Brain Stew

Hello, family!
Sorry that I didn't blog last night, a lot of things were going on. I couldn't stop thinking. I had been emotionless all day. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't blog.
I couldn't really think of anything to write about but Insomnia tonight, so if you like my opinion posts more than personal problem posts, I'm sorry.

Let's get to the blog!
Thinking of what song to pick for tonights post was pretty easy. Brain Stew by Green Day off of their album Insomniac. Totes my goats.

For those of you dealing with Insomnia, you totally understand my pain here. Usually the things keeping me up are my creative thoughts or my scary thoughts. I'm probably not going to talk about my scary thoughts this early in the blog... A lot of people think I may be going insane... I think it's a mix of sleep deprivation and what I've learned may be panic attacks. I didn't know I was having panic attacks. I thought it was completely normal.

SO ANYWAYS.
It's not that I want to stay up, I really want to sleep. I usually have work in the morning and soon I'm going to be going to school every morning. Plus, I live in Burlington and we have to get to Saxapahaw every morning... plus some quick makeup... and the stress of finding something to wear (it's not easy hating your appearance.)
Trust me- I want to be able to wake up early and have a nice cup of coffee or whatever normal people do, but I can't. I have to worry about if my new medicines are working, if I need something else done to help me sleep... Plus I tried coffee when I was like six and I hated it so much.
For three years, going on four, I've tried so many different things to help me go to sleep. Sometimes I'll try forcing myself to sleep by watching terrible things on Netflix. Sometimes I'll watch Stuck In Love because I've seen it like 50 times and I just discovered it like last month. I'll stare at the things I put on my wall right next to my bed. Like I'll study the details of the cute little Union Jack picture that came with a comb I bought, I'll read an Anne Frank quote I wrote over a picture I drew of a corset being tied, I'll read the lyrics to Flakes by Mystery Jets that I put over a self portrait I drew, I'll look over all of the tattoos carefully drawn onto a picture in memory of Jimmy Sullivan, I'll even read a beautiful note written to me from Hannah Ficklin that begins with "Dear Peachez," and nothing seems to help.
Sometimes I'll listen to my own breathing... then I'll stop breathing because of habit. I remember whenever I was little I used to listen to my own breathing like I do today, but I would stop breathing to see if I'd black out or something. I'd also speed up and slow down my breathing... no reason really...
I've noticed sometimes I write. I found a note to myself that said "my ovaries hurt like a pregnant baboon," that I had written after sunrise while PMSing. (TMI)
But really, sometimes it just takes a bit of talking. Like talking to whoever is reading this.
I talked to my mother last night and after shedding many... many tears... I was able to sleep.
I've realized I don't have close friends anymore, but my blog is definitely the one thing keeping me sane.

Love you guys.

I can't believe it's not butter - Maybe it's Maybelline.

G'Night.

Lizzerayboo.

Inertiatic ESP

Ugh. Hi.

Sorry, It's just been quite the... strange day.

I dunno. On with the blog post!

wait a sec let me change the alignment...

ALRIGHT.

So... Parenting, huh?

Now listen, as a teenage girl I am totally NOT ready to be a parent. It would suck to be a parent at this point in time... But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about how parenting is going to work for me. 

I was recently told that a person in my family told my parents they were raising me wrong.

WRONG = NO JESUS

Now believe me, I have nothing against parents that raise their kids around "da lawd" but I don't really get some things. Like... Are you gonna be okay if your child believes that there isn't a god? Whoa whoa, I'm sorry, am I crossing a line? It's cool if you want to raise your child with Christianity or Judaism or whatever you believe in, but you have to remember that there is that possibility your child may learn what a belief is and then realize they don't believe in anything they thought they did.

You may ask... How do I know this?

THAT'S RIGHT CHILDREN!

I was once an extreme Christian. Like... EXTREME.

It got to the point where I wouldn't talk to Jace because he believed in Atheism, and I wouldn't listen to Tool because they're Atheists...

Good times.

Turns out, my father is Agnostic, my mother is Christian, and my brother is Agnostic Atheist.

THEY'VE BEEN LIKE THAT FOREVER.

For me, I was raised with Christianity due to my grandparents and my great aunts and all that jazz, and in their church everybody had to be Christian or be hated by pretty much EVERYONE and live eternity in HELL! Little Lizzery learned that even though she knew nothing about the Christian faith, she had to hate everyone that didn't believe in it! Yay!

