It's Me & the Moon

Hello there. I am just soo drained at the moment. Been awake for far too many hours. & am consumed by a wide range of emotions. However, the spectrum doesn't exactly include the happy ones.

Today has been long. I think it is because it is running into yesterday & I feel like much of it was lost, but still don't know.

I do know one thing. I need to stop fucking saying "I don't know". I don't, but man do I sound like a broken record. Well, maybe I think like one too & have an excuse like one as well.

First thing this morning I had an appointment with my therapist. I really wanted to vent about yesterday, because I was feeling like shit, but no. We have to talk about what emotions I have & what better ways to deal with them. Still. She still brings up the idea of me being hospitalized. That is just not okay with me. It really bothers me. But mostly, it just scares the fuck out of me. I do know that I don't want to be institutionalized. I don't. She is afraid that I am going to be revert back to my old ways of self harm. & she even said that she is keeping a close "suicide-watch" eye on me. What the fuck? Never did I tell her that I wanted or even thought about taking my life. Because I don't. That is one thing I DO fucking know.

After all of my lovely classes, which I could not pay attention in, I talked with Shelly. But I can't help but really dislike myself at the moment for it. I can honestly say that I didn't have a conscious manipulation for making her talk to me. Seriously. But I guess everyone is thinking I'm a liar these days.

Last night, or more like this morning, I sent Shelly a text asking her to read this blog before we talk next. I figured it would save time & she could have a direct understanding of everything. When I sent that text, I had been thinking for hours about what to say in it. How to word it to make it not seem like a thing I needed asap. When to send it. How much detail do I give. Do I tell her that I'm not okay? Or do I just let her assume? A good chunk of time that should have been spent sleeping was being wasted on these stupid thoughts. So I decided to put an end of this nonsense by just sending the text then. She was supposed to be asleep, but of course she wasn't. But I know that I said in the text that It was premature & that I know we weren't going to be talking for a while & how that was okay. Because it was! & not to worry about me.

I seriously didn't think she'd read them then & then want to talk today. I didn't want to talk to her today because I feel so guilty. Ugh. So Shelly, I'm sorry. But we did talk. Hahaha. No, I sobbed the whole time. I was a mess. & I feel so fucking terrible for doing that to her.

djaogiaogiwjaog

I just don't know what to do with myself anymore. At least when I lose this, it won't be because of my fucking mother.


On top of this. It's pretty official. O is no longer my friend. A six, almost seven, year friendship ended because of three calls & a fucking nap. I will admit that life is not fucking fair to me.

I don't really know where to go from here. I am trying to make plans, but I don't know, things always fall apart on me. I read the directions, I set it up carefully. Put time, effort, & myself into it. But when I take that step back to enjoy it, it crumbles. I can't always be the one standing there holding everything up. Because I always am. & my back i fucking breaking.

I oddly feel like life is taking its course a bit here. I'm not one of those people to believe in stupid shit like that, but I don't know. I think my life is clearing itself of the shit that has infested it. It got tired of waiting for me to do it. So now it's taking the reins & doing steering for me. My old roommate was not nice to me. She put me down to make herself feel better. I was a doormat & I never tried to pick myself up off the floor. Just assumed it was my place to be. But this opportunity opened up (which never fucking happens to me) & I just rode the curtails until I found myself with one less friend. Yeah, I am upset about it. & I miss her. But I think that it was right. Now I have that sliver of hate gone. I mean, I can't cut out the main source, because we're talking about my life here, & Me dead isn't going to solve anything. But I think my life is better now without her there feeding on the little good I have.

Well the next event was with O. I really like O, but I don't exactly know why. She is not nice. Frankly, she is a bitch. Yet no one really lets her know that. But of all the people she is mean to is me. Ask anyone. I don't know what my confidence would be like if I didn't have her oh my shoulder, telling me (fucking bluntly at that) all of my flaws. But despite all this, she was still my best friend for a good portion of my life. I am upset that we aren't friends anymore, but how bad is it really? She is hurting me so fucking much right now, but I think there are two possible outcomes from this: first & more likely one, I will have one less friend. A friend who wasn't nice to me & really wasn't a friend. Or second, we will be friends but she will know that I'm done with all her shit.

All I know right now is I'm not very happy. I am so afraid of being hurt at this point that I don't want to do anything. I know that I often set myself up for these sort of things, but I think most know how I am. Know what I need. & should sort of see this thing in the making.

Where to go from here? Honestly I still just want to sleep & never fucking wake up.

If I Could I'd Sit this Out.

Yeah, another day down. I can't even keep track of the days lately. They all string together. Luckily, nothing is outstandingly horrible that makes each day a living hell. So that is an improvement. But there are only smart parts of each day that are actually enjoyable.

