OHMYGODSADNESS

I think something really sad happened recently.

 Frank and Gerard are supposedly no longer friends.

It breaks my fucking heart because they were so close. They were the sweetest this you'd ever saw.

Forget Me Not

Ghandie has said that not eating, or fasting, can help you think better.

He is right.

I didn't eat at all, my mind was too busy.

I wasn't negative though.

I was positive.

Happy.

I had learned how to be happy, something I had let myself forget.

Today waws a new lesson.

I learned how to love myself, something that took too long to remember.

   

 

 Forget Me Not
A short story by:
Summer Rains
AKA Mirror Mayhem

   She leans on the yellowed sink. She grabs an eye shadow pallet, picking a dark green and smoothly wiping it back and forth, stretching it to just reach above the crease of her eyelids. She closes the pallet, sets it down, and grabs the black stick of eyeliner, looking at herself in the mirror and smiling, going back to work.
     The black-grey eyeliner had been smudged across the top, bottom, and inside of her eyes, thin and smokey. Mascara making her eyelashes longer and darker, blue eyes sparkling in the mirror as they stare into themselves, looking, studying their face. Inspecting every element of the powder clad face starring back at them, slow and steadily. Only stopping to blink her forest green painted eyelids. She is smiling at herself the whole time, the smile never faltering, as if she sees nothing she doesn’t like.

“I am so beautiful.” She says to herself as she finishing looking at herself, grabbing a makeup brush and applying pink blush to her cheekbones.

“Huh?” I ask, dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe she had something so conceded. She was the most graceful, kind, smart, gracious, humble, and well, beautiful woman I knew.

“I said I am so beautiful” She says again, flickering her pretty eyes to mine and then back in the mirror to herself.

 She is so vain, I think to myself.

“Do you not think I am beautiful?” She asks sitting herself on the closed toilet lid. She stares at me for a few seconds, and I do the same- really looking at her face and body. She doesn’t look offended, or mean, or rude or defensive. She only looks curious.

“I do think you are beautiful” I admitted. That was true, and I couldn’t lie.

“That’s nice.” She muses and looks back to the mirror grinning. It takes me a few minutes until I finally spew the words cluttering my mind.

“Don’t you think you are being a bit vain?” I blurt. My eyes widen and she looks back to me, not phased, not bored, not angry, not amused, not mean, not defensive, not hurt, she looks calm and patient.

“Why, do you?” She asks.

“Yes,” I say honestly.

“I don’t.” She answers.

“How is it you don’t think you are being vain?” I question.

“Is that a rhetorical question, or do you really want to know?” She asks calmly, starring straight into my eyes.

“I really want to know” I say.

“I do not think I am vain at all. I love myself. I love every single part of me. Even the parts other people may not like. I think I am beautiful. I think it every day. You think I am being vain, and maybe you are confused, maybe you are not. Maybe you are basing it off of what you are taught, and rightly so. A lot of times, people are told that it is rude to call themselves ‘beautiful, and if they think that they are, they are vain, rude, full of themselves’ and other things of that genre. It is true that there are vain people in this world, but there are also people who just love themselves’. See, that’s the difference. When I look at myself I see all the flaws that were ever pointed out for being ugly, and I see all the things I used to not like about my body, but I don’t see anything wrong with them anymore. To me, I am beautiful. It took me too long to learn to love myself, but some people never do learn, so I consider myself lucky to know how to love myself. I remind myself every day. I don’t think it all the time, but I do when I look in the mirror, and if I even inch to the thoughts of self consciousness, I tell myself again. I smile because I can. I smile when I feel down because the brain attaches smiling and happiness together, so I smile all the time. I love my smile. I love myself.” She answered, smiling here and there, but never trailing her eyes away from mine, though sometimes mine looked down.

“Is it hard?”

“No.” she breathed, “Only repetitive.” She smiled.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

She stands from the toilet then, walking to me and pulling me from the tiny trailer’s bathroom floor and taking me to the rectangle mirror over the nasty sink.

