Welcome Back, Recovery Raquel

At the very least, she’s peeking through the window shades.

Writing my article up for the ‘Inside a Psychiatric Hospitalization’ part 2 reminded me of all the work I have to catch up with for the newspaper about recent stuff that’s happened as well as the responsibility I have if not just to myself than to others who read my articles.

With that said, I think I may make the choice to pack up my items and walk away from the campsite.

It’s gonna be pretty shit, I know it. But it’s the better thing for me to do. The right thing, the more recovery based thing to do.

I’ve only got a few minutes before I leave campus, but I just wanted to fill ye all in on this new revelation.

With many article ideas to come and the need I have to use the restroom, I shall sign off for now.

I’ve got much catching up to do…. phew.

Wish me luck!!

Stay safe peeps! ❤ ❤ ❤

(Also returning to blogging feels so very, very VERY good)

The Wonders of Breathing | Poem

Today’s Prompt *URGENT*

Hunched over,

She sat.

On the curb,

The dark green grass budding from the rich, thick soil

Near where her pink blouse meets the tips of them.

She breathes iiiiiiinnnn……


She breathes ooooouuuuuuuttttt……


There is a shadow to her left,

And a stranger to her right.

The shadow whispers to her,

That she is worthless, that she is not needed, that she is nothing.

The stranger-they hiss that she is better off dead,

That suicide is her answer, her pull to the edge.

That self-injury is her calling,

Her code to feeling “better”.


It is her brain that sits by her side–either one.

Her brain that breathes life into her soul,

That produces artwork so magical

She rides upon her unicorn named Elisia

And trots down the golden pathway of

Her sparkling frosted forest.


It is her brain that tells her

To hurt herself.

It is her brain that whispers to her

To tell the townspeople in her life

To just let her go.


But it is her soul that

Shines with sparkles and a rainbow,

That convinces her to stay alive.

It is her soul that shines brightly,

Like the lighthouse upon her home,

That says to her,

This too shall pass.


It is her soul that beckons the light forward,

That expels it to the rest of the world,

So that others, too, may find their way.


It is her voice that echoes in the evening sky,

Where faith and trust dance together

Like fireflies in the setting sun.

It is her voice that while crumbling in emotional pain,

Rises higher than the stars,

Shining brighter than the moon,

Spreading hope to all those who wander, lost.


It is her voice that may tremble,

Her eyes that may be teary,

And her feet that carry her forwards,

Time and time again.


She is stronger than she feels,

Stronger than she thinks,

Stronger than she realizes.

She is mighty and she is strong.


Her soul glimmers with a brighter future,

A journey through heaven for which

She will be a witness to.


But for the moment,

For the moment,

The fire by her fallen form flickers.

And her brain sits beside her every side,

In the form of creatures who wish to do her harm.


For the moment,

She is in dire need of aid.

She needs to be reminded

How important her life is,

How desperately she is needed,

Again and again and again.


Because her brain beats her.

Her brain abuses her light.

And now she feels as though

Taking each and every breath

Is a sin and a waste of space.

Every breath brings tearing pain through

Her lungs,

A heart she wishes would stop beating,

And skin that lays red and raw,

Having been pulled apart from its rightful place.


Because now,

Now she wants the pain.

She wants to feel the sting and the electricity through

Her veins,

She wants to have the scars as reminders,

She wants to do damage.

Real damage.


For what purpose?

She doesn’t dare think it through.

She pushes away the thoughts

By the product of more pain.


Lies fling from her tongue

As the warmer days unusually roll in,

And she stands with one sleeve up,

One sleeve down,

Tempted to show her markings

But only for a certain set of eyes.


It is urgent,

Her soul beckons of her,

To ask for help.


But her brain mutters not.

The situation is not yet dire.


And it is with this ambivalence

That she so breathes,


And imagines.


Her eyes gaze up to the clouds above,

Seeking some signal from the universe,

That she may utilize the strength within her soul

To stand up to her enemies,

And walk away from her brain.


But for now,

She breathes iiiiiiinnnnn…..

And dares not to

Breathe out.



Welcome to the Camp Grounds of Relapse Boulevard

Notice: we have a large wooden welcome sign to the left of this corner, the crooked and bent street sign of Relapse Boulevard is nearby and I’ve set up my tent and have a ready going campfire brewing. We have a lengthy walk to the Target through the forest and over a small stream, but we can get our food there and bring it back to the camp grounds.

Watch out for the fire ants, they like to bite and in the far distance we can sometimes see dogs passing by.

We hide in our lies that things are predominantly all right while scratching ourselves behind the scenes because we’re finding ourselves to be quite cozy in the Relapse Boulevard campsite.

It’s not the best of places to be at, but we’re aware that our #RecoveryHome is looming in the distance, and the lighthouse beams pass by us now and again.

We’re not sure how long we’ll be staying here for, I’ve got my brain on a leash (its collar has spikes and glitter) after all, and I’m not sure how long it will stand to be on the leash for…. Or how long we’ll be staying here for, either.

It’s not exactly good that I’ve set up camp here. But it’s a way of avoiding reality… and I’m finding myself wanting to just curl up in a ball and push away my responsibilities.

I hope you’re not too disappointed in me. The air at the campsite hangs with bitter melancholy.

I have to venture out for a walk on Wednesday when I see my therapist again… but until then, I don’t have any intention on stopping my self-harm. Maybe I should, and part of me does, but I’m liking doing it and I’m … comfortable at this campsite. For now.


I think I’ll just hang out here for a while. I think I’ll draw a picture of what the campsite looks like too. It’s gloomy even when the sun shines, and the fog is thick. Thick, yet beautiful, maybe in all the wrong ways.

So, welcome to the campsite–don’t join me if you’re not already here on your own volition. Please, don’t. And if you are, you’re within company.


I pray that we’ll return to safety and our #RecoveryHome soon. ❤ ❤ ❤