Share your story about mental health, stigma, shattering labels, and/or your road to emotional and mental liberation.
Your stories will IGNITE the Journal To Save Your Life Mental Health Revolution.
Journal To Save Your Life was built on the insights and heart opening transformations that founder Holly Claire Werstein's (her old pseudonym: Jasper Faolan) first book, a raw hummingbird, afforded her.
Healing begins by telling your story.
Tell us your truth. We will feature particularly inspirational stories with our community through the many social mediums at our fingertips.
Mental Health is a Human Right,
Holly Claire & her Journal To Save Your Life Team <3
Living with Asperger's is not an easy feat. It never is. imagine yourself in a room full of people. All of those people are laughing and mingling. Meanwhile, you aren’t. You’re sitting there in the corner all alone, watching everyone make nice with each other. Nobody doesn’t even acknowledge that you’re there. You just sit there, crushed from the inside. You have trouble expressing yourself because you don’t know how to. Your fear of being rejected eats you up. Your fear or feeling inadequate to others eats you up. As you’re living with this disorder, those whom you’re around can’t understand your pain. You’re constantly feeling glum and angry. You feel as if this condition drags you into an abyss, an abyss that leads you to a point of no return. I have this feeling. Growing up, I could never fit in with others. As a kid, I couldn’t look an adult in the eye. I never had the capacity to. There was just something about looking at another person that made me feel very uncomfortable. In social situations, my heart would pound very fast. I would tend to get nervous. I would always be the one that got left out because I couldn’t relate to the other children. Being bullied didn’t help curb my condition, it only worsened it. Every day, I would walk around and get laughed at. I would be humiliated every day. I would be made fun of because of the way I talked, walked, and looked. Imagine trying to answer a question in class and the kids would mock you. Every word you would say, they’d make this expression, trying to take the words from out of your mouth. As I was around my family, they couldn’t relate to my condition either. I constantly sent them cries for help and they just rejected me. Nobody listened. This only made me feel even more depressed. The bullying in school got so bad that I nearly tried to kill myself at the age of eleven. I was going to leap from out of my bedroom window, but my mom stopped me in the process. I would use writing as my means to communicate. I loved to write. Whenever I was in class, I would be the first person to get up and share what I’ve written with the class. I impressed my teachers with my impeccable writing abilities. My creativity was amplified. There was nothing limiting it. But, that didn’t mean my issues with my low self-esteem and my inability to become proactive in social situations waned. The kids would call me all sorts of demeaning names, such as retarded, stupid, and many more. I lost my father when I was just a year old, and his loss alone has had a grave impact on how I grew up. As a black man, growing up without a father—that’s not easy. My father was a very outgoing guy. Everyone loved him. You would never be able to tell if he was sad. He was so resilient. Everyone tells me I look like him so much, but I’m his complete opposite. I’m not as outgoing as he was. I’m reclusive and shy. I don’t open up too much. These issues with bullying and my bout with Asperger’s did not cease. At the age of fourteen, I was booked into a mental hospital. They had me on medications for a while. I ceased taking them in 2013. None of that helped. Once I got to high school, I began to give up hope. I felt like there was no haven for a guy like me. I carried all this baggage. I bared all these wounds. Nobody could understand what I had to go through. But, I didn’t stop writing. I let my talent weather the storm. I let the arts influence me. Writing was my only escape. It was the only place I could go and not be judged or harassed. Little did I know—this escape pushed me to write my first book at the age of fifteen. On October 26th 2014, I published The Ballad of Sidney Hill. That book marked my coming of age and how much I’ve matured. That was living proof that I wasn’t going to let a mental disorder define me. They told me that I wouldn’t be able to function once I got to high school. All these specialists who remained doubtful of my growth, because of my condition—I proved them wrong. Fast forward to now, I have written forty books. I am now attending Berkeley College in Newark, New Jersey. I have a message for you all. Never let your circumstances define who you are. You can be anything!
