Self Harm Scars: To Show Or Not To Show

Hello my darling angels

This is a self harm trigger warning. 
It is a very tricky, delicate and sometimes triggering subject, so if you feel like this post could possibly be problematic for you in the future, I urge you to read something else on the blog. We got all kinds of fun stuff o'er here. <3 

Oookay. I haven't ranted or raved about Tumblr in a while, so let's get down to it.

Truthfully, this debate/topic of discussion makes me incredibly uncomfortable.
Self harm is an absolute tragedy, and alarmingly widespread, and since I myself have never been a self-harmer, I sometimes feel as though my thoughts aren't legitimate or important.

But that's actually one of the reasons I decided to share my thoughts with you today.
Writing about deeply personal issues is a beautiful, cathartic feeling, but objectivity gives me more room to think, and also gives my readers more to chew on.

So here's the sitch.
Recently, on the wonderful website that is Tumblr, I have seen a surge of "self-harm scars" pride.
People taking pictures of their scars, posting them with pride, writing of exposing them like a badge of honour when they are out and about.
The Battle Wound Belief 

My thoughts, good and bad, are as follows:


I'm hardly one to speak about privacy and keeping your problems to yourself. I mean, I did start this blog at the dawn of my recovery, putting myself out there, mostly for my own sanity, but also to hopefully help anyone in a similar situation. 

I will forever stand by my decision to be raw and genuine with myself and others, so how could I judge anyone who chooses to make a similar decision? 
Because isn't that what this whole self-harm scar pride is about? 
Sharing a problematic past, to find closure for yourself but also to prove to others that recovery is possible? 

To the naysayers who depict this practice as a call for attention, I say GTFO. 
Yes, perhaps some show off their scars to attract sympathy, but that is no reason to shame an entire group. 
Besides, a grand majority of those who struggle with self-harm keep their pain and depression to themselves, which results in this destructive coping mechanism. 
Hence, I'd much rather see someone expose their truth in hopes that someone will notice than have a sufferer deal with their inner darkness on their own, unaccompanied by friends or family. 

Wounded Wrist Worries

Unfortunately, my loves, I have issues with scar show-and-tell that I simply cannot disregard. 
There is a reason I put a trigger warning at the beginning of this piece.
Self-harm scars are incredibly sensitive. 

You never know who is struggling, or has struggled, or will struggle with self-harm. 
That means you do not know how the sight of scars will affect them. 
Those who feel proud of their recovery want to show off their accomplishment, which is quite understandable, but I also know none of them would want their pride to result in someone's relapse. 

I've addressed this issue before, but we are not born into this world with the seeds of horrible coping mechanism planted into our brains. Someone or something else, intentional or not, gave us those tools. 
Your classmate may not struggle with self harm or even depression at the moment, but the sight of your wrists could potentially pop into his/her head in a time of distress, and you never know what that could lead to. 


Is there a clear answer here? No, probably not, but for me there is a solution. 

Solution: Open up about the problems that led you to that drastic measure. The depression, the anxiety, the fights, the school pressure, whatever it was for you.
Details about your self harm, including your scars, aren't as helpful to your support system, and could potentially be triggering for some. 
Honesty, openness, catharsis, AND trigger-free? Check

Hope this helps add to the debate.
Have a wonderful day




The Ultimate Self-Love Body Image Trick

Hello angels:)

I wrote this article almost 2 years ago, when the blog was barely a foetus, and my writing was, at best, mediocre. This is not to say that I'm a bonafide writing virtuoso, but I wanted to rewrite this piece in a more eloquent and clear matter. 

This trick may seem trivial, and perhaps it is for you, but it is one I use every single day, without fail, and truthfully, I believe it to be one of the most important steps in my recovery. Take from it what you will, try it out, and let me know what you think:)


Once upon a time, I was afraid of mirrors. 

Okay, perhaps that's slightly misleading, because I wasn't afraid of the mirrors themselves. 
I was afraid of what they reflected. 

I would wake up in the morning and I would hate my reflection. 

