Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Reading Back
Reading back on old posts, i really see the growth i've gone through in the past year.
Guys, I don't even recognize the person I was when I first started this blog.
It's difficult to put into words the amount of mud I had to trudge through to get to this point, and its been strange trying to come into this new being.
I think its about time to revamp this blog, and try to find a good creative outlet for myself.
I am here as a creative outlet for you all as well, and I hope with more frequent posting his blog can become a daily part of your lives.
Thanks guys,
Mitsuki
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Public PSA
Don't invalidate me. Don't invalidate us.
We are not you, you are not us.
I am not you, you are not me.
When I tell you I am depressed, do not say you "get depressed sometimes too."
When I tell you I have OCD, don't say "I understand I like to keep my things organized"
When I tell you I have ADHD, don't say, "I think i may have that too"
When I tell you I am having anxiety, don't say, "everybody gets nervous sometimes."
Until you have struggled with intrusive thoughts, crippling panic attacks, psychological tests, and overwhelming sadness, you do not "feel me". If you are not me, you do not "feel me".
When you say something like this to someone who is desperately trying to open up to you, it does not comfort them. It does not make them feel like you support them.
You are trivializing this person's individual struggle, you are invalidating this person's feelings.
You can't say, "I'm super OCD too". You are not.
This is not me saying you are not allowed to empathize, but there is a line between being depressed and feeling depressed.
When I tell you about my struggle with my medications, do not tell me about your own life.
You need to find a place in your mind to just LISTEN. Just let them vent and let yourself feel those words really and truly.
You have no idea how important it is to validate someone's struggles. To let them know that they are struggling, and that this is a real fight.
My fight with depression, self-harming, anxiety, OCD, ADHD, and panic attacks is not something I am making up. I wish i was.
These are things that are a part of me, and are like extra limbs on my body.
When someone is telling you they are going through a personal struggle, do NOT make it about yourself.
Make sure people know you are THERE for them, and not just there to talk about yourself.
I have my struggle, and you have your struggle. Neither one is more important, but during certain times learn to realize that trying to put your struggle over someone else's does not make them feel better.
Just some public PSA I wanted to make for National Kindness Week/ National Anti-Violence Week.
Find a way to be support without invalidating someone else.
National Kindness Week! Start being nice now, and never stop.
We are not you, you are not us.
I am not you, you are not me.
When I tell you I am depressed, do not say you "get depressed sometimes too."
When I tell you I have OCD, don't say "I understand I like to keep my things organized"
When I tell you I have ADHD, don't say, "I think i may have that too"
When I tell you I am having anxiety, don't say, "everybody gets nervous sometimes."
Until you have struggled with intrusive thoughts, crippling panic attacks, psychological tests, and overwhelming sadness, you do not "feel me". If you are not me, you do not "feel me".
When you say something like this to someone who is desperately trying to open up to you, it does not comfort them. It does not make them feel like you support them.
You are trivializing this person's individual struggle, you are invalidating this person's feelings.
You can't say, "I'm super OCD too". You are not.
This is not me saying you are not allowed to empathize, but there is a line between being depressed and feeling depressed.
When I tell you about my struggle with my medications, do not tell me about your own life.
You need to find a place in your mind to just LISTEN. Just let them vent and let yourself feel those words really and truly.
You have no idea how important it is to validate someone's struggles. To let them know that they are struggling, and that this is a real fight.
My fight with depression, self-harming, anxiety, OCD, ADHD, and panic attacks is not something I am making up. I wish i was.
These are things that are a part of me, and are like extra limbs on my body.
When someone is telling you they are going through a personal struggle, do NOT make it about yourself.
Make sure people know you are THERE for them, and not just there to talk about yourself.
I have my struggle, and you have your struggle. Neither one is more important, but during certain times learn to realize that trying to put your struggle over someone else's does not make them feel better.
Just some public PSA I wanted to make for National Kindness Week/ National Anti-Violence Week.
Find a way to be support without invalidating someone else.
