So, I have a Mirena IUS. I know it is just so unlikely to happen. But Daniel was so worried that it planted the seed of doubt in my mind. I could feel my strings. But I made him buy a test anyway. I've been so worried.I am not in anyway ready to be a mother. I love babies, my maternal instinct is crazy. But I'm not the healthiest mentally right now. And you should't take my medication I need to...

trigger warning.Mainly because my father and stepmother spent four years emotionally abusing me and telling me that it was my fault that she got depression. Like, logically, I know it's because her serotonin levels aren't balanced or whatever. But still, everytime I see her cry, which is basically everytime I see her, I hear them telling me what they told me and I just want to cut myself.I'm...

i used to be a slut. whore. easy.i am a feminist. i do not believe in slut shaming. i can have sex with who i want, when i want, wearing what i want, and no one else should pass judgement. should.but he does. he hates it. he thinks that to me, us making love is of lesser importance to me than it is to him. and/or he gets worried that i'll compare. i never would. but he won't listen. i never...

i don't want to wear sleeves to prom. who are they to judge my arms, my scars, how i cope with what i've been through? my psychiatrist says i have coping mechanisms to cope with my coping mechanism: apparently my obsessive planning of the timing, the setting out the instruments, where the new cut will fit in with the existing scars, the act, the release, the cleaning up afterwards, but then my...

Thought I'd write a journal about myself. I appreciate I am a boring person.Name: Kathryn Emma-Marie Pugh. But everyone calls me Kat.Age: 16.Sex: I am a lady.Birthday: 14th of November, 1994.Birthplace: Newport, Wales. Which is in Britain, and next to England.Current Location: I now live up the Welsh valleys.School: I don't go to school. I go to a tuition centre. I stopped going to actual school...

Last night I went to my third My Chemical Romance gig.It was amazing. I'm not even kidding. The atmosphere.. oh my god. It was like a religious experience (yes, I am being a twazzock saying that, but, it felt like it, okay?) Of course it was full of eleven year old emos, and my friend I went with is a bit of an elitist and looks down on them, but tbh, it felt like family. The MCRmy, of course....

he's perfect for me. this list could be infinite. he knows what i'm thinking. he knows what to say. he knows me. if god said to me, "right, i'm here to build you the perfect person, all you gotta do is ask" he is everything i'd want, plus all the bits i would forget to say. i feel like he's too good for me but he won't let me say that. he's stopped me smoking. stopped me drinking to escape. helped...

I've been diagnosed with both.The stupid part is, when I was younger, and I first felt like this, I would've killed for a diagnoses. Anything to know that I wasn't alone, that other people felt like this, that there was a reason behind it all. I don't know. Now I've got what I used to want. I can't explain this without sounding like a gay freaking emo, but I can't relax and accept that I have...

july last year. I lost my virginity watching that film, and while I don't regret it or that boy at all (even if I have had to learn a few sharp lessons from it) I have no intentions of re-living it. which is sorta depressing, because it was once my favourite film and I have no intentions of ever watching it again. it was his favourite too, that's why we had it on. oh well.we live, and we learn.I'm...

by posting photos on facebook of my new lovely ginger hair, which was technically supposed to be "mocha with a few highlights" lmfao. but anyway, it's a billion times better than my black emo hair I've had since I was twelve. (not counting my three days of pink hair lolol)see?! ginger! I don't mind though. my boyfriend's ginger, my mum's ginger, a lot of my friends are some form of ginger even if...

Not yesterday but the day before, my friend had the name she would have called the baby she had to abort for her own life's sake written on her wrist. (Not asking for debate. Mentioning.) That name has just been spinning in circles in my head. It's not a name I would have picked, it's not a name I even particularly like. But, just, I don't know. She'd never mentioned the baby since she, y'know,...

So yeah. i moved out on Monday. I'd been living out of a suitcase for two weeks, and since when I left I only picked up said suitcase and walked off, I guess this is my third week. I can't face eating for the most part. Today's the first day i've been properly up and dressed and made up and worn my full set of extensions.The brief version of the story is, my stepmother and I have never really got...

Don't get me wrong, I adore babies. I've wanted to be a mammy since I hit puberty. But my problem with this is that I always wake up with my arms like... cradling thin air and I miss my dream babies like hell. ;(First it was my nieces. I dreamt that my sister didn't want them (now that would never happen, lulz) and she gave them to me. I looked after Ruby, she's two, and my dad looked after...

Y'know? When people say to you, "yeah, well there's kids starving in Africa" or "you're complaining about your parents, well some kids in Haiti don't even have parents anymore". And it's like the bitchiest, most unsympathetic way of trying to make someone cheer up ever.Yeah, there are kids starving in Africa. There are kids in Haiti without parents, there are kids over here in Britain getting hit...

Well, great great aunty. Eileen.My nan's aunty. She was ninety seven. She's been in hospital about two months.It's not like I knew her that well. I won't pretend it's been like losing my second mother. It's not, at all. I'd only ever met the woman about three times. But she was interesting as hell to talk to. She wasn't one of those old people who tells you the same story four times in ten...

I don't know what to believe. This is all prompted by RE lessons that are designed to make you think, but I don't think they're supposed to make you suppose this obsessively. Hell, in my school even the teachers don't take RE seriously. But it's one of my favourite subjects. Even if it can make me think, and obsess over an idea. Maybe because it can.(And I sometimes need a 'safe' thought to obsess...

Yaaaaaah.My english teacher even phoned my dad to tell him how amazing it was. How cool am I? She said it was the best essay she'd seen at year ten level in her three years of working in my school. It got nineteen out of twenty and I'm dead chuffed. I don't even know that I did any differently on it, but y'know, not gonna complain.I like how Phil and I have a little bit of competitive-ness going...

My real name is Kathryn.I tend to spell it Catherine.Because people know what you mean, spellingwise, if you say "Catherine with a c". Every time I say, "Kathryn with a k" people assume I mean Katherine and that annoys me. Even when you say "Kathryn spelt K - a - t - h - r - y - n" people tune out after the H and just spell it however they see fit. Believe me, it happens. And it's annoying.I feel...

By Charlotte Perkins Gilman.I think everyone should read it, if they get the chance. It's only fifteen pages long and it has actually deeply affected me. And very little deeply affects me.It's about a woman with post natal depression who gets confined to a room in the name of 'rest cure'. Her husband is a doctor who is verging on abusive in the way he refuses to take anything she says seriously...

today i don’t knowanything muchnot how i feelor what i thinkor how to act.dad called me ungratefuland said he was suicidalbecause i take advantageof everyoneso i called mom downfrom upthevalleysand cried into the shoulderof her best new cardiganand she told mehe used to say it to herand not to worryand then she had to goand it took her all afternoonto get home in the snowhe expected me togo to...