recovari-blog

[recovari-blog]

today was hard yikes!! first, good things: +checked out some groovy books from the wonderful library <3 AND saw my rock star of a friend there. he’s the coolest! and he has the best memes B) +got to go to Peet’s and knit! I think I’m getting the hang of it. +there was a beautiful sunset ❤️ +it’s Gabriel García Márquez’s birthday!! 🎉🎉 +sang Disney songs while walking home today c: harder things to deal with: +the isolation. Oh my god, the isolation of suburbia is heart wrenching. +SH’ed and b/p’ed. i was just so angry. tired. broken. i felt like i deserved it—like how religious individuals flogged themselves back in the day? yeeeeet. +major SI—I even had a plan. god, I’m so glad I texted my CARE team contact person back at MIT—he helped me calm down, though I’m still struggling to find motivation to live. +i feel hurt and frustrated that someone i thought I could trust and rely on doesn’t seem to want to help and like that’s honestly totally their choice and they have 100% a right to but also it makes me so hesitant to be vulnerable in the future and I’m just so sad about it. NONETHELESS I MADE IT THROUGH TODAY. I’M ALIVE. may i get through tomorrow, too. I’m so scared I’m not going to make it.

[recovari-blog]

write bad poetry. 

wrap your mouth into a cliche. write about icarus, write about roses. write about the flowers in your ribs and the stain of your fingertips and the skin of your knees. write about cigarettes and getting high and kissing the wrong person. and space; write about space over and over in sixty iterations of it, write about star-blood and star-crossed and star-glowing, write about universes and galaxies and gladiators in constellations. write about the space between two people in a small room, write about the space that is too small no matter how big it is, write about the space that is too big no matter how small it is. write yourself a star and eat it, tinfoil-tasting, on the floor of your kitchen, while you regret missing your mother’s cooking. but write it.

write ugly. use too many undercase letters because you’re pretentious. USE ONLY CAPITAL LETTERS BECAUSE YOU’VE GOT A SCREAM TRAPPED UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS. ,, cut & paste grammar (? who gives a shit ?) ,, r3inv3nt so much u come back 2 l33t speak, dial it down a bit. write in the language of flaubert, then dickens, then the language your father used before he learned english. then write the language of talking to your dog, then write the language of high school essays on books you never finished. utilize the word utilize where it don’t belong. fall in and out of love with contractions. accidentally become bukowski for a hot sec, grow out of it. 

write things you wish you hadn’t. write stuff so bad you can’t help groaning. write things that end in “a;sljflk jfg h” because they petered out while you were typing. write things that feel childish and use so much rhyme it throws you out of it. write things that feel grown-up and unfamiliar, too formal to function, up-their-own-asses. write things too enigmatic; forget what you wrote them about, but tell yourself it’s for the best. write things too obvious. go through a micro-poetry spell, go through a prose-poetry spell, fish the bottom of the box for x-ray goggles and write about how the cereal felt. write about your cat and the rug and un-deep fake-deep terrible stuff.

write things you really wish you hadn’t. stuff that hurts to read and hurts to look at later, stuff that makes your skin uncomfy and your body crawl. write stuff that looks better at the back of your closet. but stuff you can’t get rid of, really, not ever. stuff that, afterwards, makes you feel heavier. stuff that somehow, impossibly, kinda makes you lighter.

write about stuff you don’t really understand, write about social problems you barely experience, write about slam poetry. write about power outlets, write in the style of internet poets, write frost-length sonnets on how pink her lips are. 

write bad. write worse. write bottom-of-the-barrel, and then keep scraping it. keep digging in it. god, how many people are too scared of being bad that they just. never get around to it. that they never even start doing it. what if all they have to say is silly shit about lost love or greek myths or a good kiss. what if they’re bad at it.

be bad at it. do you know how fucking rebellious and wonderful that truly, i mean truly is? and that’s poetry, man. the act of being so vulnerable, you’re willing to completely suck at it. big ideas in small boxes. it takes a long time before you get the packaging to fit. 

go write bad poetry. i can’t wait to read it.

[recovari-blog]

i want recovery.

hi my name is ari and i guess this is my recovery blog. i recently took medical leave and i want to desperately use these few, precious months i have to recover from my eating disorder (bulimia) and manage my depression before i return to the whirlwind of school–i absolutely want to return by fall of 2018. i hope by maintaining a blog, it’ll keep me somewhat accountable. and maybe, i’ll be brave enough to share it with the world one day. 

right now, i’m feeling pretty hopeless. transitioning from college life to suburbia is incredibly isolating, and i miss having roommates, classmates, professors. i went to my old high school today and visited my former teachers; they’re lovely as always. i am so incredibly lucky to have had such amazing mentors. yesterday was really hard. heartbroken, lonely, and hurt by my parents’ words, a lot of SI and SH thoughts appeared and out of terror, i dialed the suicide hotline. they’re warm people, and i’m so glad that they kept me on the line, even though it was apparently i wasn’t in any immediate danger. the nice lady on the phone listened to me as i sobbed into the phone and tried to choke out words. after we talked for a bit about safety plans, she referred me to the WARM hotline, which is a non-crisis peer support number, and basically lets you talk to a trained listener. the line was busy, but that was ok–i’m just hoping everyone who needed help got help. i read a little about it online, and i started crying even harder upon learning that the call with WARM might be the only human contact some individuals have all day. some people call to be tucked in. the sheer, collective loneliness in even this community makes my heart ache, and i want so badly to hold these people close, and tell them that i’m here, that i will listen to them, that i will be their friend. 

i eventually summoned the courage to call a friend of mine in boston–it’s so terrifying to reach out for help–but he was unbelievably kind to me. he’s working on his thesis right now, but promised to call me once he turned it in later this week. i’m so grateful to have him in my life. that helped a lot–just hearing his voice and his jokes made me laugh and feel less alone. i love my friends so much. 

anyways, i want recovery. i’m tired of heart problems and decaying teeth and aches and hypotension and b/p-ing and SI/SH thoughts and hospitals and treatment and having this eating disorder controlling my entire fucking life. i’m tired of hating myself and being reliant on other people’s opinion of me; i’m tired of waiting for someone to come. no one is coming to save me. the princess saves herself in this one. god, i want to love myself. i want to love myself so badly. i’m going to learn how to. i want to fall deeply in love with myself, before i love anyone else.

i’ve lost so many good dbt and coping skills these past few weeks. i need to relearn them. i need to maintain a healthy meal plan and schedule. i need to be kind and patient to not just others, but myself. 

WARM hotline: Toll Free: 1-855-582-5554. Open 4:30 pm-9:30 pm 7days/week 365 days/year