National Kindness Week! Start being nice now, and never stop.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
National Kindness Week!
Hello my loves! ^^
So, this week is National Kindness/Anti-Violence Week!
I recently thought back on my experiences with bullying, and how they have made the person I am now.
Heres the short version of it:
In elementary - middle school, I was bullied. Not physically, but it was more a passive type of harassment. I was ostracized, and met with malicious words on social media.
It felt horrible to be surrounded by people who clearly didn't like me, but having to stay with them because I had nowhere else to go. It was a trapped feeling, surrounded by this self-loathing that is manifested through insecurity and letting people hurt you on a daily basis.
I hated going to school in the morning, i hated it every day.
I felt so alone all the time, and my life was so unhappy that I actually started to self-harm and attempted suicide multiple times.
I still have scars on my left wrist, going up and down in lines that seem to be drawn in a color a little darker than my skin.
I cut deeper and deeper each time, hoping something would break and everything would be over.
But after i took some time and got some professional help, which was looked down upon, I turned into a new person. I made friends who cared about me and I found my self-respect.
I surrounded myself with people who made me feel good about my skin, and it may have just been as simple as a little laugh at a joke i tell.
I found i laughed more and more everyday, and I actually had a reason to get up in the morning.
I found a place for me that was full of love and full of happiness.
Those simple little actions made me a different person, and I found the true kellie hiding underneath rubble of my past.
I am happy, I am solid, and I am someone who has made it through so much, with scars still visible.
That version of me that I once felt so deeply, she doesn't exist anymore.
Doing something kind for someone is not difficult. NOT DIFFICULT.
Very simple things can make a person's day, and exercising a careful thought process when you say something to someone can save a life.
We are people. We are a united species who should be the hand to hold us together.
Do something for those around you.
Write a note, send a card, give a hug.
You can do so much as a person to make someone's life easier.
I was so alone for so long, and yet now I find myself a different person. A person with happiness and hope and true love in her life.
So on this National Kindness Week, Lets recognize the humanity of it all, and treat each other with respect.
Kindness goes a long way, guys.
Talk to you guys soon!
So, this week is National Kindness/Anti-Violence Week!
I recently thought back on my experiences with bullying, and how they have made the person I am now.
Heres the short version of it:
In elementary - middle school, I was bullied. Not physically, but it was more a passive type of harassment. I was ostracized, and met with malicious words on social media.
It felt horrible to be surrounded by people who clearly didn't like me, but having to stay with them because I had nowhere else to go. It was a trapped feeling, surrounded by this self-loathing that is manifested through insecurity and letting people hurt you on a daily basis.
I hated going to school in the morning, i hated it every day.
I felt so alone all the time, and my life was so unhappy that I actually started to self-harm and attempted suicide multiple times.
I still have scars on my left wrist, going up and down in lines that seem to be drawn in a color a little darker than my skin.
I cut deeper and deeper each time, hoping something would break and everything would be over.
But after i took some time and got some professional help, which was looked down upon, I turned into a new person. I made friends who cared about me and I found my self-respect.
I surrounded myself with people who made me feel good about my skin, and it may have just been as simple as a little laugh at a joke i tell.
I found i laughed more and more everyday, and I actually had a reason to get up in the morning.
I found a place for me that was full of love and full of happiness.
Those simple little actions made me a different person, and I found the true kellie hiding underneath rubble of my past.
I am happy, I am solid, and I am someone who has made it through so much, with scars still visible.
That version of me that I once felt so deeply, she doesn't exist anymore.
Doing something kind for someone is not difficult. NOT DIFFICULT.
Very simple things can make a person's day, and exercising a careful thought process when you say something to someone can save a life.
We are people. We are a united species who should be the hand to hold us together.
Do something for those around you.
Write a note, send a card, give a hug.
You can do so much as a person to make someone's life easier.
I was so alone for so long, and yet now I find myself a different person. A person with happiness and hope and true love in her life.
So on this National Kindness Week, Lets recognize the humanity of it all, and treat each other with respect.
