#writingheals

[haunted-whisperings]

when i look in the mirror i never trust what i see having trouble realizing me told what to do, what to feel where do i begin to find what is real i said no, “you mean yes” i guess not so sure anymore an uneven score wanting more do i deserve such i feel i have been missing much caught in a web of lies unheard for years, my many cries chains stay the course do you think he feels remorse overactive emotions dysfunctional neurotransmitters i’m not a quitter not even bitter i just need to know how do i go from here to there care self-distrust do i matter much it’s not a crutch i’m struck by a twist of fate stalemate maybe someone help me figure this out untwist my brain serotonin lost my mood the cost depressed on a quest to find my true mind real emotions presynaptic collapse my body reacts self-harm moving to my arm sound the alarm imperfections now found on my body’s sacred ground tell me the truth show me what to do is this true as tears drop shocked mediating tension hand is wrenching stainless steel again appeals to the theory of invalidation

[goodvibeshow]

Blank Pages, Full Heart: Power of Journaling

Hello Journaling Enthusiasts! 📖💖

I recently stumbled upon a captivating blog on The Good Vibe Show website that beautifully unravels the transformative power of journaling. I couldn't resist sharing some of the inspiring insights and revelations from this virtual journey into the heart of self-discovery and expression.

📝 Embracing Blank Pages: The blog on The Good Vibe Show eloquently captures the essence of journaling, emphasizing the profound impact of facing those blank pages with an open heart. It explores the therapeutic nature of putting pen to paper and how it serves as a canvas for personal exploration.

💫 Unveiling the Full Heart: One of the highlights of the blog is its deep dive into the emotional richness that comes with pouring your thoughts onto paper. It delves into the cathartic experience of releasing emotions, thoughts, and dreams, allowing your heart to unfold in its entirety.

✨ The Journey Within: The blog reflects on the introspective journey that journaling offers, encouraging readers to embark on a path of self-discovery, mindfulness, and personal growth.

Feel free to share your own experiences or thoughts about the power of journaling in the comments. Let's cultivate a space for meaningful conversations and shared insights on this incredible journey of self-expression and self-discovery! 🌈🖋️

Click below to read the article:

[michellewithwings]

[queencryo]

would give it all up to be a driver for a minor noblewoman (widow) (vaguely western-european) stuck with her in the coach after i was forced to release the horses: this is the worst storm in decades, not even my paw coulda kept these posting-station horses calm through the peals of sky-splitting thunder.

We came to a stop in the middle of the road, the churned mud of the road eagerly assisting the coach's brakes. I'm completely drenched by the time I enter the cabin to report that we'll not be going anywhere, not that that isnt already clear. Plenty of Ladies like this, they would howl and beat at me for getting the road's mud into their carriage. but not mine: she worries only of the mud's water, and my hair's water, and my clothes' water, and how these all offer ample avenue for the night's cold to pierce my frame.

And pierce it does: now that the exertion of driving is ended, i am alarmed at how the cold has already convinced my body to take its side over mine, chattering and shivering so I can hardly understand it when my Lady pushes a parcel of cloth toward me. Its dry, she says, and she'll turn her back while I replace sodden roughspun with dry linen. after a moment of shivering hesitation, she does while i do. The fit is odd, in style as well as cut. She's plush where I'm paucious, I'm fowl bones failing to fill out sheep's skin. I keep the comparison to myself. I cough, and she turns, and she smiles. Says this frock suits me. The blood rushing to my face warms it, almost enough I stop chattering.

We start making the carriage a little warmer, lining the door with another of her dresses. It is a summer cut, too thin to keep the chill from your skin; cladding the coach door, though, it keeps the worst of the wind at bay. And once my cloak mirrors it on the door's opposite, the cabin changes. Less now a channel whose seams the wind can run through unabated. A haphazard little down, and we the rabbits.

And like rabbits, we huddle together. She has a great fur cloak, surely a gift from some earl or czar or other title. It's warm, utterly so, and so is she. The thought of her as a sheep was untoward, but I can't help but think of it again now. I had tried to avoid touching her for propriety, but she had insisted. Wrapping her arms around me like a child, but I was so cold I hadn't stopped her as she encompassed me. I'm not cold anymore, but I stay in her soft embrace nonetheless. She doesn't evict me, and I do not bring myself to ask why.

