An honest portrayal

Depression is not romantic.

My self harm scars are not beautiful.

Eating disorders are not glamourous.

And body dysmorphia isn't a joke.

Anxiety and panic attacks aren't pretty.

Suicide isn't poetic.

And trauma isn't a scripted narrative by a 1920's novelist.

It is real. It is ugly, and it is terrifying. We need to stop romantizing these things and stop portraying them so light heartedly. When I am carving I hate myself into the walls of my bedroom, or crying in the pitch black there is no handsome boy there stroking my hair saying 'there, there' calling me beautiful and telling me everything is going to be ok. There isn't anyone wiping away tears or making me laugh.

There is me, curled up in a ball under my blanket, mascara and eyeliner dripped and dried down my cheek mimiking the actions of a blade to a wrist. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I can't, it is physically impossible, sometimes I'll just stare at the ceiling or the wall stroking the carved letters. I'm desperately trying to sleep, to get rid of the pain, and I wish I could take drugs or drink myself into the abiss but i'm so physically paralyzed that I couldn't reach them even if they were there. Hours will go by, sometimes days where I just lay in that position, only moving my fingers, wingling them, to check I am still alive.

Sometimes there might even be a knife or scissors, blood strains on my arm, to saw to shower or wear clothing on. Messages, emails and work to attend to but the mental and emotional strain to confront the obligations render any action obscolete.

Flashbacks, nightmares, thoughts and halucinations become so real and physical that I question reality from my own hyperreality. I question where I am? Who surrounds me? What is next for me? Even daylight is to painful, so for days and days I see nothing, and my god is the darkness bliss. I feel hidden and unseen, but its dangerous because I confuse myself of my own existence, I can't distinguish between conciousness and unconciousness.

Does that sound glamourous to you? Does that sound like the life you want to lead? If you are delusional enough to say yes, then here lets switch places because I sure as hell don't want it.

There is nothing glamourous or romantic about it, so I won't portray it that way. I am not a damsel in distress waiting for a prince to come and rescue me, so I never expect him to come, and if by a twist of fate somebody did choose to sit by my side, I'd be to terrified to acknowledge it.

I cancel events because I can't risk the idea of dining happily with family dinner conversation. I get wierd looks if heaven forbid I lift my sleeve to scratch my arm.

If we, those that suffer romantisize the situations then we are actively participating and the mislead portrayal and mis information of our lives. Those that lie, claiming to have depression one day because they are sad, or claim to cut for the obsurd insulting reasons like 'cut for bieber', or lie about a past involvement victimised by abuse or rape culture, will never learn, unless we speak honestly.

I am anonymous yes, but I am honest, I want to see you all smile I want to see your faces, one someday I hope to disclose my identity abd meet you all, but that will come a step at a time. The first step is honesty, an honest approach to what we deal with. And one day we will see the day when somebody of a powerful, proffesional occupation will take us, supposed 'broken souls' seriously.

All my love

JulietX

One last thing- go into google images and search 'depressed girl', scroll through the images and look- see all the pretty girls looking a little sad, see the attempt at capturing depression but having it be the underlined subject to the overcasting girl that needs a love to hug her.

I want to capture depression and eating disorders for what it is, the truth, over the summer i hope to work on a photographic series and share it with you all.

I'd attach a picture to this, but none of them capture and redetermine the meanings of these words.