Kindness goes a long way, guys.
Talk to you guys soon!
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Let's Get it Together.
Here is the story of my path to recovery.
A rainy Wednesday. She drove... I watched the drops slide down the window.
This was the day. The day I would find out the name of the monster that was nesting in my head.
I was diagnosed that day. By a young psychiatrist, who recently started her practice in an office near my home. This was the first time i would be getting an officially name for what I had.
She asked me a few questions and asked me to remember three words; Ball, Chain, Lamp.
Ball. Chain. Lamp.
How do you do in school?
Ball... Chain...
What is life like at home?
Ball.... Cha-..
Please repeat back to me the words I asked you to memorize.
Bat...
I couldn't remember. My condition had never been put on the spot like that... faced with such bold confrontation.
I laughed nervously as I tried to remember the words, my breathing getting faster and shorter, the adrenaline filing from my belly button to the tip of my nose.
I was in full on panic mode.
From three words I was on the verge of collapsing.
Collapsing in the small, peaceful office that had a dark grey dharma statue, flowing slowly with water.
Collapsing on a rainy Wednesday afternoon in the middle of March.
She noticed the fidgeting of my hands, the twitching of my legs.
She saw my eyes move rapidly, and followed my sight to the patterns in the couch cushions.
It's okay.
I felt tears fill one of my eyes. Only one.
It is Ball, Chain, Lamp.
Another Chance! Another Chance!
I repeated the words like a seance in my head. Over and over and over and over.
Over until the three morphed into one word. ballchainlamp
don't you dare forget. Don't.
Repeat the words back to me.
BALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMP
I said it so loud and with so much force she looked up at me.
There were beads of sweat going down the fide of my forehead. I don't even sweat when I exercise.
She wrote down some things on some paper in a pen color I don't remember.
I looked down and grabbed my lip with my teeth. Bit until it bled, I did.
After what seemed like years, she looked up once more and I turned my head like I had heard a gunshot.
Would you please call your mother in here please?
I tried to read her face. Was it bad?
Okay.
....
My mother sat on the couch next to my chair.
We both were bonded by our panic. Our fear. What was wrong with me.
Your daughter has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
The words I had heard. Heard in my own head. Now they were coming from someone else's mouth.
I will prescribe Prozac as a daily med. It should help.
should.
should.
might.
should.
Let's remember again. Remember with the part of our brains that does that.
Remember? Do you remember? Do YOU remember?
This was a moment for me that was a mess. Seemingly, everything was in order, not a folder out of place. Not a cabinet un-labeled.
This whole day was me veering off the path and trying to find my way back with a compass pointed in the wrong direction. I could't see which way was North.
should. that word was inked in front of my pupils; it never left my sight.
Trying to deal with the feelings of a label are trying to deal with your favorite author changing the name of her entire series, years after it was published. Harry Potter to British Wizards, for example.
A name I was used to.
It wasn't the OCD.
It wasn't the actual diagnosis.
it wasn't the medication.
It was the label. A label that painted my condition a certain color.
A color I wasn't used to. A brightness my eyes were not adjusted to.
The name. A combination of letters and sounds that let me say and say over again what it was.
O. C. D.
Three letters. Letters that all looked alike, and letters you learn in the first half of preschool.
What sort of condition do you have?
O. C. D.
Three letters that I repeated over and over for months to come. Three letters I used because i couldn't bring myself to say the real name. It was like Beetle Juice. Or Voldemort. Or something.
It had a name.
I didn't know it before, but now it had a name, and it was demanding I call it just that.
it had a name. A title. A breed.
I let the words sink deeper and deeper into my tan skin until they dyed me a dark grey.
Until the three letters were plastered over every inch of my body, and were written in every language for anyone to see.
I was a billboard. An ad for a brand-name.
It began to define me. It began to be a synonym for my name.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
You say it over and over, not seeing the irony. Never seeing the irony.
My fingers... my hair... the color of that chair... they were all wrong.
They didn't fit into the pill box I had in my head. My teeth. My tastebuds.