I would go to school, catch a glimpse of myself in a car window or locker room mirror, and I would hate my reflection. 
I would go back home, do homework or extra-curricular activities, and avoid a mirror at all costs, because I knew very well what I would see. 
I knew that at the end of the day, as I got ready for bed, I would have to look at my reflection. 
And I would fucking hate it. 

Let me tell you something: hating yourself in downright exhausting, it truly is. 

It's hard enough being a teenager, going to school with morons and potheads, studying seemingly useless equations, dealing with crazy hormones inside your body and brain; trust me I know. 

So cut yourself some slack, make your life just a little bit easier, and try this trick out.

1. Go up to a mirror, preferably in the morning, or before heading out the door. 

2. Find 3 things you like about your reflection. I don't care what they are, how crazy specific or bizarre they may seem. You are not doing this for anyone but yourself. Look, I know that for some, this will be hard at first, but keep working at it, every day, several times a day if you must. 21 consecutive days of anything forms a habit, so stay strong. 

And if you can find attributes that might not be considered "typically beautiful" by most people, but that you find unique and special, bonus points for you. You go, Glen Coco. 

3. As you go through the day, and inevitably stumble upon your reflection, know where to look and stay focused on those 3 attributes. 

Why it works: Our eyes aren't actually the ones «seeing things»; they only capture the information and send it to our brain, and that tricky little bastard can do whatever it wants with those images. 

Start looking for the good, instead of singling out your 10394855 flaws (child, don't lie, we all do it sometimes), and your reflection will change right before your eyes. 

By choosing what your brain focuses on before that bitchy, whiny voice comes in and tells you what part of your body you hate that day, you blur out the flaws and let the good shine through.

You will find with time how much you have to be thankful for, how many wonderful parts of your being are worthy of love and admiration. 

I can only hope that with time and effort, when you pass by a mirror on a long hard day, you can finally smile. 

Have a wonderful day my loves,




You Deserve: A Story of Consent, Youtubers, and Equality

Hello my beautiful angels!

I have received lovely comments in response to both my Identity and Body Mods articles, and many of you asked to see a more detailed account of my industrial piercing story. However, since I didn't want a silly bar taking over my blog, I wrote a secret piece, attached here. The pictures are warped in google docs, so check out my twitter for better quality pictures. Enjoy :) 
Good Sir, unless you possess a secret
 Avengers power that allows you
to obtain consent from
someone's pupils, please stahp.
Picture found here

This is not something I ever thought I would write about, but in light of recent events, and considering my audience, I feel I cannot keep quiet.

This may not be the most "body positive" relevant article, but it's fudgin' important.

In the past week, several big Youtubers such as Alex Day, Tom Milsom, Alex Carpenter, and Luke Conard have been accused of engaging in emotionally abusive relationship. The ones I want to focus on in particular are Alex Day and Tom's alleged relationships with fans.

You may know who these people are, but you don't have to. Here's what is important:
1. Through their rise to fame, these boys have acquired quite a following. Demographically speaking, their avidest fans were teenagers and young adult girls.
2. They used their power and influence with these girls to engage in sexual activity which often pushed the boundaries of consent, and in Tom's case, with an underage girl.

According to my email inbox, my blog's main demographic is also teenage girls.
Hence, I'm hella furious.

It is such a wonderful thing to be passionate.
To love a band, or a TV show, or a book.
Passion is often the reason we get out bed in the morning, the bright sunlight shining into our dark bedrooms.
There's nothing wrong with infatuation, either. Whether it's a youtuber on the other side of the world, or a guy in your class, it's fun and it's harmless (usually).
I can't remember doing anything more in 8th grade than falling in love.

However, when a real relationship forms, you better get those weak knees in check.

If you imagine a person to be more than who they are, 
to be a god, or a rockstar, or your eternal flawless soulmate,
you put them on a pedestal. 

Problems with pedestals: it puts them up, and it puts you down. 

Putting someone in an incredible position of power and influence will easily corrupt them.
You would do anything to make them like you, to make them happy...
but to what ends?