“Smile.” She says.

I pull a tight, un-real smile to my face.

“Smile.” She says again.

I again, pull a tight un-real smile to my face.

“Smile.” She says again, standing behind me, arms rested on the sink on either side of me, starring at me in the mirror.

So I pull a slightly aggravated tight, un-real smile to my face. Again.

“Smile” She says, using the same calm voice, not getting at all bored or agitated.

“What do you mean smile!? I am smiling damn it!” I yell, annoyed.

“No you’re not. You know you aren’t. Your eyes aren’t lighting up, you are not getting any happier, you can fool people, but you can’t fool your own brain. Smile.” She says.

I close my eyes and try again, thinking of my naïve beliefs of my childhood, and re-open my eyes smiling and the room lights up a little bit. We make eye contact in the mirror, both of us smiling.

“You look happy.” She states.

“I am.” I said, shocking myself because I did feel happier.

“Look at yourself” She said.

I do, and I look prettier than I ever have seen myself.

“Say ‘I am beautiful’” she said looking at me.

“I’m beautiful.” I say.

“Say ‘I am beautiful’” she says.

“I’m beautiful” I say again.

“Say ‘I am beautiful’” She says again.

“I’m beautiful.” I repeat.

“Keep saying it. Breathe in between. Don’t rush yourself” She says.

“I’m beautiful.”

“Yes you are” she says.

“I’m beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” She answers.

“I’m beautiful”

“Your eyes”

“I’m beautiful.”

“Your nose”

“I’m beautiful.”

“Your mouth”

“I’m beautiful.”

“Your eyebrows”

“I’m beautiful.”

“Is not why,”

“I’m beautiful”

“I am the reason”                                                         

“I’m beautiful.”

“You are the reason,”

“That I am beautiful” I finish whispering.

“I do it every morning. It is quite repetitive.” She says.

“I feel it.” I said.

“Me too.” She says.

“I feel it” I say again.

“I do too.” She says.

“I feel it.” I whisper.

“You look it” She says, scaring me when she pulls me into a warm embrace, my eyes being closed the whole time through that. I hug her back. We sit down, me in her lap, legs wrapped around her waist, arms around her neck, face on her shoulder. Her arms are around my back, head resting on my shoulder. It is at least minutes before we pull back. We stare into each other’s eyes and she leans in and kisses me on my lips. Just a quick peck and I say “I’m really beautiful,” and she says, “Don’t stop feeling it, and don’t stop saying it. You may forget that you are beautiful if you do.”

 

She was 17 then, I only 14. I never forgot I was beautiful, and I never stopped feeling it, and I never stopped saying it, and I never forgot her.

 

You are only as ugly as you let yourself forget.

You are only as beautiful as you let yourself remember.

You can always learn to love yourself.

Why wouldn’t you?

You are beautiful, after all.

With beauty-
and love,
Mayhem.

"Dirty" Dancing.

 I've been forced to watch some T.V. and I have been wondering...

who in the hell made the desicions for the tampon and toliot paper comericals?

I mean seriously? The "extra plush and intricant designs"aren't going to matter when I am wiping my butt. I seriously can't understand.

Not to mention, that you lie to little girls. All over the world. This is what you trick us into thinking periods are:

 

 

What is really is:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And to the liar who has the girl going out to the club and putting a tampon in and then saying "Don't let your period stop you"

Are you serious? No girl is going to a club on her period, and if she is she is constantly worring if she is leaking through, and not to mention she is edgy and picking fights. No. Just no. That is the biggest lie ever. The last thing I want to do when Niagra Falls is eruppting in a scary amount from my vagina, is go out and dance and club.

You aren't fooling me.

 

 

 

 

So, in conclusion:

T.V. lies.

 

 

 

 

 

                                       I killed all your friends, but so did the internet,

                                                                       -Mayhem                                                   



Hey, Ukarians!

