Time may change me but I can't trace time
Yesterday, I got my nose pierced and dyed the front part of my hair pink, with a touch up this morning. I'm incredibly happy with how it all turned out. I was working on growing out my hair but now I think I might keep it short for a while. I'm just showing the process of pinkening (yes, I invented a word. What of it?)It's odd how great you can feel with simple changes to your appearance, like a few streaks of pink or a new hole in your face. I feel good. Is that weird?
You can follow me on Twitter here or ask me anything on Formspring here.
You can follow me on Twitter here or ask me anything on Formspring here.
Right Now
Love the new Rag and Bone campaign. The models were asked to take the pictures themselves wearing the collection.
fashiongonerogue
fashiongonerogue
I won't forget your face
So, the last post was rather serious. I got a lot of very kind comments, e-mails, and messages from people responding to it. I would just like to say thank you - thank you for taking the time to read, to think about it, and to respond. I was nervous as to what people's reactions may be, but they were all positive and supportive. Such things from strangers isn't always provided in society today, and a simple "thank you" doesn't seem like enough.
The following photos are just some random shots of things that have been going on in the past few days.
(1+2: zombie cross stitch pack I recently purchased. 3: shredded t-shirt I'm working on. 4+5: what I wore to a doctor's appointment (club monaco cardigan and jacobs shirt). 6: my bath tonight, filled with a bath bomb from Lush).
The following photos are just some random shots of things that have been going on in the past few days.
(1+2: zombie cross stitch pack I recently purchased. 3: shredded t-shirt I'm working on. 4+5: what I wore to a doctor's appointment (club monaco cardigan and jacobs shirt). 6: my bath tonight, filled with a bath bomb from Lush).
Hello. My name is Stacy Corneau.
I'm 18 years old. I reside in Canada. From the outside, my life probably seems pretty average, or even pretty damn good.
Hold on. This post is going to be very long, very serious, and no photos. If you aren't in the mood, I suggest closing your browser right now.
Still here? Alright, here we go. I haven't posted in a while. Similar to September and October, when posting hit an all time low. I can blame it on university, too much school work or too little sleep. The truth is, it's me. I'm not perfectly normal; then again, what is normal? So, you read my blog or look through the photos and maybe some of you think you know a lot about me about the little blurb I write. The truth is, every blogger, myself included, only shows you what they want you to see. I don't show you my despair, or when I cry, or my temper, or my paranoia. I want to seem like this perfectly normal happy-go-lucky teenager. Some days, I am happy. Lately it's been rare, but it's coming back. The truth is, I never wanted to go to the university I attended (and dropped out of 3 months later). Because of certain circumstances, I ended up going anyhow. I don't regret it; I met great people that I'm still friends with, learned a lot about myself, and got a ton of Shakespeare out of it. The reason I didn't want to go is because I didn't want to leave my home city or be in that program anymore (concurrent education; teaching). Part way through August, the daunting realization that I'm going away to university -and why- became too much to bare and I became depressed and started self harming.
It started out very, very small. A couple cuts, not much more serious than bad paper cuts, here and there. However, having to leave home, my friends, and my boyfriend to go to a city 5 hours away that I had no interest in being in sent me over the edge. I've always hated that expression; "over the edge." Where is this edge, and is it the same for everybody? Anyhow, I went to university and all hell broke loose in the depression department. I was now using a knife to cut, I was bleeding much more, and I was isolating myself. I still remember my worst day there - I don't remember why I was cutting, yet again, but my roommate and another friend walked in on me. They didn't see it, they just saw me crying. I grabbed a hoodie, my knife, and went outside to continue to cut. In the pouring rain (pathetic fallacy, I know). I had cut 16 times.
Two weeks into university and my best friend and my boyfriend had convinced me to see a counselor. It took me 45 minutes to walk up the flight of stairs to her office. I got bumped from person to person, which was hard as all hell, and then sent to a doctor and put on anti depressants. Zoloft, to be exact. They seemed to be working, for a while. Then I kept cutting, taking too many pills and vomiting. A friend had to hide them from me once. So, I left. University was literally killing me. I miss people, I've seen some since, I'm visiting others.