Last night I played the nostalgia card.& Luckily I didn't lose my hand with that move. I actually won, or played well at least. I decided to read a bit of a journal I kept last year. Unlike this blog, I didn't really keep up with it, so there isn't much in it. But it did reveal just how far I've come. How much progress I've made. & it truly is evident.

The first few entries were from a long time ago. Before I even began to open up to Shelly. When I was in complete denial. Entirely. I questioned why I was so upset. Thinking I had absolutely no reason for my depression. Wondering why I had been depressed all of my life. I actually wrote: "Some might say it is good to escape reality from time to time as I do. But I am not sure what I am trying to escape. I should be happy. Always. Everything & anything I want, I can most likely get. My future looks bright & filled with opportunity. Yet I don't even know if I want to have one. Honestly. I am not content. I am not happy. It's not that I'm only unhappy some of the time, but it seems like every moment. I have never been consumed by joy.. I've mastered the creation of a facade. Most, if not all, of those around me falsely believe that I am completely happy. But I feel broken. A shell of myself. Sometimes completely numb. I function, walk, speak, eat without feeling anything. I don't understand my despair. I couldn't tell you where it stems from. Why I'm unhappy. I think it comes from a dislike of myself. But nothing else is really wrong with me life."

Where the fuck was I? I remember the night I spoke with Shelly, at a real low, & opening up about the abuse. I honestly didn't realize that it was something wrong. That is was abnormal. Wasn't a part of everyday life behind every other closed door. It took a lot of "yeah, it's bad. It's abuse" from Shelly before the idea that it wasn't right even began to sink in. So much denial. I could feel how deeply upset I was. How depressed I was, well still am, but I honestly didn't know why.

But I know why now. I know who to blame. & I feel like a bit of blame can be scattered to everyone in my life. Obviously my parents carry a heavy load of responsibility, but everyone else gets there share too. ow about everyone who still hurts me. All the time, I find new bruises (not just the real ones) upon my heart. I don't know if it's a mistake that I have suddenly relocated it to my sleeve. How about a bit for every fucking person in my life who has no fucking idea. They can't go by without a bit of responsibility.

But I can't escape it either. I am a big factor as to why I'm so fucked up. Well I'm changing. I'm realizing what I do & don't deserve. But that doesn't mean anything, when you can only play the hand that's dealt.

Farewell all, another will be coming shortly.

Fall Through the Cracks. You Might Find that the True Beauty is Laying Underneath.

I've slipped through everyone's life. I fell by the wayside on their paths through time & have always been the one bumped off of their list of thing to think about. To worry about.

Since I've gone unnoticed for so long, I have a general lack of acknowledgment from all. I hate the idea of seeking attention. I truly do. & the placement of my scars do not support the idea of my actions as a cry out. However, I can't help but wish someone would see them. Only once did I run a blade across my skin in hopes of acknowledgment. Upon my arm a three inch scar lies & its purposes was to get my parents to fucking realize I'm not okay. I'm not o-fucking-kay. But of all the scars I wear, that one is the one I regret the most. That one is the one I hate the most. I don't know how much animosity I would harbor if I had achieved my goal, but I don't have the opportunity to know. Because my parents never said a word. They never had the decency to care.

My therapist has informed me that every person craves attention. Craves acknowledgment & it is only human of me to take drastic measures to receive it. To bad it didn't work. She said it was only normal & understandable that I cling to those who provide it. But I know I'll drive them away because of this. But I just don't know how to control it. Manna sure is a hell of a drug.

I know that when I was still hooked on the drug of pain, of blood, I would have denied any implication that I was practicing self-mutilation. That I was a cutter. Because anyone who has a secret knows that if they wanted to truly stop, then they will seek help. Denial is an easy thing, & it is always used if you're complacent with the way things are. But I just can't wrap my head around the fact that I meant so little to everyone that not a single person knew. Not a single person saw. Not a single person guessed. Not a single person inquired. Not a single fucking person cared. But I'm used to this by now. Some scars 6 fucking years in the making. Most scars almost 7 years old. Only few have faded, because it's difficult for the red to grow fainter with time if they continue to be reopened. To bleed again. No one has seen them. When someone finally does, I haven't truly settled on any actions, but I think I might tell the truth. Because if they notice, they must fucking care.

