Life seems unfair. You put someone first who constantly puts you second. You study your ass off day and night for exams only to get a C. You give 110% to someone in a relationship who only gives 60% back. You’re there for a best friend at 3:00am and the next day they don’t reply to your message. It seems like you’re giving everyone everything, and they’re just walking away with it.

(via phototags)

"The Unspoken Truth"

Understandably, I'm a bit hesitant posting my short story on here for the whole world to see. I'm no writer of any sort (obviously) so apologies if the grammar is not 100%. With that out the way, I started this just for myself with no intention other than to be a coping mechanism. However, further down the line I started to realise that this could potentially help other people who go through the same difficulties on a daily basis and most importantly, could raise a huge awareness upon mental illness. Evidently, mental illnesses are not often talked about, but often brushed under the carpet and almost frowned upon. Because of this, this creates a humongous amount of stigma attached to this topic which can result in a person feeling even more embarrassed or ashamed; which of course they should never be made to feel. I hope this gives you an insight into what it's like living with a mental illness on a daily basis, hope you enjoy the read! “It's exhausting having to fight a war inside of your head.” Imagine this. Your heart is racing at what feels like two thousand beats per minute. Both fists clenched into a tight, tight ball. Sweating, from every existing gland in your body. Palms so wet whilst instantaneously losing grip of everything you touch. Confusion, nothing makes sense as thoughts are rushing around in your head from every direction, disturbing your vision as you do everything in your power to see straight. A tight ball like feeling in your throat, so tight that you cannot breath. It’s the feeling you experience when the edge of a crisp gets stuck in your throat, slowly and painfully cutting your glands. A sick like feeling, wanting to let it go but doing what you can to keep it back. Don’t embarrass yourself like this, not if people are watching. Now onto the chest. Feeling so tight and heavy as if someone is standing on top of you, crushing you with every power and strength within them, whilst you pant and gasp for air and catch each and every breath that your body allows you to. Shaking, crying, sweating, tensing, shivering, trembling. And now slowly breathe with every bit of energy that is left in you. You are fine, you are alive and it’s over for now. The brain is a complex thing, just as complex as ones human mentality. The limbic system controls emotions within the human brain, there's no surprise that at the best of times you feel as if you have a complete lack of control over your emotional and mental state. The brain is so incredibly complex that it often even puzzles scientists; the same people who allowed the first human beings into space and onto the moon. The same people who are able to clone living and breathing animals, create satellites for outer space, discover electricity, gravity, evolution, DNA. And yet, they fail to completely understand the human brain and each function that is involved and why they are involved. Many people fail to realise that not everyone thinks in the same way, not one person has the same thought process as another human being walking this earth. What may seem logical and rational to one human being may seem completely and utterly bizarre to another. There is a fine line between feeling lonely and being alone. In the depths of the night when the sun has set and there is nothing to see in the deep sky apart from the twinkling of the bright stars. Hearing the occasional sound of a car passing by, the tree leaves lightly tap-taping against the window due to the slight breeze in the dead of night. The sirens that wake the streets; whilst people question if a life has just been taken from us, or is it that a life is about to enter our world of mystery? At night, when people lay asleep with their heads softly against their pillow, you lay there gazing at the ceiling, unable to sleep, wondering to yourself what you could have done differently that day. Sleep. 