So, it's November and I'm back home. Things are stressful, things are confusing and I'm going stir crazy in my apartment. The dosage of my drugs had been upped, and the side effects were getting bad; anger, paranoia, irritation. I was nearly violent. My father decided to take me to the Emergency Room to see a doctor now to have my anti depressants switched and so I could see a psychiatrist faster. Both happened. I got switched to Celexa, a different anti depressant, as well as given sleeping pills. Celexa is a funny pill - see, it brings out all the bad for a week or two then will get rid of it all (I compare it to acne treatments). Well, it brought out all the bad pretty damn well. Paranoia to the extreme. I'm talking about a buzzing noise in my ear, most likely hearing damage from loud music, scared me and I thought someone had planted something in my home to hurt me. When asked if I wanted a CT Scan, I said no because I was convinced the doctors were going to take part of my brain away or implant bad thoughts. And yes, I've had a CT Scan before. I was too scared to leave my apartment because I thought people somehow just knew about my depression and self harm and would judge me for it.
Now it's December. I haven't cut for 3 weeks but things are still very, very hard. I've been given anti-anxiety pills to help cope with that, but they knock me out instantly so I don't take them. I no longer abuse my medication. I don't drink. Eating habits are shit because I eat my feelings (and I wonder how I've gained weight). Then, a week before Christmas, everything just became too much again and I was cutting. In 5 days, I had cut 42 times. I've never needed sutures or stitches, luckily. On December 26, I went to the ER again because I had cut too much and was woozy and I'd never lost that much blood and one of the cuts was more like a giant hole and a chunk of skin had come off with it and OH MI GOD can't cope I'm scared help me. So, we went to the ER and the Psychiatric Emergency after that. It was basically a "don't do that, why do you do that, do you know the outcomes? Ya? Ok, good luck, bye." Helpful but not helpful all at once. So, the cutting stopped for 3 weeks - the longest I've ever gone (to date). Day one, day two, day three... I was trying to take it day by day but it's hard, it really is. It's an addiction like gambling or smoking, and you feel in control and you know it's wrong but you continue anyhow. It's not always about being suicidal, it's usually about control and lacking it.
So now it's January 13. I'm writing my will, goodbye letters, and my suicide note is complete, tear drops and all. January 17, I was going to kill myself. I knew how, where and when. But I panicked, and called the local crisis line. I was on the phone with them for a couple hours, and I ended up meeting the workers the next day. They, and a close friend, convinced me to go to a crisis shelter. From the 14-20, I was at a crisis shelter to get help with my depression, self-harm and suicidal thoughts. I left on the 20, and I've been staying at a friend's house and will be going back home tomorrow. Yes, my parents knew where I was and yes, they knew why. All my friends know now. Some have stayed, some have gone. My boyfriend and I are no longer together. My father and I are arguing. Everyone says things will get better, they just will, just give it time. In terms of everything - the depression, the break up, the fights, the self esteem, the self hatred, the self mutilation. But I'm still here. I'm still fighting. Because that's all life is - a god damn fight. You can give up and let it beat you or you can punch it in the gut and tell it to shut the hell up because you're in charge now. I'll be going to a local university for psychology in September. I want to get my master's and be a psychologist so I can help other people who have gone through things I have, or worse, and help them get better. Because it hasn't been long, but I'm already thankful I'm still here. Richard (the ex) and I are still friends. My mother is trying harder than ever. I put a 2 year old to bed and cried because of how good it made me feel. People have left my life, people have entered. Everything happens for a reason, and you grow from every incident and decision.
I don't regret anything I have ever done. Bad decisions, mean remarks, too much alcohol or letting people push me over - it's all happened to me, and maybe I shouldn't have done some of those things, but because of them, I am who I am today. I refuse to regret anything. It teaches me things, and I grow.
