Anonymous Confessions

[Image description: a 50s'-style white clam purse is open to reveal its contents. Pink nail polish, rose petals, and a necklace are seen inside the purse. The photo has an old and grainy quality, similar to film.]

This is a collection of anonymous confessions.

It contains writing and art that express thoughts we cannot otherwise say due to social constraints. These confessions come from readers and members of Risen alike. It is hoped that whoever reads this will find emotional catharsis within these words and images as well. Trigger warning: eating disorder, negativity/hopelessness, emotional abuse.


I am hungry.
I am always hungry.
My body fails me and for that I punish it.
There is something that frees me from myself every time I vomit up my regrets. When I vomit, I vomit out all the hurt, the pain. I have control. I am my own creator. Even if it's only pretend.

I want help. I want to be held and rocked and sung to. My little sunshine. I want someone to say they don't want me taken away. I am drifting towards away. And I'm scared. I want help.



dear me,
it’s been five days since I last showered
I’m called useless because I sit around the house all day
and the only marathons I ever run are the ones through my laptop screen
because I can barely find motivation, let alone the bathroom
and the only thing i’ve been eating is cereal without milk
because all the milk has turned sour and nobody has noticed yet

dear me,
it’s been six days since I last showered
they keep calling to ask why i’m always in my room
I think they just assume that whatever i’m doing in there is a waste of time
idling away, attracted to stagnation like moths to light

dear me,
it’s been a week since I last showered
I’m called rude because last night I left the dinner table without saying thank you
because they worked so hard to turn those groceries into meals
so maybe I should get a grocery bag; one that says ‘thank you’ with a smiley face
like the smile I put on every day I walk through the door after school
so I can convincingly say, ‘I had a great day’

the only music that plays anymore is Green Day
because those are the only songs I own on vinyl that can drown out their dissatisfactions
and even that’s not enough because every record scratch reminds me of every mistake i’ve ever made under their scrutiny

dear me,
I don’t even know what the point of showering is anymore
when words have clung to your skin like age-old gum under the school desks
and taken residence like algae on a sloth
it’s become a part of you that no amount of water will wash away
the lurking shadow of ‘never good enough’ like a psychosomatic rash, always there for you to pick at;
to itch away until there’s nothing left of you but flesh and bones where there are holes
and your motivation leaks out of every one of them until you deflate like a car tire

dear me,
i’ll be taking residence for the long run


Friends --
I don’t think you quite understand the scope of this. My head is a minefield where passing comments blow out of proportion. Everyone’s fingers are constantly on their triggers; I am on constant graveyard shirts with intrusive thoughts and deadly ideas. Catastrophizing opinions and vilifying myself: you’re not allowed to feel as bad as I do, you’re not allowed to have it worse. Internalisation doesn’t equal coping. Just because I have no physical indications doesn’t mean my mind is okay, or that I am safe. Take it seriously. This is serious. I am serious, I am awful, I am full of holes and I am fraying. This is bad. I feel the lull like a fog. Sometimes I’m strangled by it, it’s edging on often these days. I can see in my mind’s eye all the unsavoury affairs that over-complicate the narrative of my life -- that it’s really not too bad, that A-Grade me is unmoved, and her mental health borders on mediocre. More and more I am finding that I’m a lot worse that I thought, and more and more I’m weighed down by this. More and more I am tipping the scale and I don’t think you at all grasp that I could quite easily fall. I’m already not present in my body half the time.


A letter to you:

I’m pissed off because we were young, and so I thought we were on in the same boat but you knew so much more than me and capitalised on my inexperience/innocence.

I’m pissed off that the concept of consent was so warped for me but not for you.

I’m pissed off that I feel for your mind games and guilt trips and manipulation. I’m pissed off you made my anxiety about you. I’m pissed off that you took my iPod and read through all those personal messages about how I felt within myself, about myself - because of your actions and you making it seem normal.

I’m pissed off that sexual acts still make me feel dirty afterwards. You made me feel like a fucking prop.

I’m pissed off that you can’t leave us alone.

I’m pissed off that nobody else is!!!


These anonymous confessions are there in the hopes that some solace can be found from it. If anyone is going through a tough time, know that our inboxes are always open at and Instagram dm’s via @risenzine. Below are a list of some resources.

Mental health information:

CANADA  website for mental health information and wellness. Also has interactive games.



Information on emotional abuse:

Centre for Relationship Abuse Awareness emotional abuse awareness, including myths, warning signs, and a page on abuse in LGBT relationships.

[Image description: pink nail polish, rose petals, and a necklace spill out of a white clam purse. The objects lie on an old magazine page with words.]