7 to 8 hours of sleep they say. But what if you can't sleep due to the constant thoughts and feelings rushing through your head from that day, from weeks, months, even years ago. The mind is a dangerous place, a place that I fear as I know it is stronger and more powerful than I am. Have you ever been surrounded my so many people, so many bodies, but felt so lost. Helpless. Alone. Questioning how the silence can be so loud. Lost in thought, whilst hearing the mummers of those surrounding you. Imagine feeling a prisoner of your own body. The only body you will have for as long as you may live. The body that will grow and cherish into something beautiful at adolescence. The body that will make love to another body, feeling each and every edge and crevice. The body that will see into the eyes of their loved one, touch their hand, smell their recognisable scent, one that comforts them with ease. The body that will taste their sweet lips and the body that will hear their touching and soothing voice gently in their ear. The human body is a remarkable thing, each and every one unique and different in every way, shape and form. But what happens when you start to lose control of your body, the one body that is yours and no one else's. When your bones feel weak and your limbs like jelly. Like you're floating on a cloud, uncertain about those sweet lips you once kissed, those gentle voices you once heard, the feel and warmth of the person you love turn to cold, the smell no longer there and their eyes unfamiliar with fear. You start to lose everything you once remembered, everything you once cared for and everything that your body allowed you to do. Eventually, they all just become distant memories. All the people you have met become lost faces. Time. Time is inevitable. Too little time, or too much time? Should you be too early, or just on time? Time is a concept made up by human beings. The sun rising suggests it is morning time, the sun setting however, you guessed, implies that the day is coming to a close and all is left is the dark night's sky. What if there were no such thing as time? Would people be less stressed, less rushed, less busy? What would people do to insure they are being kept occupied? How would the world go on? When you become lonely, sad, anxious, depressed; time works in two of which ways. Time either stands still or in contrast, goes as fast as lightning and by the time you know it, you lose track of where you are, what you have done, even who you are. On average, it takes a human being 2o muscles to smile and 50 muscles to frown. Yet, why are there so many people spending their days crying, worrying, distressed surrounding themselves in pity and self doubt. If it takes such little muscles to create a smile, how does it become so hard for someone to put one together. Their smile may be imperfect, broken or even jiggered, but it is still a smile that may bring delight into someone's bleak day. A smile has the power to touch someone's heart, touch someone's soul. Imagine, for whatever reason you felt as if you could no longer smile without it feeling fake, like a scam. Seeing another smile, a smile of a friend, a loved one, even a stranger; can bring you so much joy and happiness to someone. Breathing. An essential, necessary part of life. Any life. We all breath, if it wasn't for our power to breath none of us would be here, would exist, the world would be an empty, lonely shell. But what if with every breath you take, your lungs feel like they are filled with water. Like someone is crushing your windpipe, struggling to breath without the aid of another existence. Each breath getting slower, harder, faster, slower, faster, harder. Until you can no longer take it anymore. Until you collapse in a ball, questioning the why's and the what's and the who's. Whoever put me on this earth, whatever is out there, why me? To breath like another human being, that's all that I ask of you. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I can't say I'm anxious, I already said that last week, and the week before, and probably the week before that too. I'll say that I'm ill, yes, just ill. No questions asked, just ill. That way, I won't look lazy to them. I won't have to explain myself, why I'm feeling this way. The reality is, I don't even know myself. How do you explain that to someone when you can't get the right words out? When nothing you say will make sense, when you don't know why you're up and you're down, all day every day. How do you explain that to someone on the outside? That it's a constant cycle of emotions. That, however much you try you cannot leave your bed. That each step you take that day, all you are looking forward to is returning to your room, surrounded by darkness and crawling back into bed. Sleeping. Your safe place, where no one can disturb you, not even the cars outside, the voices echoing the streets, the sound of the metro line, Because you are alone with your thoughts in the darkness, until you slowly drift off into a long sleep. Too little sleep or not enough, there is no in between and no matter what, tiredness always wins. It defeats you, laughs at you and mocks you. Tiredness is a silent killer. It waits until you are energised, finally feeling happy until it creeps out on you from nowhere, like burred treasure among the sands over the blue, clear waters. Panic. What do I do with my day? Slowly awaken, shower to wake up the mind, the body the soul. Get ready and feeling good, quick look in the mirror, today could be a good day. Ready. Panic. What