking today. I had yet another panic attack. Not as strong as the last one, but still, a panic attack. Maybe the reason why I’ve been so blocked is because I’ve been trying my best not to let my emotions get the best of me, yet I still feel the need to go back to my old toxic habits. I kind of had a relapse last February, but not once I felt like it was bad. Hell, I still refuse to think that way. My shrink keeps trying to convince me that I’m better off without my self-destructive ways, but I still can’t seem to think about them nor think that I need them. Deep in my heart, I know I’ve been doing well. I’ve been owning my pain well, but the problem lies in the circumstances that are far out of my reach, the circumstances that I cannot control whatsoever. The moment I start thinking about the things that make my heart sink, I realise that I’m not strong enough to own all the hurt that slowly kills me. And today, my mind is begging for something to make it all go away. But there’s no magic way out of the things that rip me out of my happiness. And fuck, I know that all I need is one night of intoxication, one night of numbness, one night of bleeding. Just one move and it’s all it takes to tap back into that darkness. The darkness that has been a part of me for as long as I can remember...

I know I’ve come a long way since my last relapse. I can now slow down my thoughts before running to the nearest bottle of vodka, cigarrette, pill or sharp object. My shrink always asks me if I regret what I do to get numb. And I hesitate when I have to reply, the answer is still no, but I nod to keep her off my back. I know, I know, smart ass move, Evelyn. But hey, I’m still working on that honest reply... I swear.

And here’s the thing. Whenever I don’t resort to my self-destructive ways, I cry instead. I either cry it out in one sitting, or I cry it out within days. Which, to be honest, I do not find it pleasant. Again, my shrink says it’s okay ‘cause I’m letting the pain go away. But fucking Hell, who the fuck wants to cry almost every single day because of the pain of past emotional wounds? Nuh-uh, not me. But then again, am I being a coward for not letting the pain consume my tears away? Fuck, depression is a bitch.

The one good thing I find comfort in is the life choices I’ve been making. Like I’ve said before, there are cirscumstances that are out of my reach that affect me, and in my weakest days, they can rip me apart, making it very difficult for me not to collapse/relapse.

As regards of today and what I truly feel at the moment, I’m focusing on the light. The redemption, the salvation. My mind travels far into the future, it convinces that this too shall pass and it’ll all be a testament to my everlasting struggle in the search for peace. But deep down... I know very well that there’s no true cure for this virus that eats away my soul... out of every toxic relationship, this is the only one I know that I have to learn to love for what it is. I just can’t keep pretending that this illness will magically disappear ‘cause it won’t. This is who I am. There’s more darkness than light.  I can tap into that darkness whenever and wherever I like, but now I know that I need to let the light in too so that I find balance in my life. The perfect ying and yang.

Now more than ever I need to accept myself, love myself. I don’t care about love coming my way. I know it’s out there, but I’m not chasing it. I need to love myself the way I wanted to be loved but never was. I’m the only who can heal this heartache. I no longer wait for someone to come and save me, I no longer give the key to my salvation to someone else so they can save me, they have only made the hurt worse. I’ve always been unashamed of my past, yet I no longer let it define who I am. I see depression as a side effect of empathy. The more I care, the more I hurt. Hurting is human, and damn, I just feel too much that I sometimes bleed. And just as the pain can leave by self-destructing myself, I can also make it go away with the weapon I thought worked against me: my mind. A place were everything makes sense, a place were everything’s right and wrong. A place that can save me or kill me. The real question is: which one is stronger? The venom or the antidote? Do I want to be cured or do I want to perish? Do I want to survive or do I want to be half-alive? Ask yourself the same thing, dear stranger, and whenever you feel lost, remember that there’s always a way to get through the turmoil in your head. And as always, I believe in you. ‘Til next time.

Never give up, always fight.

Love, 

Evelyn