I'm not the kind of person to judge or hate people nowadays but when I was like 8 I was.

These are the kinds of people I stay away from... Judgmental, rude, etc.

They classify themselves as pure, nice, and kind people EVEN WHEN THEY ARE HOLDING UP HUGE SIGNS SAYING "ASK ME WHY YOU DESERVE HELL!!!"

I've seen it.

I got a "question" an my ask.fm saying "ew, you're an atheist."

Why is this a thing? I was raised with Christianity if that makes you feel any better, but I believe some things are outrageous.

Believing in something means you personally think something is accurate. One second, I'm gonna Google belief.

be·lief

biˈlēf/

noun

1. 1.

   an acceptance that a statement is true or that something exists.

   "his belief in the value of hard work"
2. 2.

   trust, faith, or confidence in someone or something.

   "a belief in democratic politics"

   synonyms:

   faith, trust, reliance, confidence, credence More

Oh wow! Look! "An acceptance that a statement is true or that something exists."
Like really, believing in God is just like believing in Unicorns. NOT believing in God IS STILL JUST LIKE BELIEVING IN UNICORNS!
Annnd let's take a look at the 2 on the board children. "trust, faith, or confidence in someone or something."
Wow. Look at that. It doesn't say "that you force on your children or you will rot in hell."
Maybe because that's rude.
I'm not raising my children with any religion because I want them to figure out what they believe in.
Who knows, maybe I'll marry an extreme Christian...
But I still think my kids should believe in what they actually believe in.
Cool.

If you disagree with my opinions leave it in the comments below and maybe we can have a sophisticated chat about these things.

I do not mean to offend anyone in these posts. I know religion is a difficult subject but I accept those of all religions and really hope we can get along, ha.

Love and fried potatoes,
Lizzery.

OH YEAH. The song for this post is Inertiatic ESP by The Mars Volta off of my favorite album of theirs, De-Loused in the Comatorium, which is an album of songs based on the dreams a man had while in a coma I believe. Highly recommend their music. Like totes my goats.

Hold On Till May

As my family and I were riding home from a full day of volunteer work, we stopped at a gas station. This gas station is not particularly known for it's delightful customers. Of course everything was just dandy until a car happened to pull up next to us. This family did not look like they were actually "family-worthy" shall I say. These people, who looked in their late 30s to early 40s, had a young daughter who looked maybe 6 or 7. They might have been her aunt and uncle or maybe just her caretakers... 

We happened to hear them being very rude to her, but couldn't quite hear what they said. The little girl in the back seat stared at me for a while. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I then waved at her, making her smile even more. She waved back. You could tell seeing me she was happy, and having me wave at her got her mind off of what the rude driver was saying. She did not look like she was well taken care of. I felt like she deserved to have a kind smile and a wave. 

For me, this is an everyday thing. Whenever I see someone being disrespected I always step in and assure them there are good things in life. For this girl, her guardians seemed to mistreat her... I've met many people who's parents did not treat them in a very great manner, so I've learned kind of what they need. Hopefully, I have shown this girl that she is cared about and that there are nice people in the world that can treat her better than she is being treated. A lot of times the children being disrespected will learn to treat others with disrespect and spread that. I really hope that the smile and wave from me to her shows her to be respectful to those around her. I really hope that I helped. Don't think that one small thing cannot make a difference. A smile and a wave could have changed how she views people. You never know.

Next time you see someone being disrespected, give them a smile and a wave. It may change things.

Love and magic,

Elizabeth.

The song of this post is Hold On Till May by Pierce The Veil featuring Lindsey Stamey, a song about a girl who was neglected by her parents and dealt with depression from the perspective of the young man who helped her through it.

Best of You

Confession...

I just lightly cut.

Why?

I don't know.

I have gained a hunger.

A few months ago I realized I am addicted to self-harm.

I stopped cutting altogether.

I cut ONCE for depressed reasons

I cut ONCE because I was feeling the need for it.

Now I've done it again.

It may seem stupid.

It's addictive. 

My arm hurts like hell.

But I cut lightly.

I AM PROUD OF MYSELF

I AM PROUD OF MYSELF

I AM PROUD OF MYSELF

Even though I cut...

