I am Emma

Sharing this personal story of insight into the life of an amazing person.

Emma's Hope Book

“What is your name?” someone might ask.  It’s a simple question, but when I try to make the sounds that form my name, other words push and shove their way forward.  Instead, “you may not spit,” or “Rosie’s not here!” are examples of seemingly random nonsensical, declarations that come out of my mouth.  I call these utterances my “mouth words.”  They could be seen as traitors, belligerent bullies who seek the spotlight, but they are not.  My mouth words are funny to me, but misunderstood by others. My typed words are hard for me, but understood by many.  Mouth words are witty accomplices to a mind that speaks a different language entirely.  There are no words, but instead a beautiful environment where feelings, sensations, colors and sounds coexist.  I often think if all humans could experience the world in hi-res, technicolor, surround sound as I do, everyone would be happier.  I…

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Community. (Reblog)

Right here
Are people that understand
Realising past mistakes and changing
Is enough
You were never meant to suffer
The struggle is not deserved
It is just there for now
Hold on
We are patient

Sidereal Catalyst

I am aching to belong… to something …or somewhere, with like-minded, like-hearted souls.

People who get it, without tired explanations and long-winded discussions trying to impart understanding.

People who lift you up because that’s their magic, and they don’t judge and they’re not made uncomfortable by your difficult emotions.

People who don’t make it feel like an inconvenience, they are delighted to chat, be it happy or sad in topic.  I think some people call these types of relationships friends but I’m wary of such titles.  I fear I’ve failed at holding that title myself, and thus karma has given me what I’ve deserved in return.

I ache for a sense of community.

Are you out there somewhere, community?  Just waiting for me to poke my head in and say hi…

I’ve lost my way, I think my GPS is wrong or something.

SOS

{A}

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I Wish I Was Special [A poem about suicide – trigger warning]. (Reblog)

So many beautiful people are struggling right now. This poem is a reminder of what we all need to know.

Pooky's Poems

I wish I was special,
She cried
As she caught sight of her reflection.
Tears streaked her face.

She clung onto her palm full of pills
As if for dear life,
Though it was death,
Not life,
She hoped they’d bring.
She did not want to die
But she could not face this life any more.

She had sat this way for hours,
Rocking,
Crying,
On the brink of the action
Which would take away the pain,
But without the motivation to do it.
Which made her feel
Ever more a failure.

A voice penetrated her bubble,
A hand gently took hers,
Brushing the damp, crumbled pills away,
And soothing her with tiny movements.
You are special.
Said the voice,
You just can’t see it now.
You won’t see it tomorrow,
Or the next day,
But one day you will.
I’ll teach you,
If you’ll let me try.

The world…

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A Detailed Request. (Reblog)

A close friend, poet and writer, who I first met here on WordPress, is struggling with a relapse of Anorexia.

She is a professional working in adolescent mental health, specialising in eating disorders (with an understanding from her own experiences) and these are the bravest words I have read in a very long time.

http://www.inourhands.com/mental-health/eating-disorders/to-the-friends-who-want-to-help-me-some-ideas/

I wanted to share them with you, not just as an example of what helps someone in that situation, but also as a beautiful example of understanding one’s own struggles, of how to ask for help, and of how much a struggle mental illness can be.

In these darkest of times, wishing you love and light, dear Pooky.

 

 

the semicolon project (Reblog)

So much wisdom and helpful thoughts here.

hpwritesblogs

FullSizeRender-1FullSizeRender Today I went to a tattoo artist, and for $60 I let a man with a giant Jesus-tattoo on his head ink a semi-colon onto my wrist where it will stay until the day I die. By now, enough people have started asking questions that it made sense for me to start talking, and talking about things that aren’t particularly easy.

We’ll start here: a semi-colon is a place in a sentence where the author has the decision to stop with a period, but chooses not to. A semi-colon is a reminder to pause and then keep going. 

In April I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. By the beginning of May I was popping anti-depressents every morning with a breakfast I could barely stomach. In June, I had to leave a job I’d wanted since I first set foot on this campus as an incoming freshmen because of my mental…

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Insecurity (reblog).

This post touches on the realness of writing. The flip-side to your good days. I enjoyed contemplating my own responses to the questions posed. And read through the comments, therein lies great wisdom.

Poems and Petals

When I turned eight my mother held a birthday party for me. The children arrived and played with my sister. I felt left out of my own birthday party. I promised quietly I would never agree to having another party for myself. I felt insecure. Two weeks later we moved to the city. I started a new school in the middle of the school term. I was the new girl. At my previous school I had my best friend Angie. We had grown up together. I really missed Angie. Her real name was Angelique and I loved the sound of it. I struggled to make new friends. I was too shy to join in with the other girls, and none of them invited me to. I became a loner. And escaped in books.

Sometimes blogging brings up feelings of insecurity. How will I feel if others read my writing and…

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Our Space, Not My Place. (reblog)

Of Love and Loss

I spent so long trying
to be someone that you liked
that I lost track of myself.
Trying to please you when
you didn’t know what you wanted
trying to make you happy when
you just needed to be how you were.
Not understanding you
and thinking that meant
you didn’t care about me.
Trying to get you to conform
to what I thought was best for us.
Trying to change you
when rightly or wrongly
I thought it was needed.
Now I know that’s not my place.
I gave you space
no pressure
no presumption
And nothing changed.
I can change myself
but no one else.
Eventually I realised
it’s just the space
that we create
Together, this is what we are.
I’m in the wrong space
This is not my place.

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Pretence. (reblog)

This really caught my thoughts, I know these words-as-feelings too. So much communicated, so clearly, with so few words.

Poems and Petals

Is my smile too wide
Is my laugh too loud
Am I too happy?

If I smile and wave
And I call your name
Will I reveal myself?

If I smile and blush
And speak out loud
Will my feelings show?

Should I just be still
Or if I look your way
Will it be a stare?

Am I too happy?

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