do I do now? When was the last time I ate? Am I eating because I'm hungry, or because I know it's the right thing to do? Because my body needs the nutrients in order to survive. Baby steps. No more routines, I'm free to the world but the freedom is almost suffocating. Procrastinate. Endless hours upon hours doing nothing but everything, trying to eat, trying to breath, trying to be normal. The skies are getting dark and the streets are becoming quieter. Time to sleep, my favourite part. Dreams, dreams about love, romance, the best days of your life so far. Woken up suddenly with what feels like a tonne of bricks hitting against your forehead. Awaken, get ready, repeat. Coldness. It creeps up on you, sending tingles and shivers all throughout your body. From your neck down to the depths of your spine, through your legs, your arms, to the tips of your fingers and your toes until you slowly start to feel like a stray dog, left all alone on a cold winter’s night. No owner, no food, no home, nothing. You are left feeling like nothing, invisible. Invisible to yourself, your neighbours, your friends. Would anyone notice if I were to go? Leave this place, this town, this city, this world and never look back? Who would miss me? No. That isn't me talking, I am fine. I am no longer in control of my emotions; I have been taken over by a rush of coldness and hotness all at one. Confusion. Why is it so hard to think straight, to see straight, to be normal. What is normal, if there is such thing? “Patience is a virtue”, one of my favourite sayings. To have patience with someone shows that you care. You are passionate about what they have to say. Their thoughts, feelings, emotions, ideas, philosophies. It puts things into perspective, indulges you with new knowledge and education. Feeds your brain in more ways than you realise. You almost start to care more about their ideas than your own, as you analyse in explicit detail their body language, every hand gesture, movement. You start to become at one with them. But what if, however, you have an astounding amount of patience with these people, but not with yourself. Not with your emotions, your feelings, your thoughts, even your movements. You brush them under the carpet, pretend they're not there. I mean, they're not visible to the naked eye, so no one would notice otherwise. Right? Wrong. Emotions matter, feelings matter. However big, small, funny, comical. We are human beings and as human beings, we must come together. But what do you do when you no longer recognise yourself? The person standing in front of the mirror, that isn't the same person from a few weeks, months, years ago. That smile. That smile that once lit the room has been replaced with something bleak. I wouldn't call it a smile, just a crook of the face. Those eyes. Those eyes that were once filled with joy, now filled with emptiness and water from the never ending tears that are wept throughout the night. Those hands. Those hands that would be used to ride a bike for the first time, draw, paint, now tremble at the whirlwind of thoughts, sweat among the constant pit of sorrow and anxiety and continue to tremble. What happened to her? The twinkle in her eye has disappeared. She looks sad, bewildered, as she looks out into the huge, never-ending world before her. I couldn't face people today, what if I mess up? What if I embarrass myself? But why should I care, they are strangers who I will most likely never see again. Oh, but what if I do? Would they remember, would they care? Thoughts spinning round in my head. It's wanting to go out, but not wanting to socialise. Wanting to be successful, but being afraid of failure. Wanting long lasting relationships, but not wanting to show people your real self, your self-pity, self-loathing, sad self. It's wanting to eat, but not physically being able to. It's waning to go for a walk, a run, but not having the energy to. It's wanting to go to a party, wanting to get dressed up, but not wanting to make small talk with people, strangers. It's wanting to be productive, but not wanting to get up on a morning. It's wanting to sleep, wanting to shut down, but finding every distraction you can to stop yourself. It's wanting to be happy, but spoiling it for yourself, knowing it won't last for long as the next thing is always around the corner. The next headache, the next bad news, the next anything. It's wanting to be surrounded by people, familiar, comforting faces and places, but wanting nothing but to isolate yourself from the world, alone in your room. It's wanting to travel somewhere new, but not wanting to risk it in case you feel trapped with nowhere to run, no way to get home, no way to get back to your safe haven. It's finding excuses not to do things, not to go places, not to travel, see the world surrounding us. It's finding it easier talking online, through text, as it is in real life. It's