This lack of attention is like a gun and blows my mind against the ceiling, that has been waiting to meet me for years now. I mean yes, the majority of the scars lie on my legs, but not all of them. The cry-out to my parents lies on my right arm. It was deep & gritty, but has faded by now. Yet, no one noticed. No one asked. I hung out with my cousin the very next day. No inquiry. Although the ones on my legs are hidden by pants, & long shorts, I do own a pool. A fucking pool. Come on people! I've had pool parties! Nope. Gym shorts are a bit shorter than my taste. Nope. Changed in front of people in gym. Nope. Yes, I did change in the bathroom when things got too rough, but not always. I cut a few lines on my leg when I was on vacation. Yeah, I know my parents don't give a damn about me enough to notice, but I was with a friend. Red lines appear on my leg but she doesn't notice. Then again she spent most of the day either on her phone or in the internet room talking to her best friend.

Besides the physical signs, there was a bit more obvious one. If you haven't caught on by now, I am a poetic person. Well, not only does my everyday writing portray this prominent aspect of myself, but I write actual poetry. I have since elementary school. Despite my love for stringing beautiful words together, the poetry isn't actually written well. Just look at this blog. But nonetheless, I shared it. I am a very private person, & I don't normally share things that show my flaws, but I did share my poetry. With many people actually. If you're a close friend of mine, & sometimes that's not even a requirement, then you've read my poetry. My best friend in middle school, & most of high school, has read almost every poem I've written. She wanted to be my "editor" when I published them. She sure let me know they were crap. But here is an example of that crap. An old piece of writing:

Lying to myself:

Wishing that the day will fade
I want to chase the pain away
Shooting pain
And little scars
Wishing on
Fallen stars
Bleeding out
All my shame
There is comfort
In this pain
The same routine
With every night
I somehow think
This wins my fights
I do not cry
Insted I bleed
My scars show how
I hate me
As time goes on
New scars appear
Sometimes I wish
I wasn't here.
But I wake
To a brand new day
And as time goes on
Like Scars, I fade

A few people have read this poem, & many others like it, yet no one has noticed that they aren't just words. I'm pretty sure this is blunt. I know poetry can be subtle, but I think this is fucking blatant. Why did no one worry? Or question? I turned a poem quiet like this into an english class in 6th grade & again in 7th grade for assignments. Nope. Not even they worried. Aren't they supposed to?! Isn't that their job?!

I have actually posted some of my work on line (http://paperbags7.deviantart.com/), & that same friend has an account there too. A poem of mine reads:
they are just little reminders
that I failed once more
my little kisses of disapointment
the stains of my affliction are washing away
you have made me perfect once more
& she commented: "My little kisses of disappointment"
GAHHH. I really like that line! The sexy poet is back! "
One, it is one of the only compliments she's ever given me, but it comes at a bitter price: that she didn't see what that line was even saying. But then again, no one has. Everyone has read them.

I can't change the fact that no one cares. I got by without anyone. Without anyone noticing I was suffering in silence. But in reality screaming out until my lungs collapse & my heart gave way. I need not be bitter that no one has even given a fuck about me, & instead realize, thatI am stronger than I think I am. That while others need these vast support systems to keep them afloat, I got through everything I have without help. Without a single person for support. That I stopped a six year addiction on my own, where people go into rehab for less intense ones. I stopped myself from taking those pills. That I can get through anything. & from here on I do have a copilot. A support system. It might not be very sturdy, but It's not going anywhere.

Farewell all. If you ever want help & don't seem to be getting it from anyone in your life, know that you can do it on your own. It's not ideal, & when you look back you might have wish you called it quits, but you never know. You could find true happiness in the end. Happily ever after is just for fairy tales, but that doesn't mean better than today lives in tomorrow isn't for reality, & you're reality at that.

"So, if you made it
Just be glad that you did and stay there
If you ever feel loved or needed
Remember that you're one of the lucky ones "

It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

This is your life, & it doesn't get any better than this.

Innocence is a valuable thing. However, it is something I don't ever remember having. I was never a child. Not really. Between my general lack of friends, & the actions of my parents have always lacked maturity. Starting at an age I can't even identify, I began taking care of myself. I always ate cold food before elementary school because I couldn't reach or use the microwave. I have taken care of basically all of my needs for a long time including making doctor appointments & filling out paper work. Besides taking care of myself, I've had to be the parent of just not myself, but of my mother. I've had to take care of my drunk mother more than a few times & that's only the bad days. Every morning since I can remember I've had to prepare my mother & I & then wake her up. & trust me, that lady is no morning person, & my body could show you that.

Yeah, my parents have no maturity at all & they displayed it the entire vacation. My father is disgusting. He spits, & often at me. & he acts like a child. He is much like my mother though. No she doesn't spit, but it doesn't mean she's not a child herself.

