The Domiciles Project



The works below are presented as they have been submitted by the artists. We do not censor the submissions, but ask participants to be mindful that content will be viewed by people of all ages. Inappropriate material will be removed.

Nazzarena Easton Mrs. Amberg Lesson#7
ELA- “Through the Darkness” Domicile Project Door:#10
Gouverneur High School
Through the Darkness
Dear Diary,
I’m finally putting an end to this misery I’ve put myself through. I’ve been a diagnosed bulimic for three years now. All I’ve wanted was to fit in and be considered beautiful, sort of like Barbie. Exactly like Barbie actually. I’ve even dyed my hair, gotten my ears pierced, and painted my nails bubble-gum pink just like her. I want to be known as the girl who is fun, peppy, beautiful, and perfect like, Barbie. I’ve never fit it, especially now that I’m bulimic; no one understands me. I wish I could be a normal teenage girl who loves herself, but I can’t. It’s too late to turn back now. I’ve taken five of my mother’s pain killers hoping it will kill me. Even if the death is slow, it’s better than living. I was foolish to ever think I had beauty to embrace.
Dear Diary,
I’ve been hospitalized for five days. My mom found me passed out beside the toilet, on the bathroom floor. She was telling me how she could hear the obnoxious buzz of the fan from her room, but wondered why it was on in the middle of the night. She cautiously made her way to the bathroom to find me passed out on the floor. Thinking I was dead, she immediately called 911. She was saying how all the teller told her was to check my pulse to make sure I still had a heartbeat. I’ve never seen my mother so terrified in my whole life. All my mother did was question me about why I had taken so many pills, where I had gotten them from, and why I was doing this to myself. She didn’t take it well, and didn’t understand. No one understood the pain. I was hooked up to many machines, some I didn’t even know what for. After a while, there were no more doctors walking in and out of my room checking on me. They had finally given me and my mother some space, as if they knew what she was about to tell me. She shut the curtain surrounding my bed and sat down with a very scared, worried look on her face. She said, “Juliana, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to go to rehab for a while. I’ve already talked to a psychologist about the arrangements, and he thinks it’s what’s best for you.” My heart instantly dropped at the thought of being trapped in a place with psychotic people. Then realizing I was psychotic, I did need help. Maybe it’s time for a change; maybe it will be for the better.
Dear Diary,
I’ve been out of rehab for two weeks now. I haven’t been able to write, since I wasn’t able to have my diary in rehab for the last five months. My mom knew what was best for me after all. I haven’t made myself puke, or tried any self-harm in a while now. It feels good not to feel the pain, and now I have people to help me through the darkness. I’ve found the light at the end of the tunnel, and I believe everyone can. It all depends how badly you want it. Another thing everyone needs to remember is, you need to embrace your beauty. We’re not all perfect.

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