sometimes quiet is violent

This is a story, and a memory, a premonition but also a song, softly chanted. It does not need to be understood, in the way me and you do.   The bruises only appeared once a month, to begin with. Small and so purple they were almost black, the size of a penny, in the indentation of my hip. Or high up on my inner thigh. Never above my waist, always trailing down my leg or behind my knee. I didn’t know how to explain them, at first. I didn’t remember hitting myself against anything, being prodded or battered by something. Nothing that would’ve caused such an impact, to bruise so darkly and in such a shape. I woke up one morning and found a bigger bruise, on the side of my thigh under my hipbone. It was right in the middle of an area I had been scratching the night before. In my mind, I dismissed that it had been me. Sure, I had used pressure to scratch, to tend to the itch in the skin in the area, but there was no way I had the level of strength that was required to bruise mysel...

Hi, It's been a while, yeah, 4th year has been hectic to put it mildly. But we're here. I put up a wee poll on my Instagram story (which, if you didn't know by now is the place I update my life daily) about writing on my experience starting anti-depressants for the winter season. The results were unanimously YES WRITE IT, so here I am. Many of you know I struggle with mental health, and I'm not here to highlight how much I've struggled. But, even as little as the poems I write and post every winter should go to show that I experience seasonal depression and it's severe. This year, encouraged by my parents, I wanted to seek help. I guess that's what happens when your dad follows you on Instagram and sees the depressing poetry. I'm thankful he did. I made my yearly visit home in October, and went to the doctor's office here in Finland (private, pricey but ensured me being seen promptly) and told the doctor how I feel every winter. She recommended...

The past three months have been an uphill journey. Even writing that sentence makes me doubt myself and whether or not I'm over-exaggerating things. But, looking back I can tell that something changed and it's still not better. I've been tired, to the level of having to nap 2 hours daily besides 9+ hours of sleep at night. I've been anxious, something I usually only am for big things, and find myself retreating into my mind during social gatherings. I lack concentration, motivation, the energy to interact with content previously found interesting. I find myself often feeling sad, feeling hopeless, feeling irritable. Day by day these things have piled up. Any bad news I hear, no matter how small, makes me choke up, the heavy feeling of impending tears stuck in my throat. I have to force myself to go to social events because I know once I get there I will space out for half the time and struggle talking to others for the other half. The point of small talk has eluded ...