She asks me questions, about my family and my trade, about horses. It takes time, but soon I ask in turn. We have little in common, but that's an object of fascination rather than deviation. She's never horsed a shoe, I've never ridden in a coach. Her brother is a bore, mine is dead. Before we know it we are talking like friends, conversation passing between us like the present situation was the comfortable norm rather than the best way to avoid death by frost.

I don't know how long we talk, but in time the night in the cracks of our den turns from dark to pitch, and the rain calms from diluvian to quotidian. Our conversation slows with the rain, we sit in warm silence. I look up from a rambling story about my grandmother, and the lady is sleeping. Her snoring is just audible over the rain, and my heart flutters to hear it. I pull myself closer into her, and sigh through my smile.

I close my eyes, and sleep. I am warm.

[princeofprosee]

some goodbyes set you free;

i opened my eyes the morning after our last goodbye / i looked to the ceiling and suddenly the world felt lighter

i can hear the Universe whispering in my ear

her sweet voice wrapping me in a hug

“I am not finished with you yet”

i woke up, and suddenly i could see again

i could breathe without it getting caught in the lump in my throat

the stars and the sun shone so much brighter

suddenly the world was real again

i am awake for the first time in years

i know who i am without you / i know what i want without you

I am set free.

[heathermason]

all i want to do is sleep but i dont want to sleep. it is a struggle of being sick and wanting to read and or write

[bestessaywriter]

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[raedshadowlegends]

Oh, I was curious about your opinions on Hecate. She falls neutral to mixed bag for me. I consider her an extention of systematic underworld issuessuch as BS legal code, not continuing her tirade against Hades for persuing a young Perse, and mistreatment of underworld citizens, but depending on how Rachel is writingher she actually gets to have a head on her shoulders. Lots going on there. Curious what you think or what you have heard.

For me personally, I thought she was pretty neat at the start. I especially liked the fact that she didn’t support H & P because of the age gap. But it all goes downhill once she helps Hades rip out Alex’ eye. Then she gradually becomes another H & P supporter and I just don’t care about her. I did like her at one point but I’m very ambivalent now.

She’s where she’s at on the chart because that complete 180° regarding Persephone and Hades is disgusting to me. The age gap is one of the things in LO that gets me HEATED. So to have a character flip flop so fast is just awful.

And as of lately, she just hasn’t done anything that interesting or memorable. All I remember of her from the past whatever episodes is that one panel that could’ve been cool but she had a derp face so it wasn’t. I know she’s been in a lot of episodes lately but I just don’t remember anything of significance.

I’m ambivalent with a pinch of pissed off regarding Hecate.

[pinkrifle]

UH HII💞(I'm the one the one who requested the cartman best friends hcs) just wanted to say i LOVE the way you wrote it!! both the reader and eric were so unhinged i loved it, thank you!!

also i hope you don't mind me sending some more requests lol cause im officially in love with your writingh💞

OH MY GAWSSHH 😭❤️❤️🎀🎀 THANK U! i love cartman so i literally gave it my all to make him a menace ❤️

ofc i dont mind!! i do have like 3 more requests so stuff might be slow 🎀

[haunted-whisperings]

could you hit me just once, leave a mark split my sides for the world to see rather than fighting my mind i succumb to the blind sides of pain & agony

PLEASE push me against the wall make me fall, bleed you invalidated me long ago sowing seeds of insignificance

punch my clock leave me to rot confused by lies i’d like to see you cry innate emotional intelligence this dance has broken my defense i don’t know what to believe about me

emotionally lost my cost tossed minimized killing my confidence constantly paying penance drained soul raining

draining “stop being so emotional” my backbone no longer breaks with stones thrown

knock me out, cold tired of the toll unheard, discounted pressure mounted nailed to the cross you say you’re the boss

