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.


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23 years old. Student teacher. Theatre enthusiast. Music lover. Medication taker. Depressed. Bad at eating.

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