I'm transgender, whatever that means. I'm just a spirit trapped in a body, in a life that I don't want but have to make right. It was like 8 or 9 years ago when I decided to transition from female to male. I just wanted to be who I really am. I didn't think it through. I was on testosterone for a few years, then my dad died abruptly on Christmas night and I stopped doing everything. I also stopped going to therapy. I'm 29, living in a hotel because my mom and I were kicked out of our old place. I had an episode and I was diagnosed schizophrenic but I was denied social security. I have no source of income, and no transportation. I was too unstable, and all those years went down the drain. I feel like I was 21 yesterday, when my dad died. It feels like it didn't happen. I lost myself completely. I'm just spilling what comes out in no particular order right now. I need release. I went insane for years. I lost track of who I was, and I refused this identity. I hate identity, I hate biology, and I hate life. To me, it's an insult. I got caught up in this matrix programming, and I thought I could manipulate the media with my mind. Or the media was manipulating me. There was definitely some sort of mind control going on. Nowadays I let my spirit repossess my body. I think too much about shit that doesn't matter, like whether I'm being perceived male or female. I care less these days, but I notice more and feel like everyone is constantly talking about gender and for some reason androgyny is such a big deal. I don't get what the big deal is. I feel more androgynous lately. People tend to think I'm a 16 year old boy, or I don't know what they think. I just wish I was. I want a new chance at life. This has been eating at me every moment. I refused to live as a female, but I didn't do enough to change it on time. I just shut everything out and didn't deal with it. I lived in an alternate world. I had my heart broken twice. I became addicted to porn and self destructive behaviours. I got so lonely, I tried to embrace myself as a female again just so I could have somebody. I figured I could at least use this body for my own pleasure. But it was really more torturous, and it never left me alone. Being trapped in this body. Yet I feel I'm not, that my spirit roams free. I've been at war against my biology. My thoughts are so scattered, I don't even trust them. I'm so paranoid, I think everything is about me. It all goes onto this insane network. I take everything out of context. It's hard to cope. I had so much creative potentual. I wanted to start this creative community. I tended to magnetize others online that were aligned similarly. But then everything became thus matrix program, and I couldn't trust anyone. I thought they were watching me from another dimension. One of them told me he was. And I thought I was really these music artists but I was in another dimension, and everything synced up. The music with my life and every comment, every conversation. It all became a part of this superconscious network. But I guess I was "delusional". I had anger issues. People would use shit against me and I'm trying to erase these memories so I can move on, but they come back. I traumatized myself through the shit I saw online, but I refuse to even acknowledge it. I don't want to feel like a victim. I need to clear out my past, but how do I start over? My mom's getting a new home. It should go through soon. I'll live there, and I'll need to find a job and learn how to drive. I don't even trust this website, I'm getting paranoid spilling this information and I don't get why it asked my address at sign up but I didn't give accurate information. Are aliens monitoring this timeline? This isn't an act. I know something's going on, but I'm sitting here staring at myself through a void. I'm looking for clarity, or not even clarity. A foggy mirror would suffice. I see myself interdimensionally as so much more, and I'm in tune with that. But I'm stuck here, and I'm trying not tonly get sucked into this trap of life but I have to fix this somehow. I just hope I'll be able make enough to make it, with no job experience I hope it won't be that hard to get. I've been so afraid of everyone's judgment, but I feel like 10 years just didn't even happen. Like, I was living in this vacuum. It was such a trap. I wasn't living in this reality. I was too confused to live, and I have such deep trauma now but no one to talk to about it and no compensation for the severe damage. I still feel that I'm not explaining this right, and I think of possible reactions with the way people are and I just hate people. But I like the ones that aren't judgmental. The human part of me gets so scared, while a part of me is totally detached and I'm trying to be there for myself. I just need to be present, and take this forward. This is all in the past. The fact is, I'm here now. I don't know where I was 10 or 5 years ago. But right now I'm in this body. The body is female, but the spirit and mind surpass it. I just feel trapped. Sometimes I don't even care. It's just a form. Sometimes I regret beginning to transition at all. Or not finishing it, because I feel stuck in between and day to day it varies where I fall on the spectrum. I'm always paranoid I think everyone is talking about it, like there's nothing better to talk about. Am I a boy or a girl? Isn't bring a person enough? Why do we segregate? I think about this every day, and no one else cares. Everyone else is normal, whatever that means. That's what if feels like anyway. I'm just worried that it's too late for me in life. I never cared much for this life. It's like I discarded it. But there's no point in thinking like that. It's more like, I just have to do what I have to in order to survive. And survival is such a distraction to where my higher mind is. I was just abducted by aliens. In the dream world, I'm everywhere operating the mechanics of this reality. Over the top? I don't even care. I just don't belong here at all, yet I have to be here and I have to find a way to make it and be okay. I'm sick of thinking about gender, but it's easy everywhere. People look at that before anything else. And when I look around I feel so much bigger than the guys or the girls like I'm not a person, I'm an idea, I'm this consciousness expansion that's just been boxed in but it's bursting at the seams. Yet I've been treated inhumanely, and I feel like I don't get to be a person. Yet I have to be a person and I have to deal with this individualized separated consciousness, where it's been and where it's going. God, please let me be okay. Been saying this every day. I want to be okay. I need to be okay. Like it isn't a choice just let me be. I might just get a second chance to start over. 29 is the new 19, I tell myself. I really don't feel 29. It's just annoying. Wouldn't it be cool if my story was inspiring? Maybe one day it will be. I'm trying to teach myself not to care about other peoples' perceptions or points of views. I mean, I felt at the mercy of them. I know who I am, I think. I mean it's always fluctuating, but when I feel my spirit I know. Sometimes worrying about life seems small scale compared to the mysteries of the Universe. There's just so much more I want to experience to the point where I think about leaving this life early but I feel like something is keeping me here. I don't know if I have a "purpose". I just want to create, yet been unmotivated because everything I started was cut off. I don't know what to do. I'll have to work somewhere crappy, and probably never make enough to get any operations so I'll never be happy. Or I have to learn to be regardless, because the body isn't what makes it I'd just rather be out of body. But I'll never have time for myself, or I'll have to integrate it and somehow make every moment paradise. It's possible. Maybe some opportunity will pop up. I guess I never know. Just feel like I can't get in the door anywhere. What do I even want to do? Vs. What do I Need to do? I'm spilling like this is my diary, but that's what you said right? Share it all. For some reason, I'm hesitant to post this. But I think I will.