What was it called on Monday?
Tuesday? How about Sunday? Even Sunday?!
There is no weekend for OCD. No holidays, and no vacations.
Not even a coffee break. Not even time to stretch.
... As time passed.
As colors moved by like the cars on the highway,
As my hair grew and my waist thinned,
i learned the way.
I found the way to a new person, a person I had never met before.
Here I was. It was as if I was meeting myself for the first time.
I shook hands with this version of myself, her warm fingers wrapping around mine.
She glowed with a happiness I had never known, a light I had always avoided.
I wrapped myself in her arms, I wrapped my arms around her.
I felt my hands become my hands, and my eyes became one.
I no longer stood parallel. I was.
I was who I had wished to be, who I could have always been.
I was with me, I was with me.
Now I had a hand free to hold, and eyes free to adore them.
Now I had a heart, not weighed down by hot lead, by hot metal.
I finally passed through the mirror and became the sun, and the moon, and the stars.
I found my light, but I also found the dark.
The water rushed through me while the fire burned bright,
Bright light rushed through me, while the dark stayed light.
I found her. I found her.
We found each other, each one and the same.
I am thankful for my recovery, my rediscovery of the happiness I once lost.
Stuck in a chasm, climb out of the chasm, spit in the darkness you once inhabited, walk.
Walk. Walk.
I love me. I love me.
A rainy Wednesday. She drove... I watched the drops slide down the window.
This was the day. The day I would find out the name of the monster that was nesting in my head.
I was diagnosed that day. By a young psychiatrist, who recently started her practice in an office near my home. This was the first time i would be getting an officially name for what I had.
She asked me a few questions and asked me to remember three words; Ball, Chain, Lamp.
Ball. Chain. Lamp.
How do you do in school?
Ball... Chain...
What is life like at home?
Ball.... Cha-..
Please repeat back to me the words I asked you to memorize.
Bat...
I couldn't remember. My condition had never been put on the spot like that... faced with such bold confrontation.
I laughed nervously as I tried to remember the words, my breathing getting faster and shorter, the adrenaline filing from my belly button to the tip of my nose.
I was in full on panic mode.
From three words I was on the verge of collapsing.
Collapsing in the small, peaceful office that had a dark grey dharma statue, flowing slowly with water.
Collapsing on a rainy Wednesday afternoon in the middle of March.
She noticed the fidgeting of my hands, the twitching of my legs.
She saw my eyes move rapidly, and followed my sight to the patterns in the couch cushions.
It's okay.
I felt tears fill one of my eyes. Only one.
It is Ball, Chain, Lamp.
Another Chance! Another Chance!
I repeated the words like a seance in my head. Over and over and over and over.
Over until the three morphed into one word. ballchainlamp
don't you dare forget. Don't.
Repeat the words back to me.
BALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMPBALLCHAINLAMP
I said it so loud and with so much force she looked up at me.
There were beads of sweat going down the fide of my forehead. I don't even sweat when I exercise.
She wrote down some things on some paper in a pen color I don't remember.
I looked down and grabbed my lip with my teeth. Bit until it bled, I did.
After what seemed like years, she looked up once more and I turned my head like I had heard a gunshot.
Would you please call your mother in here please?
I tried to read her face. Was it bad?
Okay.
....
My mother sat on the couch next to my chair.
We both were bonded by our panic. Our fear. What was wrong with me.
Your daughter has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
The words I had heard. Heard in my own head. Now they were coming from someone else's mouth.
I will prescribe Prozac as a daily med. It should help.
should.
should.
might.
should.
Let's remember again. Remember with the part of our brains that does that.
Remember? Do you remember? Do YOU remember?
This was a moment for me that was a mess. Seemingly, everything was in order, not a folder out of place. Not a cabinet un-labeled.
This whole day was me veering off the path and trying to find my way back with a compass pointed in the wrong direction. I could't see which way was North.
should. that word was inked in front of my pupils; it never left my sight.