It hasn't even been 15 minutes and they're already healing.

I may have one or two scars in the morning...

but it is better than 30.

We can get through this. 

I will be another month clean.

I swear.

HERES A PICTURE OF ME AS A BABY
BYE

Send the Pain Below.

Reading things on BuzzFeed... my daily routine.

Hello Children! Want to hear about another crazy thing that is actually happening in the world/? I know you do.

I do not consider myself a feminist but sometimes I feel like I don't matter. The only thing that really matters is that I'm a woman and I need to grow to be a wife. A wife that pleases a man. ALL I NEED TO DO.

I've had problems with guys before that I do not like speaking of, but thankfully the guys I'm around now give me hope.

BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT THE OTHER GUYS.

When I was 13, a teenage boy tricked me into thinking he loved me so that he could finally get what he wanted. I was fooled by him. He tried to USE me so he could get WHAT HE WANTED. As women, we all know what I'm talking about. 

So while I was scrolling BuzzFeed I came across this

I totally agree rapmonsters. 

Why? This happened to me.

This same guy, who was 15 at the time, told me what I was allowed to wear when he was around.

I was only allowed to wear short shorts, tank tops, band tees... pretty much anything revealing I owned even whenever it was 60 degrees outdoors. 

Why does this happen?

Why do some men think it's okay to tell women what they can and can't wear?

But wait, is it only men?

No. In fact women do it too. See ladies, you probably can't tell but whenever you tell a man to change his clothes because you "just don't like it" you are telling him what he can and cannot wear. Also, you're just killing the guys self-esteem, COME ON LADIES. You're telling him that the shirt he just bought with his favorite bands logo on it is not okay to wear because you don't like it. Is it just me that thinks that sounds a bit bitchy? 

Sorry.

Not calling you a bitch.

Just saying it's rude.

LET PEOPLE EXPRESS THEMSELVES THROUGH CLOTHING

YOU AREN'T THE PRINCIPAL OF A MIDDLE SCHOOL

STOP TELLING YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER TO 

FOLLOW YOUR DRESS CODE.

Get your crap together India.

Schmidt. Out.

Porcelain

(I found these lyrics I had written back in January when no one knew about my depression and I decided to share them with you)

Just wishing he was sober
Wishing it was all over

Crimson stripes across her once porcelain skin
Her mind filled with rage and her patience running thin

Starving caused by the remarks of her brother
Cutting undercover and hiding from her mother

What's she to do with useless by her side?
What's she to do with help never by?

her mind crazed with hatred filled boys
hoping one day one will bring her joy

Put in the front of the class
Oh death please come at last...
But finally they will learn a lesson
about the hell that is severe depression

A flick of a blade is how she will speak
She falls to the floor as to say "I'm weak"
Losing sight all things turn black
Her conscience says

"There's no turning back..."

To the upcoming 9th graders of Southern Alamance High.

(edited)

Hello. I'm Angel Elizabeth Matthews. You may remember me as Lizz Matthews.

I understand many of you probably did not have the chance to meet me. Today I have prepared this to tell you all who I really am.

I attended Southern Alamance Middle School from the beginning of 6th grade to February of 8th. During my few years at that school I developed severe Depression, Insomnia, Anxiety, and Suicidal thoughts. During my 6th grade year, I decided it was time to discover who I really was. I had been hiding who I really was for so long that I had forgotten who Angel Matthews was. We all dealt with the struggles of finding your true self. For me, I figured out I was an outcast. For years before this I had been bullied. I thought going to a school with people from other schools I had never met would help me and that I wouldn't deal with these people forcing me to believe I wasn't worth living. This was a terrible thought. I expected to be cared about again, but it just. got. worse.