feeling not lonely, but alone, with no way to escape the epitome of darkness. It’s an indescribable feeling. A feeling that doesn’t quite go, doesn’t leave your body and is somehow, always there. A feeling I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, not even the most extreme prisoners. I bet they feel alone, too. Not just a prisoner literally, but mentally. Wishing they could turn back time and be surrounded by friends, family and those closest to them. Instead, they are surrounded by the heavy metal bars that keep them away from society, isolated with only their thoughts. Being a prisoner of your own mind is a dangerous thing. It’s always far easier to just tell people “I’m tired” when they ask how you are, how you are feeling. Because it’s the truth. Physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. It drains the life from your bones, the happiness from your blood and the soul from your veins. You no longer feel human, like a living and breathing being. You just exist, you are just there. Wouldn't it be nice to be young again. To be care free, innocent, knowing nothing but happiness and peace in the world. Cherishing every joyous memory with friends, staying up late watching cartoons. Having no worries, no cares in the world. The only problems we faced were those of the anticipating moments, wondering if we would get our first detention for handing in late homework, or forgetting to underline the date and the title. Oh how clumsy of us! Going home from school wondering if today was the day that the boy from school finally noticed you. Unaware of the evil out there. The violence, the war. The people that were once here, once had families, but lost their battle and couldn't find the light at the end of the darkness. The racism, the religious slurs that leave the mouths of the uneducated, the ignorant. These same mouths that start their day sipping on Chinese tea, getting ready as they put on their Indian shirt and Thai, suede shoes. Wrapping their Swiss watch around their wrist, as time for him is money. Leaving the day behind drinking their Russian vodka, French wine, German beer. Oh the irony. I didn't know about mental illness until twelve years old. Experienced my first panic attack at fourteen years old. Understandably, assuming I was having a fit, heaving a heart attack, dying. What was happening to my body? To my emotions? So powerful and overwhelming that I could not simply control them on my own. If I had known sooner, had a deeper understanding surrounding mental illness; it could have saved me so many sleepless nights. How is it fair that in school, in life, we are only taught about those serious physical illnesses? Broken limbs and body parts, cancer, diabetes, chronic pain, Sclerosis, lung disease, heart disease; the list goes on. However, the views and attitudes towards mental illnesses and disease are not viewed in the same light. Why? Why are they brushed under the carpet so often when they can have such a huge impact upon a person’s life and state of mind? Their ability to enter the real world, form friendships, relationships. Do the simplest of tasks that one with no mental illness would class as the 'norm'. The stigma upon mental illness as a whole is one of the main reasons hundreds, thousands and millions of people are suffering alone, in silence. If I had a broken leg, a broken arm, people would instantly notice me among the crowd. A person's mental complexity is not always recognisable; it can be in any one of us, any 'normal' looking person. Stand a person with a broken limb next to a person with a mental health disorder. Who will get the most empathy, I wonder. The feeling is almost paralysing. It's like learning to walk again, talk again, breath again, live again. I managed to leave the house today. It wasn't for long, but I did it. I managed to eat today, too. It wasn't much, but it filled my stomach and my body later thanked me for it. The feeling is still there, but today as I write this, I feel empowered. I feel positive within myself. Earphones in, ignoring the world. Treasuring every moment I can, as I know it won't last as much as I anticipated. The trembling is back, throughout my whole body. So much so that my whole body is numb, almost as if I have been laid in an ice cold bath for hours, days, weeks. The coldness is almost painful, taking over my body. False persona. We all like to show people how well we are doing. We are all guilty of it without even realising. Sharing our lives with complete strangers across the world, throughout various social networks. It's almost like we seek approval from these strangers, thinking it will someone benefit our character or life after we upload that picture, status, post. When really, we are the same person when we go to sleep that night. We are still the same people. Nothing has changed but our ego. Why do we do this to ourselves? It's like we so