Because he “cares” for you.

There once was a girl. She was broken

There once was a boy. He was beautiful

This boy sparked something deep in the girl’s soul. Then he forgot about her. 

Now she is…





Medicated Perfection. 



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.


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.