Sixth Grade,

I approached sixth grade in my favorite outfit: A grunge inspired plaid jacket with a shirt that read "punk" and "rebel" and all types of cool stuff. This was who I thought I was. I expected there to be more people like me. Now listen, I didn't keep a diary, so you may be thinking "How does she remember this?" Well, I'll tell you... I started writing. It was something I'd wanted to do for a while. So much crazy stuff had happened in my life and I was thinking it would make for a killer plot line, ya know? This book describes my first day at the middle school very well. I was sorted into my room (jeez what is this, Harry Potter?) and I noticed I was in the same class as my best friend. She was the ONLY PERSON I KNEW! I also saw a group of what looked like popular kids that had lots of money and were all good friends and bleeeeh. It turns out that in the first week of school, one of those popular girls became like my best friend in my classes. We shared all of the same classes and I had a group of friends to sit with at lunch.. IT WAS FREAKING AWESOME. Anyway, so it turns out she was the popular girls weird friend. You know how in the movies the popular girl with money has that one weird friend that isn't actually that spoiled, in fact, doesn't have much money? There isn't that in the movies?! Well there was one here. I loved her to death. She was awesome. I was the weird best friends weird best friend and I was loving it. I thought I was finally being cared about after being bullied so much in Elementary school, but I wasn't. That group of popular boys I saw on my first day of school were most definitely the most popular boys. This may sound surprising to other generations but these days you have to 1) Disobey and disrespect all authority 2) Have money 3) Be good looking and funny 4) Be a total douchebag and 5) Treat girls as your little objects and toys to play around with to be popular. EVEN IN SIXTH GRADE THESE BOYS KNEW THE RULES. Can we take a look at #4 please. "4) Be a total douchebag" it's true. These boys literally made people feel terrible about themselves day by day. As the usual bullying story goes there is always one person known as the biggest target, and in my school I was one of the biggest targets. How do you know if you are the biggest target? Endless threats are thrown at you every day ("If you don't buy a brush to fix your ugly hair, I'll buy one for you." etc.), Endless physical bullying every day (punching, kicking, hitting, etc.), Endless verbal bullying every few minutes ("Eww what is that? Oh It's just Lizz" etc.), and whenever there is a plan to harm someone it always seems to be you. That was me. The bullies came at me every single day nonstop. I remember the school player tried to trick me into things. It was difficult. And to think they were doing this all for attention.

Seventh Grade,

This year WAS AND ALWAYS WILL BE REMEMBERED as the worst year of my life. This year was the year I developed many mental disorders such as depression and anxiety. I actually started the year pretty well. By pretty well I mean not being bullied as much as I'd expected. Of course that was probably because I went through a 1D phase which we shall not speak of that many girls understood. Everything was off to a normal start. I was feeling okay. I was feeling more confident in myself. I don't remember what it is that made me start developing depression, but I believe the bullying started once again. It just kept getting worse. One day I actually ended up having a nervous breakdown one day after coming home from school. I do not remember the details of that but I do believe that is the first time I ever self-harmed. It started becoming regular. I cut at home, I cut in the bathrooms at school, I even cut lightly during classes. I remember developing feelings for a geek in my class. He didn't really help much or make a difference but I knew he cared about me so I guess that helped. Even though he helped a bit I ended up telling him I was moving on. I couldn't really handle another person. That wasn't necessarily true but here's where we get really sad, depressing, and personal. I had liked a friend of my brothers for over 3 years. I started talking to him over a secret facebook account I started because my friends at school forced me to make one. I ended up telling him how I felt and things got a bit too far. I was almost pressured into losing my virginity to him. He kept trying to pressure me into things I didn't want to do by simply making it seem like he loved me as much as I loved him. After my parents and brother found out I was left alone. My friends all left me because I had told them I didn't need them. My brother hated me for betraying him. My parents thought I did something I really didn't and I didn't tell them about what actually happened. A short while later I discovered on my own that he had been using me, or at least trying to. One of my friends had been hinting at this, although I was so crazy about him that I didn't notice he didn't actually care about me. My depression got worse and the user became my biggest trigger for cutting and depression. I started thinking about running away, and the only thing keeping me from doing that was my friend who I talked to online. I had no friends in school. I would cry to myself during assignments and no one noticed or happened to ask what was wrong, just like in 2nd grade when I used to cry underneath my desk while sitting upon the cold floor of Edwin Michael Holt Elementary school. I wrote little depressing notes in my binders. Planning when to run away, when to commit suicide, everything. A few months ago I found these notes and covered them in paint, then throwing them into the trash so no one would know about my depression. I ended up getting worse with my teachers. I had a nervous breakdown in the middle of science class once... that wasn't pretty. Everything kept falling apart for me. I remember the night I ended up blurting out to my mother that in sixth grade my teacher assaulted me. I brought this to the assistant  principal. He asked to name other people in my class. Like I said earlier, I never knew these people. I only knew my bullies and my best friend. My bullies of course said they didn't see it happen only to get me in trouble for lying. My best friend was no longer my best friend due to me pushing her away, and she has memory loss. I still don't know which reason it was that she said she didn't recall it ever happening. The year kept getting worse. I stood up to my teacher against her favoritism and she actually got my friends to hate me again after they soon started to like me after the user incident. My best friend became a girl that was so obsessed with me she would touch me inappropriately. I didn't like spending time with her because well, it's obvious. At the end of the year still nothing was resolved and my depression worsened.