This is what I believe, take it or leave it (omfg please take it):
The person in front of you, huge celeb in your mind or not, is a person.
You know who is also a person? You. 
As a person, you deserve respect, integrity and the right to make your own decisions. 

If you ever meet one of your idols at Vidcon, or finally go to the movies with James from fucking bio, you must remember that you are their equal.
If they try to belittle you, to put you down, to make you do things you don't want to do,
Get The Fuck Up and Get The Fuck Out.

If you don't feel strong or confident enough to handle this kind of situation, to stand up to your idol, that is a-okay honey.
Most of us aren't.
Which means you should not put yourself in a situation where you know you cannot make the right choice.
Can't swim? Jumping into the middle of the ocean is probably not the best idea.

Enough rambling.
Stay safe, and always remember this quote:

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” 
― Eleanor RooseveltThis is My Story

Have a safe, wonderful day.


Traditional Beauty Bulls**t: Body Modifications

Hello my beautiful dolls,

Fact: When my mom was growing up, there were 2 kinds of people in the world:
-people with tattoos and piercing and other body modifications
-people without

Modified folk found themselves in a very different social category.
In terms of employment, they could not access conservative professions such as medicine, law, business, etc.
Most people were under the impression that tattoos were gang symbols, or membership badges to organized crime groups, hence ostracized those who sported their ink in visible places.

But the times, they are a'changing.
Yes, there is still body mod discrimination, especially in the workplace, no doubt about that.
It's the reason I only have piercings in my ear, a less visible and easily concealable area.

However, we must not forget that the unmodified, sadly ignorant people mentioned above are still around; they hold the mid to high level positions, they make hiring decisions, they are still in charge of our body mods and how they will affect our future; no shit discrimination is still going strong.

Problem: my generation is incredibly tattooed, in visible places, surprisingly pierced, and overall much more liberal about bodily modifications.
It's not just Hell's Angels and high school dropouts who are inking their bodies nowadays; college students, studying in every major, from every background, of every race.

Excluding an enormous demographic of freshly graduated students from entering even conservative workplaces is becoming a Herculean task. Limiting the job pool to clean slate kids is no longer a viable, profitable option.

Consequence: Generational Clash

As the two generations intertwine, and the latter succeeds the former, an inevitable confrontation about
body mods and their place in professional fields looms in the air.
And I am freaking pumped. 
Why you ask? Because this is about more than just a silly infinity sign on your dainty white girl wrist, this is the reason I wrote this piece in the first place:

Accepting Body Mods Is Accepting New Definitions of Beauty

In order to understand why tattoos and piercings are body positive causes worth fighting for, I invite you to think about why they are so taboo in the first place. My interpretation is this:
Body mods are not considered traditionally, conventionally beautiful. 

I may be wrong, but lemme explain myself:
Tattoos are decorations, to enhance and express identity and style.
Working with that definitions, why is jewellery, or nail polish, or makeup, or any superfluous fashion piece, accessories or decorations to enhance beauty and express style, not banned?
Because it is considered to be beautiful in the mainstream.

By slowly integrating a more diverse community of workers in all walks of life who happen to be tattooed or pierced, the definition of these mods change.
No more: tattoo=bum or gangster
Simply: person with tattoo=person who can work in any field who just happens to be wearing a decoration 


Changing the mainstream definitions of beauty is obviously a cause near and dear to my heart, but change such as this one doesn't happen over night.
Not everyone will wake up one morning finding a tattoo sleeve beautiful like I do.
But  the eradication of hiring discrimination and the integration of body modified people into an engineering firm or a sales department as Dunder Mifflin teaches society an even more important lesson than beauty. It teaches tolerance.

Some old grumps won't change their minds about you and your eyebrow piercing, okay.
But, as you are the most competent applicant for the job, said old grump must work along side you.
And he must learn to be tolerant:

tolerance: not necessarily loving, but simply living, without protest or insult, with the reality of the situation.