Trying to deal with the feelings of a label are trying to deal with your favorite author changing the name of her entire series, years after it was published. Harry Potter to British Wizards, for example.
A name I was used to.
It wasn't the OCD.
It wasn't the actual diagnosis.
it wasn't the medication.
It was the label. A label that painted my condition a certain color.
A color I wasn't used to. A brightness my eyes were not adjusted to.
The name. A combination of letters and sounds that let me say and say over again what it was.
O. C. D.
Three letters. Letters that all looked alike, and letters you learn in the first half of preschool.
What sort of condition do you have?
O. C. D.
Three letters that I repeated over and over for months to come. Three letters I used because i couldn't bring myself to say the real name. It was like Beetle Juice. Or Voldemort. Or something.
It had a name.
I didn't know it before, but now it had a name, and it was demanding I call it just that.
it had a name. A title. A breed.
I let the words sink deeper and deeper into my tan skin until they dyed me a dark grey.
Until the three letters were plastered over every inch of my body, and were written in every language for anyone to see.
I was a billboard. An ad for a brand-name.
It began to define me. It began to be a synonym for my name.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
You say it over and over, not seeing the irony. Never seeing the irony.
My fingers... my hair... the color of that chair... they were all wrong.
They didn't fit into the pill box I had in my head. My teeth. My tastebuds.
What was it called on Monday?
Tuesday? How about Sunday? Even Sunday?!
There is no weekend for OCD. No holidays, and no vacations.
Not even a coffee break. Not even time to stretch.
... As time passed.
As colors moved by like the cars on the highway,
As my hair grew and my waist thinned,
i learned the way.
I found the way to a new person, a person I had never met before.
Here I was. It was as if I was meeting myself for the first time.
I shook hands with this version of myself, her warm fingers wrapping around mine.
She glowed with a happiness I had never known, a light I had always avoided.
I wrapped myself in her arms, I wrapped my arms around her.
I felt my hands become my hands, and my eyes became one.
I no longer stood parallel. I was.
I was who I had wished to be, who I could have always been.
I was with me, I was with me.
Now I had a hand free to hold, and eyes free to adore them.
Now I had a heart, not weighed down by hot lead, by hot metal.
I finally passed through the mirror and became the sun, and the moon, and the stars.
I found my light, but I also found the dark.
The water rushed through me while the fire burned bright,
Bright light rushed through me, while the dark stayed light.
I found her. I found her.
We found each other, each one and the same.
I am thankful for my recovery, my rediscovery of the happiness I once lost.
Stuck in a chasm, climb out of the chasm, spit in the darkness you once inhabited, walk.
Walk. Walk.
I love me. I love me.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Introducing: Coffee!
Hello my loves!
I am happy to introduce to you all a new member of my lovely family: Coffee!
She is a sweet little puppy who has come to live at my humble abode.
She is a caramel colored Toy Poodle, about 4 months old. (pictured)
She has a loving personality and is constantly running around, eager to play.
She sleeps alot, and fits right in with the family.
I know its a short post, but i hope you all love it anyways.
She is a lovely new addition, and i hope you all adore her as much as I do.
Love,
Krispy
Friday, March 27, 2015
What I Bought Today :)
Hello, my dears :)
So yesterday was the first day of my spring break, so I bought a few things in spirit of it.
Bought a mere 3 things, but i thought i'd share them anyways.
So basically I just bought a tank top, a Coldplay vinyl, and a photography book.
(yes so hipster i knoW LET ME LIVE MY LIFE)
I am most excited about this book. My photography is mediocre at best, and I would love to improve in any way I can.
I will write a blog review on it when I finish it!
Ok so here is the conversational piece.
I don't particularly believe in the the concept of being, "One of the Boys" honestly I just bought it because it was cute.
I know it sort of perpetuates the gender binaries, but I bought it entirely for the design of the shirt. :)
So that's all I bought yesterday. I hope you enjoyed this short little haul post and if you have any questions or inquiries, do not be afraid to ask, my dears!
Have a great day,
Kellie c:
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