desperately crave the attention from strangers when the people who care about us most are surrounded us. But maybe sometimes, that isn't enough. And sometimes, it's almost as if we are all living in a fantasy dream world. I can't do this anymore; I'm giving up, losing hope. I thought people called them happy pills for a reason. So, why am I feeling so low? So much lower than before. I can't sleep at night. I'm scared to sleep at night as I'm afraid of what tomorrow will bring. What if I waste another day? Imagine that, being afraid to sleep, afraid to wake up on a morning. I spent today looking at four walls. In the room I am confined in, cry in, sleep in, and dream in. It's my comfort, but it's also my prison- my enemy. I couldn’t eat today, the lump in my throat was too big, it wouldn’t allow me to. I want to eat, but I can’t. I also want to sleep, but I can’t. “You could be worse” they say. “Just smile” “You will be fine”. Since when was my mental state something to be compared to? Those words are degrading, humiliating and ignorant. Because I am still here, because my scars have healed, because there isn't a noose tied around my neck. That's enough evidence for them. I'm still here. Still breathing, living, showing my face; so I must be fine, right? Oh, they couldn't be more wrong. You cannot simply compare mental illness so lightly, as if you are comparing fractions in a maths equation. We are not numbers, we are human beings. Each person fighting their own battle. Why do we also tend to glamorize mental illness? Why is it seen almost like a new trend? Like they somehow make a person cute, but an awkward cute. There is nothing beautiful about a mental illness. They are ugly, they are evil, they are soul destroying. They keep you awake at night and make you question every aspect about yourself; your mind, appearance, your body. They make you question why you are not good enough. Why you are not like the others your age. I would rather have nothing at all and wake up every morning happy and energised, than carry the weight of a mental illness on my shoulders, weighing me down in all that I do. However, I am not and will not be defined by my mental illness, it is a part of me, my life. Where I go, it will follow, but I refuse to allow it to steal my identity. It makes you fear the world. Fear the future. Even fear yourself; your mind, thoughts, feelings. You isolate yourself from the world, your friends and the people closest to you who you care for the most. It makes you silent. It takes your voice, your passion. Until you are sat there, weak and lifeless. I wonder what it's like. To wake up on a morning, take a shower, put on your clothes and get ready for the day without a thousand and one thoughts whirling around in your head like a never-ending cycle. I wonder what it feels like to wake up on a morning without a headache, without the urge of wanting to vomit. I wonder what it's like to live an ordinary life. One where you don't over think every minuscule detail. One where you are able to leave you house without panic or fear. One where you are able to walk down the street not being paranoid that everyone is staring at you. Do I have toothpaste around my mouth? Food on my chin? I wonder what it's like to be sat in a crowded room, a loud crowded bus without feeling suffocated. Without wanting to leave as quickly and as desecrate as possible. I wonder what it's like to not have to lie. When someone asks how you are doing to not respond with “I'm just tired”, but to tell them exactly how you are feeling. I wonder what it's like to not wake up with eyelids so tired that they struggle to stay open, struggle to stay awake. I wonder what it's like to go about your day, questioning ho much sleep you think you'll be able to have tonight. Will it be 4 hours? 5 hours? Maybe 6 if we're lucky. I wonder what it's like to be optimistic about the future and not dwell on the past. I wonder what it feels like to say you're happy without having to fake a smile. I wonder what it's like to be in love with your body, every curve and edge. I wonder what it's like not crying in the shower, most if not every day. I've forgotten the last time I didn't feel constantly drained, exhausted. To not wake up every day with the same headache, feeling the same as I did the night before. I've forgotten what it feels like to get dressed on a morning, eat breakfast, without it feeling like an accomplishment. I visited my old school the other week. It brought back so many memories. The place I was taught about new ways of thinking, new ideologies. The place I grew, developed and matured. The place I learnt a lot, not just in Maths, Science and English, but about myself. The place I created and developed new, exciting friendships. Friendships that still continue to grow six years later. It's an odd place is school. It's a place where you experience the best time of your life, but