So, would you like to know who I am? I'm Stacy. I'm a vegetarian, animal lover, child lover, I want 3-6 kids and a white picket fence, I want a big dog, I love going to a park and rolling down hills, I hate Iced Tea and I rarely stay hydrated. I own too much clothing and makeup, I only do laundry once a month - once every two months, I write stories and poems, I help my friends when they need me, I don't clean, I probably don't shower as often as I should and I'm fine with going out in public without a bra. I'm not normal, I'm not overly gorgeous or smart, I don't play sports or video games, and I read a lot. I swear too much and laugh too loudly, I get too much Starbucks but I don't drink caffeine. I bite my nails and I pick at scabs. I cut my hair short when I can't cope and I want a nose piercing and tattoos everywhere. I want my blue hair back and I want a small apartment to myself and I want to bake and I want to get married and have a big family and be the mom that has the soccer team or dance class over every Tuesday night with homemade brownies and lemonade. Maybe I'm stuck in the 50s, or maybe I'm just a dreamer, but I'm god damn happy with how I am. I could stand to lose a lot of weight, and be nicer, and less of a push over, and help others more, but I'm fucking perfect the way I am. And so are you. Everyone is fucking perfect. Tall, short, fat, thin, black, asian, smart, stupid, jock, nerd, musician, carpenter, cutter, gambler, smoker, abused, rejected, loved, cared for - you're all perfect. If you think you're worthless and ashamed of who you are, just know that there's at least one person in the world who loves you and thinks you're beautiful or handsome and wants to hold your hand and lay in bed all Sunday with you. But if you leave, you'll never get to meet them. So hold on.
Day 10. That's where I am. Day 20, day 30, day 100, day 500, day 3000... it'll all come soon enough. I'm trying to god damn hard. I don't want to give up anymore.
Also, I recently watched "Girl, Interrupted." Of course, it had a slightly bigger impact or meaning to me than it would some others. I've been called crazy, broken, sad, depressed, suicidal, stupid, selfish, and much, much more. I guess I'm all of the above, but those adjectives don't define who I am.
"Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is... Crazy isn't being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It's you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever."
Hold on. This post is going to be very long, very serious, and no photos. If you aren't in the mood, I suggest closing your browser right now.
Still here? Alright, here we go. I haven't posted in a while. Similar to September and October, when posting hit an all time low. I can blame it on university, too much school work or too little sleep. The truth is, it's me. I'm not perfectly normal; then again, what is normal? So, you read my blog or look through the photos and maybe some of you think you know a lot about me about the little blurb I write. The truth is, every blogger, myself included, only shows you what they want you to see. I don't show you my despair, or when I cry, or my temper, or my paranoia. I want to seem like this perfectly normal happy-go-lucky teenager. Some days, I am happy. Lately it's been rare, but it's coming back. The truth is, I never wanted to go to the university I attended (and dropped out of 3 months later). Because of certain circumstances, I ended up going anyhow. I don't regret it; I met great people that I'm still friends with, learned a lot about myself, and got a ton of Shakespeare out of it. The reason I didn't want to go is because I didn't want to leave my home city or be in that program anymore (concurrent education; teaching). Part way through August, the daunting realization that I'm going away to university -and why- became too much to bare and I became depressed and started self harming.
It started out very, very small. A couple cuts, not much more serious than bad paper cuts, here and there. However, having to leave home, my friends, and my boyfriend to go to a city 5 hours away that I had no interest in being in sent me over the edge. I've always hated that expression; "over the edge." Where is this edge, and is it the same for everybody? Anyhow, I went to university and all hell broke loose in the depression department. I was now using a knife to cut, I was bleeding much more, and I was isolating myself. I still remember my worst day there - I don't remember why I was cutting, yet again, but my roommate and another friend walked in on me. They didn't see it, they just saw me crying. I grabbed a hoodie, my knife, and went outside to continue to cut. In the pouring rain (pathetic fallacy, I know). I had cut 16 times.
Two weeks into university and my best friend and my boyfriend had convinced me to see a counselor. It took me 45 minutes to walk up the flight of stairs to her office. I got bumped from person to person, which was hard as all hell, and then sent to a doctor and put on anti depressants. Zoloft, to be exact. They seemed to be working, for a while. Then I kept cutting, taking too many pills and vomiting. A friend had to hide them from me once. So, I left. University was literally killing me. I miss people, I've seen some since, I'm visiting others.