She decided to open the curtain I was behind while I was changing. I absolutely hate being naked. No one had seen me naked before. & I didn't want to change that. But that decision left my control when she revealed my body & proceeded to bash it with negative comments. I already hate my body. It is the most unfortunate body imaginable. & she just pointed out & confirmed things I already know. How the hell am I supposed to change my opinion about myself when I've heard absolutely nothing to contradict it. I've been called anything but hideous by one person. Only one. & one voice doesn't drown out the numerous swimming around in my mind.

Another immature thing my mother did was absolutely disgustingly childish. So, you know that thing where a person points at something on your shirt & then lightly brushes your chin? Well she didn't quiet pull a bruce campbell, but she slapped me in the face. Hard.

I fucking hate my life.
I never want to return to it when I get a chance to leave.
I want to live on my own or surrounded by people who love me.
& if I ever have children, I fucking swear they'll be more mature than my parents.
Who will never be alone with them.

Farewell all.

Poisoned Hearts Will Never Change.

I can't sleep. So I'm going to let it all out here. This is like a journal, & I don't read these (Yeah, so I'm sure there are a ton of mistakes. Sorry.) But I know Shelly reads these, & I'm not sure if she will after last time. & the "you" out there is no one. So I'm just going to vent, because "you" are all I have right now. I really need someone, & you're all I got. Congrats. My mind is swimming in thoughts & emotions. Sadly, somehow more so than normal. Which is really saying something.

Man. My posts seriously go from positive to negative to super positive to... this. Wow. Today was no good. The first few hours were great, well okay. Shelly & I were both drained from last night. But she much more so than I. Actually, for those first few hours I felt really good. It was good. But I sure do know how to ruin everything. No wonder I'm such a repellant. It's a gift. Or a curse. Anyways, Shelly was a bit distant & I thought we grew closer with last night's step. But after having a bit of time pass, I feel like something might have been lost between us. I don't know. I always fear this. & need a disgusting amount of reassurance. But I can't keep asking for it. I just don't have good things, & am afraid to lose them. But I;m hoping she was just tired. & not tired of me. (this is progress.) Even though we were tired & drained, it was still a really good morning, for me at least.

But then we got into the car. I knew that the night before had been super heavy but it was honestly NOT my intention. I had been avoiding these topics. But somehow it came up in the car. I don't know how. Maybe I'm being stupid in saying that, it wouldn't be the first time. I just care so much for Shelly, & I know my actions don't show it. So I fell like... i lose some of it. Ahh.

Of course, I cried. I always cry now. I used to never cry & now I do allllllll the time. So much. I feel like I have all this pain that I've internalized over the years. Just stuffed it down with in me & tied a knot around it. But I've been cutting the ties of my past & trying to let them go, but I didn't realize that the ties were connected to all of these emotions. So I just let them out all of the time. I realize I didn't deserve all I've receive which has weakened me. Made me fragile, & I was already worn thin. So I just chip really easily. But when will I break?

When Shelly left...



After hitting my head hard, causing a headache. (Yeah.) I got into my house to discover I had left my keys & license at school. I lost it. I was going to be stuck at home. I knew no one wanted to spend time with me, so I had no escape. I still have no escape. My mother came home right when I had discovered this. I had started crying in anticipation... & I sure found out how she felt about my mistake. Previously, I had told her that I was going to be gone that night, because I thought I would be, but I had to also tell her that. Not a good time. I just laid in my bed wishing this could be all over. But I have to wake up eventually right?

Right. Sleep isn't a real escape. Of course, I got into trouble for sleeping. But my mom got upset in front of the "friday night crowd" so my dad was nice to me for the rest of the night. But he does go to bed early.

So in the end, I feel pretty alone... & I don't want to have to deal with these next few days. I know I can do it on my own. But I'm kind of sick of it. I don't know. My loneliness is infinite. I am going on a vacation tomorrow, with my parents. Joy. But we aren't leaving until later in the day so I don;t want to be home. Of course I can't fucking drive. & I have no one. I really have only two friends other than Shelly. One of them is mad at me. & I don't really care at this point. I kind of deserve it, but I can't deal with it right now. & she wouldn't have spent time with me anyways. & my other friend won't hang out because it is supposed to rain tomorrow. Am I that bad? That you can't think of a better fucking excuse. I did want to see her, not just because I am stuck here at home. I normally see a lot of her, & I barely saw her this break. But I did try. I guess she's got better things to do. I just wish her excuse wasn't the rain. I'd rather hear she just doesn't want to. The blow's still a blow, but you don't feel like one of your best friends thinks you're an idiot.