I never really have a break from the noise and the chaos almost two years ago a lifetime of abuse and being bullied came to a head when my mother murdered my oldest child and then took her own life I cannot seem to make any sense of it I think I have gone completely crazy seeing signs from the universe and everything I had kept being told that I was "bat sh#*" crazy but it wasn't until the look of sheer horror on an ex boyfriend's face as i explained to him what I was seeing and hearing it was then that I knew I must never ever speak of any of it having already been thrown away by my family I felt outcast enough and didn't wAnt to be alone in the world I was separated from an abusive husband and after the murder decided enough was enough no one gets to abuse me further kind of sad that it took that for me to make that decision but you know what I told people was truth any bad thing they have to say to me well my words to my self were way more harsh but its not as though i didnt deserve it I am responsible for the murder of a young special needs girl and I don't know if I Will ever atone for tbat but but in the last four months with my spiral b family I have made steps forward and for m me he acceptance love and family is what has made all the difference well that and me finally being able to trust completely and blindly it was liberating like walking out of jail after a month scary yet beautiful my personality and crazy still seems to scare people and I still get funny looks however I believe in myself even if just aa tiny bit and for today that's enough
I just know I feel what I feel and sometimes it feels like there is a TV on high volume with nothing but static inside my head. And sometimes I feel completely at one with world.
My life is a whirlwind of emotions. Sometimes I feel no one would believe me or think I was a freak. I am a middle aged married man with grown children. I've tried talking with my wife but she just says go see a professional. When I was 11 I was raped by 3 men while my mother watched. Later she told me that she was sorry and going through her own as she was raped by them as well. That was not the last time I was raped as a boy or grown man. By 13 I was being used sexually by many men. At that time i was enjoying having men sexually and I prostituted myself out. I had sex with only men such as teachers, neighbors, business men,police officers, and so on. I was also sexually active with my mother as she too sold herself. Many of her johns cane to me afterwards. Thinking back it amazes me how many men enjoy f__king boys. Some were nasty pigs. Others were brutal and few made the sex nice. I had a friend in the neighborhood that I taught him how to Jack off with, blowjobs, and sex. His mom and mine would have lesbian sex together and that allowed us to have gay sex together. Our mothers encouraged us to enjoy our boy sex as often as possible. My mother taught me how to be with a woman and make them feel good. I learned all the foreplay of eating them out,where to caress them. She would have me sleep in her bed with her most nights so we could have sex. She had a variety of VHS tapes of porn for us. Everything from gay,lesbian, interacial,taboo, etc... this continued till I was 16 with her and selling my boy body. I had "girlfriends" who never knew my other life. No one did except me and my mom. We were very good at hiding it. At 15 I was made a ward of the state until I was 18. From that period I never was with another guy. I'm not gay I was surviving my element that was handed to me. My mother was put in hospital for depression and bipolar and loss custody of me. I led a normal teenage life with girlfriends and regular friends. At 18 I left the state school with a HS diploma. 2 days after leaving I was arrested for 2 counts of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. I purchased alchohol for my 17 yrs old gf and one of her other friends. When I was in county things changed. Judge set my court date to 180 days after arraignment. Everyday of those 180 days in jail i was raped 4 to 5x a day some days more. I was 147 lbs. Blue eyed, long black hair,and as my rapist put it a sweet fine ass. They would say look he enjoys it. They would say that because I would get hard, and have orgasms.as well as moan and groan and sometimes masturbate sucking their BBC'S. I will say I was repulsed everyday I was raped. The guards at times would even watch and masturbate through the cell bars while it was happening. A friend came to visit once and I was humiliated in the visiting room as I was made to hold my "daddy's" hand in front of my friend and introduce him as my "daddy".I saw the look in my friends face of pity. Before we went back to the cell just to humiliate me further he slapped me so hard and said "bitch walk your faggot ass behind me or I'll beat you here". It took every ounce not to cry, but I managed. When back at the cell he and his boys let me know exactly how much of a sissy bitch I was and brutally raped and beat on me. I thought many times how can I kill myself to end this. I just never could build the courage to do it. I kept telling myself it won't be forever. After I was released I never spoke of it to anyone again until right now. I moved on got a job, dated a beautiful woman and just lived normally. I joined the army during desert storm and later after serving my term was honorably discharged. 