But hope that is seen is not hope at all.


I wrote a poem.

With one short breath she drowns away
The sorrows she lives with every day.
The relief she finds in a knife
Will one day slowly end her life.
It’s not that she never ever feels good,
It’s the voices that make her regret where she’s stood.
If only they knew, if only they cared
Then maybe she wouldn’t be so fucking scared.
The screams in her head make it hard to deal
With the fact that she’d just rather not feel.
The twist in the story is that “she” is me,
And I’d give anything for someone to set me free.

Medicated Perfection.


You shall not make any cuts on your body.

She’s upset; bad day
Heads for the dresser drawer to drive her pain away
Nothing good can come of this
She opens it there’s nothing…
There is only left over tears
Mom and dad had no right; she screams as the anger runs down both of her cheeks

Then she closed her eyes
Found relief in a knife
The blood flows as she cries

All alone the way she feels
Left alone to deal with all the pain-drenched sorrow;
Bite the lip, just forget the bleeding

Then she closed her eyes
Found relief in a knife
The blood flows as she cries

Curled up she’s on the floor
Relief left her, she had hoped for something more from it
He leans down to comfort her
She is weeping and he wraps his arms around and around and around and…

The deeper you cut
The deeper I hurt
The deeper you cut
It only gets worse

Now she’s slowly opening…
Yeah, she’s slowly opening new eyes…

She opened her eyes, and found relief in his life and put down her knives
She opened her life, and found relief through his eyes and she put down her knife.

I wish I had a “him” to make me want to open my eyes and put away my blade. But no. I have no one I can trust.

Until later…

Medicated Perfection.


For the life of the flesh is in the blood.

Last night was NOT easy. At all.

During class that afternoon, my eyes were continuously drawn to a friend in one of my classes. Let’s call him Jason.
He seemed distressed. His eyes were full of sadness…but that just made me watch him more.

He came over last night. We talked about everything wrong in our lives. About his past with drugs and losing friends to violence. About my voices and the shadows.

When I told him about the voices…

“What are their names, Rosie?”

“I’m not allowed to know their names…I’m not important enough.”

“Mmm. Andrew and Monica.”


Knowing I haven’t been sleeping well lately, he tried to get me to relax by telling me to relax each part of my body one by one.


It started to work. It almost worked.


With my eyes closed, all I could see in my mind was the rape from inside the mental facility. I could see him on top of me. Forcing himself inside me. Holding me down even though I was too drugged to be able to push him off. Or to scream. Or to say no.


He kissed me.

It was the BEST kiss I’ve ever had.
That’s scares me.

My voices took advantage of my vulnerability after he left me with just a goodnight kiss to get through the night.

Long story short.

I relapsed last night.

17 cuts on my upper thigh.

But I’m fine.

Medicated Perfection.

But love your enemies.


I had an episode. I feel like a failure.

The guy I am seeing was there and witnessed the whole thing.

He was so sweet and worried. That made the voices louder…and worse.

Cried for an hour and fifty seven minutes.

But I’m better alright coping fine now.


I am going on a fancy date tonight. Let’s call him Ryan.

Purple dress. Lace thigh highs. Black heels.

I am ready to fall.

Let’s do this.


Live well. Goodnight.

Medicated Perfection.

Trials of many kinds are considered pure joy?

Hello everyone. I am sorry for my few days of absence. Rosie hasn’t forgotten about y’all, I promise.

I am a few days behind on posts, but I don’t care.
All you need to know is that…

  1. I am out of the hospital,
  2. I am back at college,
  3. my mom is staying in my apartment with me,
  4. and I am kind of miserable.
  5. I am fine.

Okay. That is all.

Medicated Perfection.

Who will throw the first stone?

January 6th
Day 4:

I went to the emergency room last night.
I got back to the mental health facility at 1:30 this morning.


Here is the story:

It was Saturday night, around 9:30, after I took my medication. (Which included a sleep aid called Ambien…). Well, through my basically comatose state, I was pulled into one of the other patient’s room’s. For the sake of time and my brain cells, I’m going to be blunt: in this room I was sexually assaulted. A guy my age, who I thought was my friend, knew I was extremely over medicated, yet, decided to have sex with me.

Without any conscious consent.



The police have been involved. Because of this boy’s behavior (not including the previously mentioned event), he was being moved to my unit. I refused to stand by while they moved him to sleep 30 feet away from me. I WOULD NOT have it. So I told a manager-like lady my story. And NOW…the police are involved.

The CEO of the mental health facility made me sign a waiver giving my consent to anonymously turn in my written statement of what happened. Not too bad, right?


Because the police want to investigate. Now I am the victim in a sexual assault case. Again.



Medicated Perfection.