The Escape Plan.I take a breathLet it out slowJust woken upAnd now ready to goThe night may have haunted me of what I knowBut I am hereI am just slowI take a step from my headAnd the stickiness of my past stays on the unmade bedI take a breath I let it out really slow
I am awake nowAnd I am ready to goI take a leap from the bedAnd all my sad emotions are shedOne more deep breathAnd I run past the scars and sighI’ve done it againI have successfully escaped my headI am ready to goI exit my homeI started off really slowLearning how to let it goCrawling into another dayThat I successfully got away




I am learning a lot lately. Recently, I have learned how to get up in the morning. It seriously goes as the poem says.

Instructions on how to get up everyday:

Step one:
The second you wake up, sit up. Take one, deep breath. Hold it, and let it out. No matter what you have dreamed of, drop it there on the bed. Visualize all these bad things falling from your body.

Step two:
Put your legs down, and stand up. Take a deep breath and let it go. Take a step or two from the bed. And let the sticky feeling of depression and hate melt away.

Step three:
Take a large step from the bed, close your eyes, take one more deep breath and while you hold it list five people who depend on you and love you.
1.Dog
2.Horses
4.Jack
5.My readers.
Do not let out that breath until you have done that, and let those sad ideas and feelings go.

Step four:
Run/walk swiftly away to where you need to be, whether that be the shower, vanity, or closet. Let your scars peel from your mind and skin.

You have escaped your mind.



Mind you, that this is for people who can barely open there eyes in the morning with out wishing death apon themselves. Seriously do this and keep to it.







Question of the day that you probably will not answer:

 Why are all British people in Britian? (hint get your asses over here Phil and Dan and all you other amazing ball UKarians.)







Your sucker with no self esteem,
Mayhem

Teen Problems

I want to do a "draw my life" video.

I can't.

Because I am not a famous Youtuber, and no one gives a flying fuck.

If fucks could fly, that is.

Why is it that I always need things when I am fucking broke. I get money, and no good comics are out, and nothing interesting is happening. I go to the store and I have no money and:


NEW! DANGER DAYS:THE TRUE LIVES OF THE FABULOUS KILLJOYS!

NEW! THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY! 

NEW! EXPENSIVE CLOTHING YOU CAN'T AFFORD.

NEW: MORE COMICS YOU WANT BUT CANNOT AFFORD OR OWN


At this point? FML. SERIOUSLY, GOD HAS IT OUT FOR ME. Or the damn store owners do.


FLASHBACK:
Tralalala walking in the store when suddenly....

I realize my favorite comic is in! 














And I am running and frolicking like a effing gazel with asthma to get to this comic and I am thinking to myself..

 I finally get there, and I am wheezing and dying and shit I can't fucking breathe!
So I am there and I reach into my pocket for my money and:

I forgot my money at home.  I am mentally crying and the guy at the counter in front of me is like:



Now I am kind of praying to God, begging him to just kill me now. I apologize to the guy and go home and bask in my failure.











Can I get some comment/shares for Danisnotonfire gifs and pics?




No?



Okay ):




-Mayhem

Terrified of What I'd Be, as a Kid, From What I'd Seen

Hi, to whoever may read this.

I am not sure who I am talking to. I get views, but no comments, and no emails or tweets, so who am I talking to- if I am talking to anyone at all?

-I don't know.

I have no clue who you are, reader, and in fact, the likeliness that you have any clue who am, is just as true.

We don't know each other in the slightest, reader.

Yet here I am opening up to you, or no one, and here you are reading, or maybe no one will read it at all.

This whole blog has become a story of my cluttered mind, depressed soul, and angry way of thinking.

I am still angry.
My mind is still cluttered.
I still own depression, like a distant reminder of what I used to be,
I am still tired.
I still feel weird and awkward and different.

I am still the same person I was when I created this blog in many ways- and in a lot of ways I am not.

 I have grown such an immense amount since then. I have grown smarter, stronger, kinder, more understanding, less accusing, less impulsive. Less of depressed- more of happy.

So I am still me, I am still the young, confused, hurt, and too-smart-for-her-own-good girl who created this God forsaken blog.