5 years after that I got married and had 3 wonderful children. During our marriage my wife wanted to use a strap on to f__ck me I agreed but later told her I needed a bigger one. She was very much into swinging and watching men have gay sex. She convinced me to do this and suddenly a b bunch of emotions came to as I was having sex with this man. I became very sexually active with many men. She as well was dabbling in sex with black men which became an overwhelming emotion as we moved a black man in our home and for 2 years he was f__cking us both, he also brought his boys over. I was into being their bitch very much as was my wife. I also hid that I was in a relationship with another married man at work until we were fired for homosexual acts during work hours. She got pregnant with one of their babies and we divorced. 18 years later I've been remarried and have not been with other men until couple years ago at a party I woke up to a guy I knew had taken my clothes off and was between my legs starting to penetrate me. When he saw I woken he started saying he was sorry and he was drunk and went to get away when I I shocked us both and grabbed his hips and told him to fuck me. So now from time to time I'm hooking up with men for sex and sometimes going to a known gay bar and engaging in group gay sex and gay orgies. Not long ago I was in a bathroom at the bar on my knees when a co worker came in. Now me and him are meeting daily for sex. Oh what a whirlwind
My life started out abnormal. Due to the choices of someone I have never met, I was a living, breathing repercussion of a one-night-stand. I'm not angry. How can you be mad at someone who gave you life? Just somewhat disappointed that I was created in lust than love. But that was many years ago, and I had no say in the matter, so what's the point in dwelling on it? However, that is where my story starts. After being adopted by a beautiful couple with beautiful twin boys, I sprang into life. Growing up I lived in many places due to my adoptive father serving in the military for over two decades. I grew well and healthy, homeschooled up until middle school, and finally found a place in public school where I felt as though I belonged. That is where my life began to change. A few months before I started sixth grade, my father had an accident that left him almost unable to walk. After a few surgeries, he seemed better, however, he walked with a distinct limp. Fast-forward a few years, and my life was nearly unrecognizable to the simple one I had lived a short while before. My father had two complete rebuilding of his knees, which left him in pain and barely able to walk. After the artificial implants being rejected, the doctors simply shook their heads and shut their doors, saying "we've done the best we can.". As a child, I was heartbroken by the fact that my dad, my role model, could never play soccer with me again, could never run, nor teach me how to fight. He retired from the military, and after that, things went on a downward spiral. We decided to build a house, which is a whole nother story in itself, but in short, we were cheated, stolen from, and lied to all over the sake of money. Our new home, a place where we were supposed to feel safe and comforted, was falling down around our heads, and rotting with mold. Nobody did anything to help us. We were alone in a fight against insurance companies that would rather save their reputation than do what's right. Still, we fought for over four years to get back what was rightfully ours. All the while, my dad's health declined. After developing asthma, my mother and I were watching this strong man waste away to nothing. After my dad developed brain atrophy due to blast injuries, it was a well known, but unspoken thing in our household. My dad was going to die. Going through high school, I was expected to be normal. But how could I? How could I with a dying father? How could I pretend as though everything is alright every day when my house was determined uninhabitable? I had questions in my head that no seventeen-year-old should deal with. How will I console my mother? How will I work a job, go to school, and take care of my family? I was afraid, I felt alone, and I had no idea what to do. But in all of this, I held onto hope. It was my lifeline. Hope that one day I would find peace was the only thing keeping my head on my shoulders. Each bad thing that would happen, it would only grow stronger. I'm not through my difficult times yet, but this story had to be told. My father is a great man, and nobody recognizes what he gave in order to let civilians sleep safely in their beds. He gave everything, His ability to walk, to run, to play with his kids. He gave up his very mind for his country, and when I ask him if he would do it all over again, he tells me the same thing. "I would do it ten times over to save an American life."