Eighth Grade,

In eighth grade I noticed I had a problem. I had nervous breakdowns all the time, I cut 24/7, I was still planning my suicide, and I still had trouble sleeping. I decided it was the year I needed to fix things. I spent most of my time worrying about what might happen to me and those around me. I began studying depression and helping those who are experiencing the same problem over the internet. Although no one knew about this, I still focused more on depression than anything. My best friend also had depression and I began helping others by helping her. I dealt with my depression by helping others, theatre, and listening to the whole Collide With The Shy album on repeat. I lived eighth grade in fear. My anxiety worsened. I stopped talking to people on the internet because I feared if someone figured out it would have a bad reaction like the user incident. I was still bullied, although not as much because I alerted those around me I had a problem. My scars became visible, and so did my tears. I faked sickness all the time to be at home and away from a place where I saw everyone around me as triggers for my depression. I started having flashbacks of everything thats ever happened to me. Flashbacks of when I was pulling spitballs out of my hair, looking into the blue eyes of my bully as he told me lies to try and trick me into spilling my embarrassing secrets to him, and the flashbacks of a guy telling me "Come on, It'll be fun." I started having re-occuring dreams of EVERYONE I knew ganging up to kill me and then celebrating afterwards. I still wrote depressing notes to myself and I remember what caused all of this to be possible. All of this. A great man who happened to be my Language Arts teacher caught me writing "Kill Yourself" on a paper of other little depressing things. He told me to throw it away. I'm pretty sure he thought I was writing it to someone else. Although, knowing my depression was obvious I just saw it as he knew I was talking to myself. Since my whole family still didn't know about my depression I wrote him a letter while everyone else focused on reading The Outsiders. The note said something along the lines of do not tell my mum, etc., etc., I have depression, etc., etc., I have suicidal thoughts and I'm pretty sure sooner or later I'm going to kill myself, etc., etc. He asked me after reading it if I wanted to go to the guidance counselor. I hadn't talked to the guidance counselor since my old best friend told her about my thoughts of suicide but I told her that I didn't have thoughts of suicide and my friend was overreacting. I ended up saying yes to the offer of talking to the guidance counselor, and I ran out of class in tears. Of course my class stared and wondered what was wrong, but they all knew. They had all seen my pictures. I ended up talking to the guidance counselor for two hours and I wasn't even done talking to her by the end, but school was over. I saw her every day and I spent most of my day in her office. Whenever she told me I was in there for too long I would just go sit in the bathroom forever and cry instead of going to class. I told my brother about this but not the other members of my family. He always gave me little pep talks in his special Jace way. Like saying "Razors or Doughnuts? Puppies or Suicide?" It was funny and sweet all at the same time. I remember fighting my mum to go to school in the morning and I told her about my depression in the counselors office one morning. She took me home from my short few hours at school to just get some rest. I ended up having to not only talk to the counselor every day but the assistant principal every morning. Like everything, even through all of this comfort there had to be a breaking point. One day we started studying depression and self-harm in health class. After everyone in the class kept asking me for the answers to the questions because they knew I was "emo" as they called it, I called it the breaking point. One self-harmer at my school actually admitted to getting up and leaving during the humiliating and triggering class. I would not go to school. Soon every teacher and student knew what was happening to me and why I was skipping classes and school days every day. One of my teachers said to the counselor she noticed my depression and scars early on and started complimenting me on something different everyday, no matter if she hated it or not. It was already too late though. I planned on transfer. I ended up being homeschooled. Now that my homeschooling is over, I plan on going to Hawbridge next year depression-free. Because for now, I'm defeating the depression with love and a whole bunch of anti-depressants.

I stand in front of you reading this today

showing how much Southern made a messed up impact 

on my somewhat depressing life

that I am proud to have fought.

Love, 

Lizz.