Let’s romanticize being happy, not the hurting!
The times that I heard that still haunt me.
These words were spoken by a person who wore rows of stitches after they had tried to kill themselves. They sat across from me in a room of haunting hospital tiles and psychologists who did more hurt than help.
We were asked why we hurt ourselves. This was their response.
And everyone is entitled to their opinion,
But while I was curled up in a hospital bed on a medical unit being preyed on by an attending nurse who had to document every move that I made, somehow, I wasn’t okay with the idea someone else thought that bleeding was beautiful.
Bleeding was one of the things that had gotten me there.
For some reason, I didn’t find writing in crayons and markers the same size as the crayon in a notebook without the spiral beautiful. Having someone watching me while…
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