Schismatic Flowerhaus

nomcreepypasta:

I’m taking a very deep breath before I start typing what I have to say into this familiar empty space. I’ve never officially told my followers (those that care) that I have in the past, struggled with self injury. I say in the past, because it is behind me now. It is because it is behind me that I felt the urge to write this - even though I am not entirely sure what “this” is. It’s just something I want to put out there, for any ex self-injurers like myself to possibly relate to, and as a warning to anyone who has yet to make the decision to quit the nasty habit. I figure that having gone through the worst years of self harm and making it out the other side, I owe it to others who haven’t quite made the leap yet to support and share with them as much as I can about the subject. Something good has to come from hell, right?

Today I had a pretty tough reality-check. It was unexpected, to be honest, since Scotland is normally so fucking cold and wet all the time! Well, anyway, I woke up to what seemed to be a pretty strong heatwave - oh joy of joys. Ask any person who self-injures, or chooses to cover up their scars - Summer really isn’t our favourite time of year. I’ve heard of people getting heat-stroke and what-not because they have too many layers on to let their skin properly breathe. It’s exhausting, uncomfortable, and overall a total buzzkill.

It was on this super hot day, that I had to go with my mum to visit the woman we bought our dog from (don’t ask, they’d decided to get the litter together again - like a highschool reunion. Apparently dogs even have to put up with those now). So, I wore what I normally wear - a pair of jeans, strappy top and a hoodie. Any other time of year, I would have been laughing. Not today. Below is an image of how my skin looked after the day out - 

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(via d-a--e-m--o-n--i-u--m-deactivat)

I was so much nicer in the past. What the hell happened to me? I found an old post I had made listening to this. Have I changed so much, I wonder..? Ugh.

Actually, well I’m thinking about it, one thing that always bothered me was that in Mute’s route, as a woman at least, I don’t remember being able to say ‘it’s all Eun-a’s fault!’. It wouldn’t have been the tactful thing to say to New *Mute, perhaps, but on the other hand… Why cannot I say that the only thing to truly support permissive society is autocratic rule?

My love for nice suits has nothing to do with this.

The chains that promise our liberation will not come so distantly as you say.

Even now, when I am old and tired and yet still not dead to the world, I can face you with fire in my eyes and tell you that the future you speak of is now, and all around us; to make yourself blind to it is not to remove your eyes, but to refuse the gift of sight.

Categorical imperative speaks of conditioning, and what is more conditioned then another life? As you rush to define yourself with definitions you have conveniently forgotten you were in the ‘phase’ of by the moment, you raise the shackle to your throat and eagerly let it tear into your skin.

But the divisiveness you curse is comforting to you, and the last thing you would do is risk your own comfort. As your hands stretch over vast expanses of empty space, you tell me proudly of how you use more to say less, glossing over with delicate touch the similarities between your gentle critique and the inequality you supposedly so hate.

If it is a crime to love words then I suppose I am a criminal. But I will type less, and use small words sequestered in smaller sentences, and you will praise me once again for not patronizing the rest of the world, ignoring the pride in your own voice.

Do you know how it pains me to see you so? Gaunt and stretched over this cage of screens, trying to keep up with so many others who care so little for you, each trapped in their own self-containment? But I cannot tell you - for you are too busy listening to too many others to hear my voice.

Nor would I if you could; for even still I cling to the belief that what we choose, when we can choose, is our own and ours alone. And you know that, don’t you..?

Gods, but I miss you. I will always miss you, and when I have forgotten how to miss others I shall still miss you, and even after; until I can no longer miss even myself.

Truly, your conspiracies were wrong; none exist to cage us when we will build the cages ourselves.

It isn’t possible to memorize a smile with sight alone

just as you cannot keep a dying heat

stored within the callouses of your fingers.

And yet I still remember that you were here

because even as my memory fades

the illusion of you remains.

Stop standing in my light.
The shadow of you stands over me
And I wonder when you stood on arched feet
In the belief they’d make you seem taller then you are.

Your fake limp, effected
To win my affection
Makes my teeth grow dry from air and salt
As I try to remember how to style your speech.

Oh, can’t you see -
I’m lobotomized with love for you,
And if you’d just stop sneering in self-sure perfection
Perhaps you’d be easier to capture
In a fragment of a moment
On drying paper in the night.