Oh, & tonight was my ex-roommate's birthday party. I haven't let anyone know, because I know I shouldn't, but I kind of miss her. She wasn't the nicest of people, but she was there every day of my life. & it stings that I lost her..So now she hates me. & has herded some of our mutual friends in her direction, & is celebrating with them. & talking about me. & I made this change to better my life. But somehow, she's celebrating and having fun. & has all of these friends who really like her. & here I am. One friend less, alone at home, hurt & crying. How did this happen?

I don't want to deal with this anymore.

Honey, Things Got Reeal Ugly.

After yesterday's post, today is a day I would have used the mutilation. Just an all around crap of a day. I would have pulled out my box & had my way with it. I'm glad I don't do that anymore. I know that I'm happier this way. But I can't deny I'm still in close possession of my box of wonderment. But there's some amount of comfort that lies in the knowledge a safety net's in place. That there's always that other option in the other ones fall through. You never really imagine having to use your seat cushion as a floating device while you soar through the sky, but it's a comfort to know it's beneath you. & it's a comfort to know I sit above my box daily. One day I hope I can rid of the box completely. I hope that day comes soon.

I guess I'm going to use this as a place to vent. So here we go:
I had a test today. But I didn't know about it until yesterday. So I had much cramming to do. Of course I decided to constantly procrastinate instead, & in the end I screwed myself over. A real number 12. I watch Lost with a friend every tuesday night, & last night was not an exception. Except she wouldn't leave. I felt bad about asking her to leave, so I never did. She ended up staying until a little after 1:15. Yeah, in the am. So I had to pretty much start studying then. While she was there I wrote a paper, but still didn't study.

I didn't get to sleep until 4:45 (again sadly in the am) & had to wake up at 8. Between classes I tried to study by I just couldn't concentrate. I ended up slipping & flailing myself into a wall mid morning, making me feel like a complete idiot for the rest of the day.

I went to lunch with a friend. I normally go to lunch with her on mondays but we ate together today. It is normally okay, she talks about her weekend while I talk. However, she seems sort of upset with me the whole time. Once her friends arrived (who I didn't know were coming & DO NOT like me) I was completely left out of the conversation. The whole time they were speaking about something I didn't know about. Some plans they had made. I even asked once what they were talking about but was ignored.

After that delightful lunch, I went to take my test. & failed. Great.

As I walked back to my dorm, dead tired, my Mother gives me a call. Wonderful. She had much to say. I was still on the phone with her when I got to my room & found that one of my frogs had died. At that I lost it a bit.

Now I have an essay I need to finish.

However, Shelly is coming to visit me tonight! So I know in a few hours I will be filled with joy. Just give it some time.

Farewell.

Love is Not Like Anything, Especially a Fucking Knife.

I'm going to delve into the inter-workings of my relationship with a hair-straightener & a exacto knife. That relationship was long & complicated, leaving me not just heart broken, but scared for life--literally.

Small, simple, safe price.

Small. I always knew that I was doing something very wrong & hurtful to myself, but I also believed that it was something very small & affected no one else but me, I know that it was supposed to affect everyone around me, but that is only true if they noticed. 5 years. (I say 5 because it was persistent, a few times a week, for 5 years & not as often for another year. So it really is six years.) so 6 years. 2,190 days. I went into pools. I changed in gym. I not only burned but cut while people were over. One time my back began to bleed in 10th grade gym. But no one noticed. No one. No one has ever asked me about my scars. Or my present wounds. I do have a cat, but my cuts sure were persistent for having de-clawed cats.

Simple. It was so simple. All I had to do was run a blade across my skin & things changed. I had control. I had comfort. I was the one causing the pain instead of someone else. Everyone else. I wasn't as weak, because I took things into my own hands. I could withstand the pain. Actually, I liked it. Like I said, simple.

Safe. Sure, it wasn't safe from a health standpoint, but it sure was safe in what I was aiming for. It was safe because I never failed--& that sure was something. Failing is something I am good at, & I exert the skill in all aspects of my life. But I never failed to draw blood, find comfort, do something right. & I gripped to that feeling. Although I never believed that I deserved anything more, I was always let down by other people. Others always failed me. & I always failed them. But this never failed to give me what I asked for. Every time.

Price. It is a price. Most of the time I hurt myself in order to gain control & it associated with rough days. If there was something that wounded me mentally, I'd cut & watch the pain bleed out, & the wound heal. Hoping that the other wound within me healed with it. That maybe I'd bleed away all of my flaws. Yeah, it didn't work. But I kept trying. But another way I used self-mutilation was for punishment. & I had to pay a price for the mistakes I made.

I want the pain of payment.

