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I think it's time I told my story.
My name is Lani, and I am 17 years old. At the age of 14, I was cyber abused by a guy who thought it was amusing to force me to do things on webcam for his entertainment, using the lack of trust between my parents and I as a form of blackmail. I have never gotten over this.
I have been a self harmer for three years, and in that time attempted suicide 7 times, however never bad enough to end up in A&E. This has made me afraid to take medication and even when I am in extreme pain, I will be reluctant to take any form of painkiller. A year ago, I met a man who I thought could change my life. But in the end, he ended up making my situation worse because I wanted to do all I could to help him, but you can't help someone who didn't want to be helped. This made me suicidal, and made it that I had to see a therapist, whom proved that I had the symptoms of clinical depression. I couldn't eat without being ill, I could
Bracelet projectThe Bracelet Project.
Each disorder has a color that corresponds to it.
Schizophrenia is Gold
Bipolar/mood disorder is Silver
Anorexia is Red.
Bulimia is Purple.
EDNOS is Pink.
Depression is blue.
Self harm is Orange or Black.
Fasting at the time is Green.
Suicidal is Yellow.
Overweight/Obese is Turquoise.
Anxiety/Panic disorder/OCD is Teal.
Adding 1 white bead means you're trying to recover.
If your bracelet is half of the color that your disease is and half white it means you're in recovery.
You can also make the strand the main disorder you have then add beads to your lesser disorders, or if you have EDNOS, if you have more anorexic or bulimic tendencies then you can add a red or purple bead.
If you see a girl in public wearing one, you are supposed to make eye contact and point to your bracelet. If she nods then you know she is part of the bracelet project.
Spread awareness about the bracelet project.
***Quoted from Tumbler: http://thatpunkdrummerchick.tumblr.com/post/27398380436/t
Does she like me or not?
Should I ask her or not?
Should I be annoying or not?
Should I be paranoid or not?
Should I over react or not?
Should I get over it or not?
Should I be desperate or not?
Should I cry on her shoulder or not?
Should I cry when she starts to date that other prettier girl or not?
Should I cry because I'm ugly?
Should I cry because I'm too submissive?
Should I cry because I'm not good enough for her?
Should I forget about her or not?
Was that real or not?
Does she like him or not?
Does she like her or not?
Should I change for her or not?
Would she care or not?
Does she already care or not?
Should I stop trying or not?
Should I just cry or not?
The Waiting-RoomTime heals all wounds...
What a load of crap.
Because from what I've seen
When someone dies
We sit there with fumbling fingers
Trying to stitch the gaping hole in our heart.
And when we finish we look down and lie "I'm okay."
Because not even the most skilled doctor
Could erase your pain.
Even in sleep you can't escape their faces,
Maybe a good knock out
In the fighting rink
I've heard you don't dream
when knocked out.
And maybe the only reason we die
Is because we miss the ones that left before us.
Even the loneliest man has someone he misses,
Maybe that's the only reason he's lonely.
Also, I've been thinking lately
about what comes after this?
Is this life just a waiting-room for the next?
Or are we deemed to an infinite line of waiting-rooms.
Maybe there's just oblivion.
An oblivion where we're all thrown into,
Regardless of our deeds.
A place were you endlessly search for those that left before you.
But as soon as your fingers touch,
Or your voices
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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