beauty without eyes

*possibly triggering*hi there, beautiful ❤ i'm P. i'm a semi-recovered self-harmer, incredibly insecure, I struggle with an anxiety disorder, I have binge eating disorder, and have been depressed and suicidal for three years so far. I want to say this: *you* are perfect. Y-O-U. just the way you are. Don't let people tell you that you are worthless, because it only shows how worthless *they* are. not keep your head up. you're much prettier when you smile, darling ❤I do not promote self-harm, eating disorders or suicide in any way ❤remember, i love you. Stay strong ❤

1/4239 Next


And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for you meddling kids and your talking dog




YES.YES.YES. People need to realise this 

This belongs more on Facebook than it does on tumblr.

i think you’re missing out on some of tumblr then… but it should be on facebook too, it should be on every social media site!


I have spent my whole life
being a fat girl,
no matter what size I was
or how much I ate.
No matter how many of me
fit into a room

It didn’t occur to me that
I wasn’t stealing space
from anyone else
by taking more of it,
nobody’s edges were aching,
asking my body to be smaller
so that their’s could grow.

I can’t even think about
what a normal childhood would’ve tasted like,
one that didn’t revolve around food.
One of my friends told me that you
should eat to live, not live to eat,
but I think I have always missed that message.
Food has always been a punishment,
or a reward,
or an accomplishment,
or a phobia
food, has never just been food
and I have always been a fat girl

I can’t say that in elementary school,
I ever really heard my classmates call me fat
but I knew, by what they didn’t say,
that they thought it
something about being ten years old makes you way too honest.
They looked at me different
and on the days when my clothes don’t fit quite right around what other people would call my curves,
I can still feel 25 ten year olds
looking at me
with their eyes that painted me as a fat girl.
It didn’t matter
what I did in school
because I was only good despite my body,
not because I lit fires with the person living inside of it.

When I got to high school things weren’t really so different
until I lost weight
and then gained it back,
to lose it again, and gain it one last time,
and now I see weight as a see-saw
and you’re only having fun if you’re sitting on the end
that’s closest to the sky
but for the most part, I’ve always been at the bottom.
and in my years of sitting here on the down-end of a see-saw,
I’ve learned to just be thankful
that I’m at the playground at all.


The Down End of a See-Saw, Angel Rosen (poeticus) | Audio (via poeticus)


"Don’t let others walk all over you."

"Today my mind is glorifying anorexia.
Today I am finding myself wishing I was smaller, daintier, prettier, sicker.
Today I must remind myself that anorexia is not beautiful, it is a disease.
Today I must remind myself that being thinner did not make me happier.
Today my mind is focused on death, cutting out the bright future that is yet to happen.
Today my mind believes that I should and could be dead, and that would be good.
Today must remember how my mother cried when I attempted suicide.
Today I must remember that I am brave for living.
Today I must remember that death is not beautiful. I must remind myself that life is worth hanging onto.
Today I must choose to survive."

rediscoveryandrecovery (via rediscoveryandrecovery)


Some people have faucets inside their lungs
That fill up with tears when they feel,
I hear that it is the best kind of hurt and
That, sometimes, it can even feel good.
The euphoria of waves crashing
against smooth pink walls

When my mother said she felt like her heart was bleeding
I wanted to tell her to not be afraid.
That it must be terrifying for ordinary people
To sink in the sound of abandonment,
To be overwhelmed by the wafting scent of loss,
And the feeling of water sloshing between their ribs.

My father said the hospital was so quiet when I was born
That you could hear the sighs of death.
The day he left for work and never came back,
I heard my own mind simmering and thought
‘It was really more of a whisper than a sigh’

Some people have faucets inside their lungs,
I cry at romantic-comedies so the pipes don’t rust.
I can say goodbye in nine languages,
But the word ‘love’ evades me in every tongue.

When he asked me why I cried so much
I told him I was practicing for when I drowned
When he said I was the only one who had his heart,
I told him I had my own.


(m.e.) strengthenizer (via strengthenizer)

"Depression makes you feel physically sick."

Six Word Story (via coffeestainedlife)


My therapist calls it “improving my threshold”
I call it “increasing my tolerance”.
No matter what you call it,
I can tell I’m getting better.

I used to be able to make it through
an 8 hour school day, and get home
and do about 3 hours of homework,
but I would still sleep for 12 hours.

As I got worse,
I began sleeping more,
13 hours,
14 hours,
15 hours,
I believe the most I’ve slept
was 18 hours.

The more I slept,
the less time I had for anything else.
It wasn’t being lazy.
I was so tired.
I wasn’t eating.
How can you stay awake
when you have no energy?

I started off being able to go anywhere,
at any time of the day.
I could still stay up late.
I could afford a messed up sleeping schedule.

After my first hospitalization,
I couldn’t leave the house.
Then, I couldn’t leave the room.
Then, I just couldn’t leave the bed,
except to go to the bathroom.
This is depression.
The only time I could function properly
was between 8 a.m. - 12 p.m.

I couldn’t go out in public without feeling
like everybody’s eyes were on me.
Every whisper was about me.
Every laugh was because they
were laughing about me.
I dropped out of public school.
I couldn’t go out in public
without becoming so paranoid.

I began sleeping at 2 in the afternoon,
all the way until morning.

Now, I’m 8 months recovered.
I sleep at 8 p.m. now instead.
Because I’m eating again.
I have enough energy
to stay up that late.
It’s still early,
but it’s better.

The other day,
I went to a spoken word show.
I was so anxious
that I got ready 7 hours before the show.
I showed up 2 hours before it started.
I showed up before the performers,
and I can guarantee you
I was more anxious than they were.

I stayed out until 11 p.m.
I spent the evening with my biggest human trigger.
I spent the evening with no medication or support system.
I spent the evening out in public,
feeling good about myself.
I ate 3 meals that day.
I didn’t black out,
and I wasn’t dizzy at all.

Believe me,
I know what it’s like
to be so dead inside
that you want to
kill your physical body
because you feel
that you’ll never
feel alive again.

My therapist calls this “healing”.
All I know is
I’m 8 months recovered,
and I actually feel like I’ve
come back to life.

Recovery is being born out of darkness.
It is starting a flame inside your chest.
Burning away all the darkness,
and making yourself lighter.


1:32 p.m. (I’ve finally figured out how to live)


it’s okay to not be ok

"Your body is not a temple
Your body is the house you grew up in
How dare you try to burn it to the ground
You are bigger than this"

Sierra Demulder (via findingmyrecovery)