I feel like I must make a payment for the mistakes I made. A payment in pain. Well, I used to feel that way. Now I see that's wrong. The last time I self-mutilated, I was making a harsh payment for the huge mistake I made. That day I had an IB exam for my history course. I had studied hard & felt pretty prepared. When we got the test booklet, I read the questions & found three that worked perfectly. I had no problem writing them or working in the numerous facts I had memorized. When the test was over I felt pretty confident about how I had done. You know kids, everyone wants to talk about how they did on the test & what they wrote. Well, these high schoolers were no exception. I left the testing area & was instantly berated by friends on how I did. I'm not really a fan of sharing things like this with others because I never feel like I do well, & the few times I do I dislike the idea of bragging. Well, I couldn't, although I should have, avoid the talk this time & told my friend that I had answered this one question about blah blah. She informed me that we couldn't answer the question because it was the wrong decade. At that comment, I realized I had written absolutely nothing accurate in that essay. Yeah, I really fucked up.

My friend wanted to celebrate the end of history with me & we had planned to go to a late lunch after the test. If this hadn't been pre arranged, I would have not attended. But it had. & so I went. She decided to bring her boyfriend & good male friend along. I was already in a dangerous state but it worsened when I ate half of the food despite being full of disappointment. & I was completely left out the entire meal. It made my faking easier but it also lent no distractions to calm my upset mind.

I returned home to find my mother had returned. So my day was inevitably going to turn from crap to shit. When she inquired about the test I told her of my mistake. I know it was stupid of me, but hadn't I already proven I was an idiot? Well she had a lot to say. Needless to say, I was not the only one to physically hurt me that day.

I had already burned myself a few times that week. I had almost completely stopped cutting & only burned. Burns heal with no scar & the numbing effect doesn't always kick in. I had pretty much stopped constantly cutting two years prior in 10th grade when it got a little out of hand. I had been having a pretty shitty month with my mother & had cut my back once a day for twenty seven days. My back & my stomach, actually. I cut into my stretch marks mostly. I have a few strays on my legs & my arms, but scars bleed more & are easier to hide when I'm older. I also thought it only fit, that I was unhappy because of my repulsive size & the stretch marks were a result of my vile habits. Well, 27 cuts on my back is a lot. & I hadn't really planned them around my life at that time because my mother's moods often reined. Unfortunately for me, it was the testing week for physical education in gym the last week of my mutilation splurge. I already embarrassed myself beyond comprehension in everyday gym classes, but these tests never failed to make my hate for myself be turned up a few notches. & one of the devastating tests was curl-ups. Ah, curl-ups. Throwing your torso up towards your knees using your ab muscles (note, you must have those to be successful in this horrid test) & then coming back to the floor & then repeating as many times possible in a minute. I was normally only able to do about 3/4 of the number of the minimal requirement normally, but this time I only churned out 1/2. (if that) I just couldn't take the unwanted pain throbbing in my back. That was when my habit changed from an exacto knife being pulled across my skin, to a headed iron or heated spoon being placed upon my skin.

Wow, I diverged from the story I was telling. Let's get back, shell we? Okay, so after I talked with my mother, I went down stairs & went for my iron. I decided that it wasn't going to be enough & went to get my old friend from storage. My little box of wonderment. I went into the shower & turned the water on to as hot as it could be. No, not as hot as I could stand. In the ever growing steam I began to cut into my back. I moved on to the stretch marks in my inner elbow to the ones in my inner knees to the strange creases in my wrist. (yeah, I am unbelievably fat & have an unimaginable number of stretch marks.) I made 19 cuts. 19 deep cuts. Each gash representing an hour wasted on studying for that damned test. For all the hours lost. I stood in the scorching water until the bleeding subsided. 19 lacerations produce a whole lot of blood. I mean I'm using a razor, & we all know what it's like to cut yourself shaving. Well imagine doing it almost 20 times & a lot longer than a little nick.

Well, despite my disregard of health with cutting in the first place, I did keep everything very clean & sanitary. Normally, I would use peroxide to clean the wounds, but this time I used alcohol. Same effect just with pain involved. After losing so much blood, I felt very lightheaded & dizzy. I went & laid down in my bed & realized that I should probably get help. But I knew that I didn't deserve any help. So I decided to just sleep, which I did. Obviously, I woke up. Sore & wounded. But nevertheless, alive. I went to the bathroom & assessed the damage I had done. With how pale & weak I was, it was obvious that I was lucky I had woken. I looked into my eyes in the mirror, the last time I have, & told myself I didn't deserve this. & I haven't cut since. Yep, stopped cold turkey.

I can't say the urge isn't there. When ever I fuck up, I still feel an urge to hurt myself. Whenever things in my life began to get bumpy, & these last few months they seem to have turned towards the worse, I still want to feel pain. I don't think I could have resisted a few times without Shelly, no, I know I wouldn't have.