to contrast that, the most challenging and difficult times you will face. Isn't it funny how each person is categorised into groups, into status, into 'coolness'. But, in five, ten, twenty years time, the status you once had, the popularity you once gained will no longer mean anything. In the real world, people don't like you for the popular image that you depict of yourself. They like you for being a humble, genuine and kind person. Well, that's how it should be anyway. School can be a challenging time for those who feel alone, feel as if they don't fit in, like the black sheep among the crowd. I remember my first day of my new high school like it was only last week. Year nine, thirteen years old, the age that everyone has already made their friends, already known each other, already knowing the school like the back of their hand. I had never felt so lost. Leaving my friends and family behind. My lovely, beautiful Grandma. Who the next time I would see, would sadly no longer be here. having to start a new life up here, with unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar voices. I hated being the new girl, I never did like drawing attention to myself. What if nobody would like me? What if people were to laugh at my accent and not be able to understand me? A hundred and one thoughts whirled around in my head that morning, as I put on my new white crisp shirt and fastened my long, navy tie. I was lucky. I was treated with kindness, respect and loyalty from these people, these people that had never met me before. For once in my life, I felt apart of something, apart of a bubbly and comical friendship group; I knew it was something I would latch onto. They made my days better, more entertaining. Cheering me up when I would get bursts of anxiety, missing my one best friend back at home who was nearly three hours away; ninety two miles to be exact. One phone call away, that's all it would take. But it would never compare to the comfort of her voice, her being, her warmth. Nine years of friendship to be turned into conversations on Facebook, on text, with just the blur of her photo to be seen. Nothing can compare to the love you have for your closest, dearest friends. Those friends that would do anything to see you happy, see you smile, walk the ends of the earth for you. Keep them close, as their love is eternal and I personally, am eternally grateful. School was going well, my work and understanding of each subject was also going well. But for some reason, there was an unfamiliar cloud of darkness hovering over me, overwhelming me with a mix of emotions that I didn't quite understand. Tears pouring down face at unexpected times, unsure why Embarrassment, as people would show their concern, asking what the matter what, but I simply couldn't reply as I didn't know myself what was wrong. I had nice friends, a support network, great family, a new bigger house with my own huge bedroom, everything I could need. So what was the matter? Why would I come home from school with tears filling my eyes, so sad and confused? What else would I need? What could I do possibly to fill this emptiness in my head, in my stomach, in my life. I was thirteen years old, I knew I shouldn't be feeling like this. I should be out making memories with my friends, not feeing alone, feeling this way. Time passed and my confidence grew. Although I knew at the back of mind something wasn't quite right, I still pushed myself and acted as if things were normal. I didn't want people to see me like this, see me so weak, like a burden to people. I just wanted to be a normal teenage girl, who would go to sleepovers with- friends, eat too much ice-cream at midnight until she felt sick and giggle herself into a deep sleep. I was a joker. Would make people laugh until they could hardly breath. I liked seeing people smile because of me. Laugh at me. Not at me, but with me. I enjoyed bringing happiness into other people's lives, as it made up for the happiness that was absent in my own. While all of my friends would spend their weekends being sociable, visiting cinemas, parks, town, I would spend most of mine alone, in my room. Watching videos, drawing, eating, to pass time. I remember feeling a bitter jealousy inside of my stomach. Jealous of those friends who could go out, into large crowded areas and enjoy themselves without the heart palpitations, the sweated palms or the sick like feeling in the pit of their stomach.

A time lapse of a sunrise. (Source)

I made use of my wilting flowers🌸

it’s so dumb that piercings and tattoos can impact your ability to find a job. employers shouldn’t be allowed to discriminate based on gender, race, sexual orientation, or level of punk-rockness

I can’t wait until our generation becomes teachers that actually know how to make a video full screen and get the god damn cursor out of the way

It took me 18 years to realise Saturday has turd in it