Beauty and tolerance, I notice, go hand and hand.
By not closing the door, shutting yourself into a darkness of judgement, you open yourself up to new ideas.
When faced with bright lights, the eyes must first blink a few times, let the retinas adjust, before opening their eyelids to the bright glory of the sun.
You don't love that those "fat chicks" pose sexily on the covers of Vogue, but by not excluding the possibility entirely and looking at their beautiful curves a little while longer each day, you find yourself mesmerized.

You fall into beauty like you fall asleep: As John Green best wrote:

"I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once"

Here's the truth: I won't have to struggle through this myself as a midly, secretly modified human.
But I'll be an ally, rallying the troops, screaming at the top of my lungs, and you can bet your tattooed little ass that I will hire the most competent of employees, regardless of their skin status.

Gabby out.



I Don't Give A Single Fudge

Hello my darling angels,

Let me tell you, boys and girls and non binaries, the Lord hath tested me as of late.

I am 18 years old, and as a result, I feel I am more comfortable with my identity than when I was 14.
I know who I am, what I want, what I like, and, as these past few weeks have proven, I am old enough not to give a single ounce of a fudge if the aforementioned don't comply to other people's tastes.

But no matter how old I get, it's hard sometimes to not let other people's opinions get inside your , and it's not everyday I feel like a ball busting finger snapping diva.

Example Number 1: My High Tops

About 2 months ago, I had a wonderful Etsy shop by the name of KaylaStojek make me a pair of custom designed, glitter monster, psychedelic, Jimmy Hendrix Experience-looking high tops.
When I got them in the mail, I. Was. Stoked.

Unfortunately, many a'folk did not share my fond sentiments towards my shoes.
Some told me they looked great,
Some kept quiet if they didn't particularly adore them (hello, manners!)
but some...well, let's just say some were less quiet.

I literally had people insulting my shoes as I walked past them in the hall. Snickering, pointing, and telling me to my face that I had one tacky pair of shoes.

To be fair, I go to school in a living, breathing J. Crew catalogue, so I expected a bit of attention, but I thought that my fellow classmates had reached a point in their lives where differing tastes and styles were celebrated and accepted.

At first, I must say, I was heartbroken.
*Cue High School Musical's "Stick To The Status Quo"
"I should have bought something more conservative, that would blend in with the crowd."
Why couldn't I just like what everyone else likes?!

But when I wore my shoes alone in my house, I felt happy.
These high tops made me happy.
I felt like myself, like a piece of my identity was being reflected out into the universe.

So why should I let beautiful inner feeling of pride in who I am wither away with the voices of strangers? 

Example 2: Industrial

Another example is my industrial.
Yes, I got an industrial piercing (pictured left, with filter because it is still very bruised).
I have wanted this damn hanger through my ear for yeaaaaars.
But I never got it.

It wasn't the pain, or the money, or my school's dress code that stood in my way.
It was me.

I thought people would call me a poseur, an amateur, a fake.
I thought it wasn't "my style", but that's a lie. Your style is what you like, plain and simple.
I was afraid if wasn't the style that other people perceive me to have, and that bubble of conformity and security was difficult to burst.

But here's the thing. I did not have a needle pumped through my cartilage for them.
I got it for me.

I did not watch my friend (shoutout to my gurl Lubear) almost pass out from watching me get pierced so that I could pretend to be someone I'm not, no.
I got it for me.

And I freaking love it.
Oh I'm going to get some comments, no doubt, I already have.

But everyday, as I peel away the layer of skin that doesn't belong to me, that belongs to others and what they think of me, I grow stronger.
I look into the eyes of the judgement's beholder, and I smile.
Because I could not give less of a fudge.

Some may say this conversation is superficial.
But to me, it's not about the shoes, or the piercing, or the jeans, or the headband, or the haircut.
It's about being happy.

Because you know you shouldn't care what others think about you.
But God, the people who say that don't what it's like to walk through the cut throat hallways of school.
Sometimes it's just easier to blend in.

