Broken bread. 

Although my hallucinations haven’t been a problem lately, my eating has been. Either I’m eating too much or too little. My psychiatrist diagnosed me with an eating disorder, and now I am in an outpatient program where I am trying to get some help with my difficulties with food. 

If it’s not one thing it’s another. Am I right or am I right?  

I just want to be happy for goodness sakes. I’ve decided to go back to university in the fall and be a theatre major again. But if my body refuses to cooperate, I’m going to be seriously pissed. I worked my butt off to get over self harming, now I come home from my outpatient program (where they make us eat a very large meal) wanting to cry and self harm because I’m never going to lose weight and feel comfortable in my body if they keep making me eat so much. 

I have to write everything I eat in a “food journal” that requires I eat quite a good amount of food every day. My daily calorie intake is about to get larger. 

As will my pants size. 😢


Medicated Perfection. 


Jesus wept (again). 

The last time I made a post I was happy.

Now I’m not. The voices in my head have gotten stronger and have added a new method of torture. They can now put images in my head. For example, I was downstairs and saw my sister on the computer. Not something out of the ordinary…then BAM. All I could see in my head was me strangling her. That’s not something I’d ever want to do to my sister. That’s something I can never unsee.

And that scares me.

Tonight all I can see is me slitting my wrists. It’s horrible. It’s making it impossible to sleep.

These are the days when I want to just be done with all of this.

With everything.



Medicated Perfection.

wrist slit gif


I have started reading a book. It is called Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed. One chapter is called On Writing and Dancing. She starts out talking about how a friend of hers says she wants to write, but isn’t good at it. So the author (Glennon Doyle Melton) compares that to how she used to be afraid of dancing at weddings. And also kind of afraid of weddings in general. She is a recovering alcoholic so “sober dancing” was something that terrified her. This got me to thinking, 

I’m a good dancer. I have training in many styles of dance. I was on pointe in ballet when I was 12. At every dance competition, I may not have gotten picked for best solo, but I almost always received an award for having “beautiful feet”. I love dancing at weddings. But wait, do I dance at weddings because I love being myself on the dance floor or because I want people to see that I’m a good dancer? 

I still have no answer to this. Even at parties I want to dance. But, is it because I can dance or because I want to? I don’t have an answer to this yet. More to follow some other day. 

I watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants last night and bawled my eyes out. I have seen it many many times before, but last night my elevated emotions were pulled at in every moment of the movie that was the least-bit profound or compassionate. I bring this up because there is a scene where a guy is telling a girl that he understands why she is shy. He tells her that some girls show off their beauty because they want the world to see it, while others hide their beauty because they want the world to see something else. This made me tear up because I’m not sure which one of those girls I am anymore. I want to be the one that is more secretive with her beauty, but I also want people to think I am beautiful. I’m a people pleaser so I also want people to like me even if it’s not for something that’s really me. 

I guess I’m saying all of this because I’m still trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be. Writing about it is always a good coping mechanism for me. I know that not many people follow my blog mainly because I’m so scattered with when I post and many of my posts are incredibly depressing triggers. But I guess I just wish more people followed me because I feel that I have so much to say and hardly anyone can hear me. 

But I suppose we all have to start somewhere. 

Today’s lesson: Be yourself. 

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.


Plans to prosper.

I’m doing well today.

I mean, I’m alright.

I’m okay.

I was bad last night.
I made art. On my arms.

I was supposed to drive back to school today.

Now I’m in a local mental health and addiction rehabilitation center waiting to be “evaluated.”

Happy New Year to me.

Medicated Perfection.

In the beginning…

You can call me Rosie.

Starting on January 1st, 2015, for the next year, hopefully, I will be writing on this here blog about whatever I want. Mainly because it’s the Internet and I can, but also because I am a 20 year old college student with major depressive disorder with psychotic features.

I left you with a nice cliffhanger there, huh?

So then, goodbye…for now.

Medicated Perfection.