I believe in myself for once. I do feel weak most of my days, but I do feel like I'm strong enough to keep myself from relapsing. I know that I don't deserve it. That everyone else makes mistakes too. I realize now that it doesn't bring the type of comfort I need. Really, it didn't bring true comfort at all. My best friend, my Shelly, has somehow replaced the blade. She provides the comfort I need. Knowing that there isn't anything I can say to have her turn from me. That she is always there & always knows everything. I might end up failing her sometime, but I still gave her my trust, which she is the only one who has it. For she is the only one in my life so far that has earned it.

A blade might be a safety blanket, but it sure doesn't love you back.

I know this is a really heavy post, but I like the story because it is one of success. You can't reach the clouds without being at the ground first.

Farewell.

"Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive." –Josephine Hart, Damage

I ain't leadin' but two things in my life, right now: Jack and shit... and Jack left town.

The shit has been hitting the fan lately. Seriously, they are small things but a small wound hurts no matter how fine the sand rubbed into it is. I've been trying to make things better work with what I have, but it's hard to make the picture pretty when the pieces don't fit or are growing legs & walking off. I don't know, I guess I'm just fragile lately.

Sometimes I fear that I am bipolar. I feel like my shrink would have probably told me this by now, but she doesn't always seem on top of her game. I think I might just be overreacting, but I can easily go from full of joy to feeling like the weak heart I have is being stepped on.

I like my new room, I really do. I like being alone. Having my space. But there is ALOT of space there for just me & my thoughts. & things would be okay if I ever interacted with anyone. I have only seen two people for 20 minutes & talked to pretty much only my mother all week. Although I'm getting what I asked for, I really don't like myself, or my mind. Or my mother. SO I'm really lonely.

Well one of the people I spent time with is friends with the roommate I just left. I knew she was upset with me, but I just found out HOW much. Which is a great deal. She is not only hating me, but is saying really bad & private things to everyone I know. I just fear things getting out of my control & damage irreparable being done. She's evidently asking people to not spend time with me to keep me alone. It's amazing the power she can have on people.


Plus, the way I get through the bad times (which aren't far & few yet) is by looking forward to the good. I know it's not right how much I put into them. How much time I spend anticipating them & how much planning I put into them, but it's thinking spent in a good way. But there haven't been enough lately for the good to matter.

I've always been a person to never expect anything from anyone & to avoid being put in situations, like close friendships, where a great deal of things are expected from me. I have always been one to be let down, always put second. Ha, normally not even on the list. So I'm used to it. & I've discovered I probably deserve it. & I avoid letting people down, because I always do in the end. But lately I've been dealing out my trust cards generously & should stick to what I know. What made me think I earned a place high on the list?

I knew I wouldn't be better overnight, come on I'm not that stupid. & I knew that it wouldn't be easy. The third think I knew is that I have to do this on my own. But I didn't know I'd feel so very lonely & abandoned.

Farewell, I hope you have a better week than I did.

Webster defines it, but how real can that be?

Dictionary.com defines abuse as:
-verb
1. to use wrongly or improperly; misuse
2. to treat in a harmful, injurious, or offensive way.
3. to speak insultingly, harshly, and unjustly to or about
4. to commit sexual assault upon.
5. Obsolete. to deceive or mislead.
–noun
6. wrong or improper use; misuse.
7. harshly or coarsely insulting language
8. bad or improper treatment; maltreatment.
9.a corrupt or improper practice or custom
10. rape or sexual assault.
11. Obsolete. deception.
-Idiom
12. to abuse oneself, to masturbate.

Well. That's how it's defined so that must be it, right? Well, then you've never been the subject of the verb or had the noun used against you. Maybe you've gotten number 12 down, but that's something we're not going to delve into today. (Or ever.)

To treat in a harmful way. Well, that doesn't quiet cut it. Harmful can be very misleading. Harmful is such a vague word. I feel that these two syllables can not accurately describe years of verbal & physical attacks. Harmful isn't the word I'd use to describe her actions. Does just harmful give rise to the thoughts of suicide? Does just harmful breed the self-hate I have so incredibly strong for myself? Can just harmful induce a feeling of absolutely no self-worth? I really don't think so. This one word just doesn't measure up to what has happened to me. My biggest problem with harmful is that it means a minimal damage that has only a few effects to be felt. That the thing harmed, has a chance of full recovery. That everything can be reversed.

Well I'm sorry, this "harmful" behavior that is a pillar in my life can't just vanish. No matter how much progress I make or how new a person I become, the scars of my past will always exist. In all honesty, I do want to get better, but more importantly I want to grow in the right direction. I don't want to become a person with out a hard past, I want to be someone who is better because of their past. So I can be in recovery. Be in remission. But I can never be a person who never experienced abuse.