But the easier route doesn't make you happy.
It would be easier to not study hard for that test, but you want that 4.0 GPA
It would be easier to lay back and watch TV, but you still train for that marathon.
It would be easier to twiddle your thumbs all day, but you pursue your passions anyway.

So yeah, it would be easier to blend in. To let the shining star of individuality inside you fade to black. 
But don't you want to be happy?
To be proud of who you are, to reflect your inner being into the universe and watch it inspire others?

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference".
-Robert Frost

Have a lovely day



Nothing Is Stronger: A Poem

Hello my dolls:)

This is a (sort of, I tried) translation of a piece I wrote for ANEB. To read the original in French, click here

I didn't stop eating for your pity;
Your empathy, your sympathy, I don't need 'em anyway.
I don't starve myself simply to be skinny,
to watch my bones shrink away;
No, my eating disorder is all about control.

Controlling my weight, controlling my body,
when everything else in my life is a mess.
When my brain cries out, begging for mercy,
Nothing numbs the pain like eating less.
Nothing in the world seems stronger,
than the pull of my eating disorder.

The booming voices that echo in my head;
Nothing is stronger.
The hollow concave of a stomach barely fed;
Nothing is stronger.
Lifeless eyes accompany my talk,
As my fragile bones barely let me walk.
But I don't care about death, I'm not afraid to wither;
Because nothing is stronger than my eating disorder. 


But I was wrong, you see, for I decided one day
That I wouldn't let this monster steal my soul away.
I had had enough of the shame, the guilt, the self-loathing,
so I raised a white flag, faced the wind and started screaming,
Hoping that somewhere, someone was listening.

Every day is a war, a new enemy I meet.
Sometimes it's a victory, at times it's a defeat.
I fall, I get back up, but of this progress I am proud,
For I seldom understand the person I had once been.
My eating disorder is yesterday's sin;
There is nothing stronger than my will to win. 


Panic Attacks: Through

Hello my angels!

"The Best Way Out Is Always Through", Robert Frost

I've talked about my struggles with anxiety before, and even written a few piece about the best ways I have found to keep this disillusioned fear at bay, but I have never addressed the topic of panic attacks directly. 

And there is a simple reason for that: I just didn't know how to make them stop
Even to this day, I am mostly panic-attack-free because of medication, not because I became a zen guru overnight. Unfortunately I was born a high strung lunatic, and that's probably not going to change anytime soon. 

But if I've learned anything at all about dealing with anxiety attacks, it is simply this:
If you are having a panic attack, have a panic attack.
Don't try to hide it, don't try to make it stop in its tracks. 
The Best Way Out Is Always Through.  

I don't know your life, or the way your anxiety manifests itself.

A great tattoo Miley, but during a panic attack,
that's like being told
to stop having a seizure. Pic from
But I know that for me, when I start to feel the rising tide of panic build in my brain,
I try to stop it.
I try to take deep breaths.
I try to focus on something else.
I try to detract the attention away from me.

But I also know that for me, every time, without fail, this only makes it worse.
My deep breaths make me hyperventilate.
My fidgety eyes change directions so many times that I get dizzy.
My weird attempts to stop the panic only draws attention to the problem.

I'm not saying that your anxiety, your inherent feeling of discomfort and fear, is good, no.

If you don't have to go into the water, swim far out into the ocean, don't.
But once the wave hits, don't try to get out of its embrace.
Let it wash over you, don't waste your energy on trying to swim away, or hating yourself for the wave's crashing upon you (as you can see from my ridiculously extended metaphor, that shit is not your fault, it's nature).

This quote by Robert Frost gets me through life.
A "bad" day coming ahead, a dark time in one's life, an awkward moment in class,
when it comes to time, there is no out, but there's also no going back in,
 you just have to get through it.

I hope this helps at least one of you in a time of crisis.
No self loathing, no fighting a losing battle, just survive.

Have a lovely week my pumpkins!

PS: One of my favorite anxiety reducers is watching booktubers!
My fave this week? Ariel Bissett.
Awesome, Canadian, Book Nerd, Well-Spoken, Fellow Curly Haired Lion
Check her out!