Featured: Who am I really?
Brave In the AttemptIt was a cool fall day in November 2013, I was in the middle of my 7th grade year, and about to do one of the bravest things a person with a disability can do; try out for a school sports team. All throughout my life I have been told by doctors, peers (but not nessicarily friends), and strangers, “you can’t do that” “You’ll never do it” but I refused to listen to them. I was going to do this whether they thought I could or not, because I’m the type of person who will challenge someone who says I can’t, and prove them wrong. At the end of the day, I headed from art to my locker and then to the gym to get changed. “Alright girls, everyone come over here” Coach Drendel said, and we all went over to where she was standing. “This is a fair tryout, everyone is on a level playing field, so lets have fun and do our best!” she encouraged. Except for me, I wasn’t on a level playing field, none of the other girls had aBrave In the Attempt by EquestrianStrong
Clap Your HandsTRIGGER WARNING: depression, suicide, self-harmClap Your Hands by GuinevereToGwen
SPOILER ALERT: Spring Awakening the musical
This is a happy story. I promise. But it’s also a true story, which means that there are icky bits. Bits that we like to pretend don’t really happen to real people. Bits that we ignore until it’s too late. But I was lucky. Those bits never got to me. Not completely.
This is a happy story. I write it now because it makes me happy. But I have to warn you that quite a lot of it is very, very sad.
For a long time I thought of my death as inevitable. Death is inevitable, of course—I guess it’s more accurate to say that my suicide was inevitable. It wasn’t that I wanted to die—that part sounded messy and unpleasant—I wanted to be dead. I wanted to stop existing. To close my eyes and never have to open them, ever again.
I think depression
Miles to Go"Can you move your leg over the edge of your bed?"Miles to Go by hopeburnsblue
It's been roughly two weeks since my accident. I'm thin and bedridden and all plaster and bandages on the left leg.
I try to move. That's when the excruciating pain kicks in. I don't flash back all the way, but my leg does. I feel terrified and am ashamed when I cry loudly like a child. But Jessica doesn't yell at me the way the therapist in the hospital did.
"That's all I need from you today," she says, placing one hand on my shoulder and one on my leg. "I just wanted to see where you're at."
"Okay," I sniff.
"I want you to do something for me. Whenever you're in pain, or you think to, I want you to lightly massage your leg. We don't want you getting RSD."
I scrunch my face in reply. I don't know what will be worse--feeling my hands on my leg or my leg under my hands.
"Touch receptors are quicker than pain receptors," she explains. "This exercise will help distract you from the pain, but it'll also help to reacclimate your nerve endin
The Difference Between Snakes and RopesLast night there was a womanThe Difference Between Snakes and Ropes by Nichrysalis
where my girl was and she said to me,
“This. That’s what he did.”
A woman isn’t born vulnerable, but
vulnerability is a part of personhood
and being self-aware of insecurities
is more vividly human than vibrancy;
more sexy than secrecy.
I’d compose her movement to music
or pen it on paper, proffer it as poetry
and profess confessions as love
but I’d rather be on standby—
even as passerby—
because I ache and I ache
all the time now, for her.
For her I am sore and unstomachable
and nurse wounds that aren’t mine.
For her, I worry.
I worry and I tighten knots,
practice my box, bow tie, square, slip,
and double coin knots and remember
that the method to madness is comfort;
being complacent with sanity
makes for insanity
and being complacent with a lover
is to take them for granted.
I tighten the same knot
and expect the same result,
wind the bight around again,
again, and again. And bite.
I knot, bight;
|ItDoesNotHaveMe is an awareness group on deviantART started by opioid after unexpected but incredibly positive feedback for her Lyme Disease article on dA's editorial news. It is a place where artists coping with illness--either physical or mental, their own or a loved one's--can seek out a headquarters for awareness and expression.|
Submissions to the group's gallery should be directly related to an illness or condition. There must be a mention of this illness or condition in the Artist's Comments.
"I've spent 7 weeks on a psychiatric ward, and was discharged today! I was also given a diagnosis of Anxiety Avoidance Personality Disorder - has anyone else here received that diagnosis? It would be nice to chat with someone!"
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