So, it's November and I'm back home. Things are stressful, things are confusing and I'm going stir crazy in my apartment. The dosage of my drugs had been upped, and the side effects were getting bad; anger, paranoia, irritation. I was nearly violent. My father decided to take me to the Emergency Room to see a doctor now to have my anti depressants switched and so I could see a psychiatrist faster. Both happened. I got switched to Celexa, a different anti depressant, as well as given sleeping pills. Celexa is a funny pill - see, it brings out all the bad for a week or two then will get rid of it all (I compare it to acne treatments). Well, it brought out all the bad pretty damn well. Paranoia to the extreme. I'm talking about a buzzing noise in my ear, most likely hearing damage from loud music, scared me and I thought someone had planted something in my home to hurt me. When asked if I wanted a CT Scan, I said no because I was convinced the doctors were going to take part of my brain away or implant bad thoughts. And yes, I've had a CT Scan before. I was too scared to leave my apartment because I thought people somehow just knew about my depression and self harm and would judge me for it.
Now it's December. I haven't cut for 3 weeks but things are still very, very hard. I've been given anti-anxiety pills to help cope with that, but they knock me out instantly so I don't take them. I no longer abuse my medication. I don't drink. Eating habits are shit because I eat my feelings (and I wonder how I've gained weight). Then, a week before Christmas, everything just became too much again and I was cutting. In 5 days, I had cut 42 times. I've never needed sutures or stitches, luckily. On December 26, I went to the ER again because I had cut too much and was woozy and I'd never lost that much blood and one of the cuts was more like a giant hole and a chunk of skin had come off with it and OH MI GOD can't cope I'm scared help me. So, we went to the ER and the Psychiatric Emergency after that. It was basically a "don't do that, why do you do that, do you know the outcomes? Ya? Ok, good luck, bye." Helpful but not helpful all at once. So, the cutting stopped for 3 weeks - the longest I've ever gone (to date). Day one, day two, day three... I was trying to take it day by day but it's hard, it really is. It's an addiction like gambling or smoking, and you feel in control and you know it's wrong but you continue anyhow. It's not always about being suicidal, it's usually about control and lacking it.
So now it's January 13. I'm writing my will, goodbye letters, and my suicide note is complete, tear drops and all. January 17, I was going to kill myself. I knew how, where and when. But I panicked, and called the local crisis line. I was on the phone with them for a couple hours, and I ended up meeting the workers the next day. They, and a close friend, convinced me to go to a crisis shelter. From the 14-20, I was at a crisis shelter to get help with my depression, self-harm and suicidal thoughts. I left on the 20, and I've been staying at a friend's house and will be going back home tomorrow. Yes, my parents knew where I was and yes, they knew why. All my friends know now. Some have stayed, some have gone. My boyfriend and I are no longer together. My father and I are arguing. Everyone says things will get better, they just will, just give it time. In terms of everything - the depression, the break up, the fights, the self esteem, the self hatred, the self mutilation. But I'm still here. I'm still fighting. Because that's all life is - a god damn fight. You can give up and let it beat you or you can punch it in the gut and tell it to shut the hell up because you're in charge now. I'll be going to a local university for psychology in September. I want to get my master's and be a psychologist so I can help other people who have gone through things I have, or worse, and help them get better. Because it hasn't been long, but I'm already thankful I'm still here. Richard (the ex) and I are still friends. My mother is trying harder than ever. I put a 2 year old to bed and cried because of how good it made me feel. People have left my life, people have entered. Everything happens for a reason, and you grow from every incident and decision.
I don't regret anything I have ever done. Bad decisions, mean remarks, too much alcohol or letting people push me over - it's all happened to me, and maybe I shouldn't have done some of those things, but because of them, I am who I am today. I refuse to regret anything. It teaches me things, and I grow.