 But I have grown to be happy, leaving the sticky, ugly claws of depression behind. Brushing off my negative monster in my head, ignoring the calls from my blade, ignoring the addiction craving what I can no longer give, I have risen above what I never wanted to be. I have ripped apart what I was. I have clawed my way out, climbing to the surface, from the very bottom to the  top. The two year battle coming- slowly- to an end. I have been loosing at this race, and I am finally making it. I am breathing, I am laughing and smiling and the world seems a lot more great. My mind seems so much more open, my arms seem so much more saddening, and cutting seems more and more UN-needed-UN-necessary, gone. I am thinking again. I am smiling- but meaning it. I don't hurt so bad in my chest, my stomach doesn't ache as bad and my tears aren't of sadness no more- no they are of utter and complete happiness. Since the day my life was thrown out of balance, and shit happened, I can for once say this, and mean it:

I am happy.

I am not done with this battle. I am still fighting everyday. I am still dealing with impulses and trying not to be so damned guarded, I am trying to not tip-toe through life anymore. I am going to live like I want to- even if that means sometimes breaking my back to look up instead of looking down. I surround myself with thoughts of nothing.

Nothing.

I can't see a future for myself because I have no fucking idea. I can't scare myself with that yet. Not yet. I am ready to step back into the world, opened armed, flawed, battered, bruised, and maybe a little bit scarred. But I am here again. I see that light again. I am feeling again. I am awake. Yeah. It is scary to experience something so different, but the cautious never live.









         

*Most recent picture of me, taken today, this morning. That's me smiling- and meaning it.



Hello readers. This is my first blog post, as the new me, trying maybe a little bit harder to be happy. Maybe not happy yet- but baby steps.

Welcome sinners, to my blog. I am Mirror Mayhem, I like music, reading, writing, and singing.

Every beginning starts with another beginning's end,

                                             ~Mayhem

Wake Up (Part 2)

Okay, two rants will be brought apon you today.


First Rant: Gerard Way's poem-Fireworks for the Dead

Fireworks for the dead
It's time to put yourself to bed
In the hospital, the friends you stole
surround you

did the devil sign your check
when they pulled you from the wreck
there was nothing left to recognize
about you

Let it in, Let it go
when they lift you up,
there's something you should know
what you find, it might astound you
cause the world, my friend, is big enough
Without you
This was in the Umbrella Academy's Dallas.
  'Fireworks for the dead'
Was like a big poem that left me O:

It was kinda -to me- like Gerard's way of saying what he felt ya' know?

I mean, think of it this way. Gerard spent his whole entire fucking life touring, writing, going to sit ins and interviews and signings. After hours of hard work on stage, he comes out exsauated -but here he is, signing autographs for some amazing -and some with not-so-great intentioned- fans. That is something huge when you honest to god think about. Hours a day deprived of home cooked meals and the comfort of coming home when you're upset. He gave up his life- for you. He did it willingly. He helped you fight everyday through life. Not to mention not having time for comics. So honestly? Gerard Way has kept it strong for a long time. In some sence, that could be him saying "I love you, and you love me, but everyday you demand more, and everyday I give you what you demand. The few days I am sick, or don't come to sign your things, those rare days when I am not in a good mood. those days? I recieve Hell from you, as if I have crossed a line that I have been miles away from. So you know what? I love you, but remember- the world is big enough my friend, without you"
It also just may be Gerard writing for his story and I am mellodramatic and over analyzed this by X10,000.

 I mean, we idolize the guy. How must it feel to have to be the perfect role model because you are so idolized? I mean I would have days were I would want to scream and say "I am not your best friend! I did not ask to be your fucking role model so don't be pissed when I do wrong, OKAY?!"






Rant subject two-
  Please just watch this.

What if being gay was "normal" and being straight was "wrong"?

and tell me you were not moved. Tell me what you thought in the comments.

Yes you introverted people I want you to comment on this blog because you never comment and it makes me un-happy.