They have cut down my tree with the monkey in.
I’m not sure why they have done this but I feel bereft. As usual. There is more light and a clear view of the view but I don’t want to look at the view. I want to look at the monkey in the tree.
How do you like my latest trigger warning?
On a serious note – tw for suicide stuff.
Remember the local bipolar guy who attempted suicide? He’s still in an induced coma and has run out of medical aid. Apparently he took a month and a half’s supply of whatever meds he’s on, washed down with alcohol. They suspect there’s brain damage from it all. Fucking awful for his loved ones.
What could have been said?
Everybody tries to prevent suicide and frequently with slogans like
Hang in there.
Keep on keepin’ on.
It’s gonna be ok.
I’ve said ‘em all myself and heard them said to me too. Maybe they’re not working, maybe we have to rethink the strategy. There’s no stick on the planet that’ll work on someone whose deepest and most desperate desire is to end it all as soon as possible. The carrots don’t seem to be…
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Lauren E. Simonutti, 1968, passed away due to complications from her illness. On March 28th, 1966 she started hearing voices and was diagnosed with “rapid cycling, mixed state bipolar with schizoaffective disorder”. She felt she was going mad and spent her last years almost in isolation. She turned the camera on herself and the space she was living in. She has left us with an impressive, honest and strong body of work. With her photographs she gave a voice to those that suffer in isolation. I feel terribly sad when I look on this photograph – I wonder how many hours I have spent in the darkness. Depression is debilitating and tormenting as is mixed and rapid cycling. I often lay with something over my face – blocking everything out. Xo
So would I.
A brave gush from Kahanski. A story that’s sadly so familiar but never any less infuriating. Kahanski is a incredible, funny and cool woman who lives and works in London. We are very grateful for her story.
It is the first week of university; freshers week. There is a party on the 5th floor of a tall block of student accommodation. A girl at the party is very drunk. She is drinking to make friends, she is drinking because it’s fun and it feels good and tonight freedom tastes like vodka. She is not a confident nineteen year old. She’s a little chubby and has glasses. This bottle of vodka traveled with her to from the sticks to the city, it’s her gateway to making new friends, she shares it around but keeps filling her glass, it feels good to drink and dance with all these new people.
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I am sick.
Not in the stomach where the core was considered to be many moons ago. Or the heart as it’s location was later proffered. But in the brain.
I am sick to the very core.