I've realized that there was nothing I could do
because no matter how hard I tried to figure out the future
it was never going to be defined

The future was set to change and all we could do was hope
that it wouldn't take us for too much of ride

When I relapsed after being clean for about six months
I hated myself because of that
It made me believe I was weak
I wasn't stronger then everything going inside my head
and I fell for the trick that my mind wanted
but I didn't realize that it's okay
part of recovery is relapse
you are gunna have bad days more often then the good
and that's okay becasue at least you can say that you're trying

" Today I learned the true meaning of self - love.
I used to think that self-love was getting out of bed
and making sure to keep a smile on your face

I'm learning that self-love is loving yourself
even when you feel as though you'll never leave your room again
On days when you close the curtains and you dont even want to turn on a lamp
remind yourself that the mirror still shows the same you no matter how dark it is

It will not always be easy
most days, it will not be easy

But the dirt underneath your fingernails
is not a part of who you are
you are lovely, even when your pajamas seem to be
the only outfit in your wardrobe "

*found this on Tumblr and I loved it instantly thought I'd share it with all

You are a vital medicine to me,
A forever addicting drug on my brain.
You are wholesome,
You are psychotic,
Everything I don’t but do need.

A reflex is what I call you,
An immediate, involuntary response,
In any situation although
Not always wanted,
But appreciated yet hated in hindsight.

I often wonder,
In sleep deprived daydream,
If I supply an isolated but overwhelming
Suffocation in your changing mind,
Like you have so rudely overtaken mine.

Forget, forget, words of a man tortured by pain,
But you linger,
A lonely *****, begging for time,
Yet when you receive it, you only push
Your desires away.

You pushed me away and I can’t return,
But a memory is imprinted in the folds of my life.

The first time I went to my therapy class
I despised everything
the thought of simply going made me feel crazy
It made me fear the truth about myself
and in that instant I hated my therapist
I though she didn't know much about my supposed illness
becasue in that moment I thought
you can never truly understand a mental illness until
or unless you've lived with one
It's not something you can read in a psychology textbook
and call yourself an expert

I knew she was like water, she'd probably wish to be compared to a sea but she was more like a lake. Still, calm, never moving without an outside force.

But still I loved her. Her calming waters soothed my wounds and her reflective surface forced me to see myself the way I am. But still she never moved. I could ripple her surface, make her waters splash upon new sides of her shores, but in doing so I watched in somber wonder as she washed the people in her shallows up upon her banks, sore and bruised down to their hearts, and neither would reach for the other, trapped in the curse of stillness.

She assured me she loved me, she assured me I'd always stay in the deepest depth of her heart. And yet slowly, what was once a depth so warm and vast, I found my toes grazing the bottom, and every time I did I tried to swim back, back to where the water was endless, bottomless, yet never could I stay there long. Other people were causing wakes, and fighting against them was becoming difficult, for I am not the strongest swimmer.

I began to wonder whether I was still welcome, for her silences were getting longer, her ripples I could cause we're so much smaller, and in my self doubt those wakes moved me ever closer to the shore, and with each step I could take full footed along the bottom I began to sob.

I tried curling myself into a ball in those shallows, tried to allow the water to cover my head and tell myself I still mattered. But the water here was so frigid, my lips began to turn blue and my lungs burned. I'd return to the surface and take long breaths and use them to scream silently.

From where I stood, the water only knee deep I saw the figure of a man at her center, and as he raised his arms my scream became caught in my throat, and as his arms slammed upon her surface I saw the wave come rushing toward me, the longer it moved the more it grew and I said silently to myself "this is the end."

In those surreal seconds I remembered the others, and was reminded of her stillness, and in those horrible moments I knew I was nothing anymore, just another piece of useless trash to be lying upon her shore.