i now carry my weight in an altered state splintered wintered

hit me, it’s all good leave me like you should bleeding i won’t beg for my life PLEASE at least then i have a chance leave me for dead

~~~~~~

“Telling a person she shouldn't feel the way she does feel is akin to telling water it shouldn't be wet, grass it shouldn't be green, or rocks they shouldn't be hard. Each person's feelings are real. Whether we like or understand someone's feelings, they are still real. Rejecting feelings is rejecting reality; it is to fight nature and may be called a crime against nature, "psychological murder" or "soul murder." Considering that trying to fight feelings, rather than accept them, is trying to fight all of nature, you can see why it is so frustrating, draining and futile.” ~ S. Hein ~

[graciesgemss]

Here’s another poem from my ocd poetry book based on my life!

#newpoetrybook #poetry #writingheals

Releasing soon!!

Follow my Instagram @ myinkstainedsoul for updates on my poetry and the book release:)

“4”

At four years old, I had a fear,

A nagging voice that no one could hear.

I'd count and touch and tap each thing,

And always felt the need to bring

My toys in order, in a line,

Or else, the world just wasn't fine.

At four years old, I couldn't explain,

The constant chaos in my brain.

But then came the thoughts that plagued my mind,

The need to check, to count, to find

The fear that gripped me every day,

The urge to make it all okay.

I couldn't explain the things I felt,

My mind was trapped within a spell,

A cycle I couldn't escape,

A burden I had to carry and take.

My family couldn't understand

The reasons why I'd wash my hands

So many times until they bled,

Or why I'd count the books I read.

They thought it was just a phase,

That I would outgrow my obsessive ways,

But the thoughts only grew stronger each day,

And the rituals consumed me in every way.

I felt so lost and all alone,

Trapped in a world I couldn't own,

But I learned to fight and face my fears,

To challenge the thoughts that brought me tears.

And now I stand, years later on,

Still fighting the battles that aren't gone,

But with each passing day, I grow stronger,

And I know that I will last longer.

For I am more than just my OCD,

I am a person with a heart that beats,

And though my struggles may never end,

I know that I am more than just my mental bend.

So if you're like me and fight this fight,

Know that you are not alone in the night,

And though it may be hard to see,

There is a light within you that can set you free.

[softandpowerful]

My creativity comes in waves; I’m either drowning in it or starving for a single drop. Working to create more, write more, feel more. Here’s an oldie but a goodie: “the exhaustion overtakes me swallows me whole and spits me out with no remorse i am suffocating under the ambivalence of depression lost and alone with no motivation to escape too tired to even pray to the setting sun or make any effort towards completion” I will be okay. #poetry #poetryporn #poetrycommunity #poetryisnotdead #poetrylovers #poetrygram #poetryofig #poetryofinstagram #poems #poem #poemporn #poemoftheday #poemsociety #poemsporn #poemsofinsta #depression #sadpoetry #bipolar #creativity #coping #writing #writingtherapy #journaling #writingcommunity #writingheals #writings #writingofinstagram #writer #writersliftingwriters https://www.instagram.com/p/CkpMsYmMCKP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[colortraks]

ok. writingh this down bc i need to remember to do this eventually. im gonna buy one of those salvinos bammers bears or whatever off ebay for cheap and then harvest their eyes and nose for my childhood bear that lost hers. sounds brutal but sorry it has to happen. unless theres some way to buy those specific pieces somewhere just by themselves

[princeofprosee]

I’m not scared of you anymore.

you were my favorite addiction

an Opposite Day sour patch kid;

sweet like cotton candy, sticky on my fingers

melting between my lips

a warm summers day

the kind of warm summer day where the morning sun shines brightly through my blinds whispering good mornings

and i open the windows-

the sky is so blue

i didn’t know the sky could be this blue

i walk outside

and the warm air wraps around me

your sugary sweetness enveloping me

and then just around 1pm

a beautiful thunderstorm starts

i run for cover underneath your gingerbread umbrella

the clouds form and the sky starts to turn a beautiful dark green

you were my favorite addiction

sweet, like a cherry lollipop

or a beautiful, warm summers day

until the sky turns a devastatingly beautiful dark green

and your wind picks up

and the clouds start to look like funnels

and i start to ponder, after it passes-

perhaps you were more akin to an atomic fireball covered in chocolate

and not an Opposite Day sour patch kid

an appearance, a facade

sweet, delicious milk chocolate that melts in your mouth

followed by an alarming and unnessary amount of spice.

[ophidioph0bia]

SHUT UP IM WRITINGH SMUT WHY DO I NEED A CHECKLIST...