So, would you like to know who I am? I'm Stacy. I'm a vegetarian, animal lover, child lover, I want 3-6 kids and a white picket fence, I want a big dog, I love going to a park and rolling down hills, I hate Iced Tea and I rarely stay hydrated. I own too much clothing and makeup, I only do laundry once a month - once every two months, I write stories and poems, I help my friends when they need me, I don't clean, I probably don't shower as often as I should and I'm fine with going out in public without a bra. I'm not normal, I'm not overly gorgeous or smart, I don't play sports or video games, and I read a lot. I swear too much and laugh too loudly, I get too much Starbucks but I don't drink caffeine. I bite my nails and I pick at scabs. I cut my hair short when I can't cope and I want a nose piercing and tattoos everywhere. I want my blue hair back and I want a small apartment to myself and I want to bake and I want to get married and have a big family and be the mom that has the soccer team or dance class over every Tuesday night with homemade brownies and lemonade. Maybe I'm stuck in the 50s, or maybe I'm just a dreamer, but I'm god damn happy with how I am. I could stand to lose a lot of weight, and be nicer, and less of a push over, and help others more, but I'm fucking perfect the way I am. And so are you. Everyone is fucking perfect. Tall, short, fat, thin, black, asian, smart, stupid, jock, nerd, musician, carpenter, cutter, gambler, smoker, abused, rejected, loved, cared for - you're all perfect. If you think you're worthless and ashamed of who you are, just know that there's at least one person in the world who loves you and thinks you're beautiful or handsome and wants to hold your hand and lay in bed all Sunday with you. But if you leave, you'll never get to meet them. So hold on.
Day 10. That's where I am. Day 20, day 30, day 100, day 500, day 3000... it'll all come soon enough. I'm trying to god damn hard. I don't want to give up anymore.
Also, I recently watched "Girl, Interrupted." Of course, it had a slightly bigger impact or meaning to me than it would some others. I've been called crazy, broken, sad, depressed, suicidal, stupid, selfish, and much, much more. I guess I'm all of the above, but those adjectives don't define who I am.
"Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is... Crazy isn't being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It's you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever."
Korean vocalist WooYoung Jang
Born on April 30, 1989, Woo Young Jang is the vocalist and a member of the South Korean boy band, 2pm.
Wooyoung has the popular "Oval shaped face that most Korean idols have nowadays.
He's the type of guy that would always try out new things; such as new hairstyles. He has appeared in a super short haircut, which did not really fit him as much as a medium hairstyle. See it for yourself!
See? Doesn't Wooyoung look adorable in a medium hairstyle? Given that he has also dyed it light brown, it looks great!
Here's an older picture of Wooyoung's adorable medium length hairstyle.
Wooyoung has the popular "Oval shaped face that most Korean idols have nowadays.
He's the type of guy that would always try out new things; such as new hairstyles. He has appeared in a super short haircut, which did not really fit him as much as a medium hairstyle. See it for yourself!
See? Doesn't Wooyoung look adorable in a medium hairstyle? Given that he has also dyed it light brown, it looks great!
Here's an older picture of Wooyoung's adorable medium length hairstyle.
Dim Light
Random inspiration.
Valentine's day is coming up. If you are looking for something great to buy your sweetheart check out Henleys and these awesome Men's Sunglasses.
Valentine's day is coming up. If you are looking for something great to buy your sweetheart check out Henleys and these awesome Men's Sunglasses.
Off we go, into the wild blue yonder
I've been reading more lately, as well as hanging out with people more often. I feel like a little social butterfly, haha. I completed "Leslie's Journal" a couple days ago; written with the vocabulary of a twelve-fifteen year old, though fairly heart breaking and disturbing. I'm still working through "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," which is excellent, especially since I've read the original Austen novel so the comparison is quite funny. I'd like to read "The Grapes of Wrath" as well as "The Catcher in the Rye." I also need to finish up the "Uglies" series. Tell me, what do you enjoy reading?
(Club Monaco silk back shirt, Jacobs bustier, Addition Elle jeans, Aldo purse, Sirens heels, gifted heart necklace)
You can follow me on Twitter here or ask me anything on Formspring here.
(Club Monaco silk back shirt, Jacobs bustier, Addition Elle jeans, Aldo purse, Sirens heels, gifted heart necklace)
You can follow me on Twitter here or ask me anything on Formspring here.
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