So if harmful isn't the right word to use, what is? How about: crippling? Malicious? Damaging? Toxic? Unbearable? Painful? For as a victim, that's how I feel. I don't feel like I was harmed. I feel like the pain I have endured has crippled me. Left me unable to form relationships. Unable to trust. Unable to love without fear. I feel as though she was, & still is, malicious towards me with her words & had absolutely no intention but to hurt me. Toxic. I have had a poison in my life that has weakened or diminished whole aspects of me. Shut me down, like organs fighting a disease. Things become too difficult, too unbearable, & I become so withdrawn that for 19 years no one knew anything really about me.

I believe the harsh & coarse language is hitting the mark. But it's missing the effects. That after countless numbers of "fat" & "ugly" that a person can't look in the mirror. That I can't even face myself. I see pictures & I just think it is a different person whose face doesn't belong to me. It is frightening that I can look in a mirror & not know the person staring back at me. With hollowness & fear in her eyes. Harsh & coarse words like "failure", "annoying", "stupid" lead to problems with basic skills. Like interacting with people, connecting with someone, communicating, & trust.

Trust is one of my biggest issues & should be somewhere in that definition. Not having the ability to trust the basic people in your life: your parents, how can you trust anyone else? In the end you can't. It's amazing I can somewhat trust myself. & even if you put trust in someone, you still doubt that you won't let them down or they you. Shelly is the greatest thing (not even person) in my life. She will never be able to understand what she really means to me. & for that my trust falters a bit. I know she would never want to abandon me, but because she truly doesn't understand, she might without even knowing so. She will never understand she is all I have. That she means everything to me. She means everything to nothing. & I can't help but fear that the trust won't be broken. Oh my, don't think that I believe she will abandon me because of her. No no. I don't trust myself in this matter. I think that I will fuck everything up. & I will lose her. That's why I don't trust people. A part of me protects myself from being hurt even more than I have.

Because I've never had much, I always thought it was because I didn't deserve anything more. But now I'm starting to see that I do deserve a Shelly. But I have to work at it. Have to keep myself & my dependency in check.

I'm chronicling progress right? Well, this sure is progress. I truly dislike the "a" word. I haven't ever said it out loud (I don't think). I have to realize what I'm going through in order to change it. I have to admit to myself that I am being abused in order for me to move on. & therefore I am. I am taking a step forward.

I am, & have been all of my life, abused.
I don't deserve the treatment I've received.
I will grow from it.
I will not lose any more than I have from it, that's you Shelly.
My mother has taken away the better part of me, but she won't take away the best thing I've found on my own.

So with those statements I'll leave whoever's out there. Farewell.

"I never yet heard man or woman much abused that I was not inclined to think the better of them, and to transfer the suspicion or dislike to the one who found pleasure in pointing out the defects of another."~ Jane Porter

When you're at the bottom, you can only go up.

Well, in order to chronicle my progress, I guess I should tell about the small steps I've already made.

The first step I made--more like I picked myself up, brushed off my shoulders, & prepared to take a step--was to admit to myself the truth that I had been denying myself of all of my life. I had always believed my mother when she said I was a failure & that I would amount to nothing no matter how hard I try, because in the end I never do anything right. Well, I had to admit to myself that I wasn't failing at meeting my mother's expectations because they were unattainable. Although I had this hate for myself & a belief that I was good for absolutely nothing, it was harder to admit that I would never make my parents proud of me. I also decided that I would no longer live to try to please my parents, because I'm obviously unhappy & my parents still don't approve.

The second step I made was a decision. I decided to protect myself by not going on a vacation with my parents. I pretended to be sick, & have the flu. But my mother would have made those two weeks hell, & instead I enjoyed them.

The last step I made was actually just taken today. I had been living with a room mate who was disrespectful to me & was a main cause for my dislike of college life. So I decided to apply for a single room. To my surprise my wish was granted & today I moved to a new room. My roommate, who was a friend of mine from high school, has defriended me, & I feel bad that she is so upset, but I know that in the end, this step will help me down the path to happiness.

Well, that's the progress I've made. I know that it's really not much, but you have to start somewhere.
I owe all of this progress to Shelly. I couldn't have gotten through without her. I love her & "I owe [her] everyday I wake" ~Brand New.
Farewell.

Too Much Exposition.

Ah, no such thing. Well I guess in order for progress to fully be understood, the place I'm coming from needs to be put into context. So here is a what you need to know. The basics. A crash course. I'm sure details will weave themselves into my future posts, but here we okay:

So I'm 19. Yeah, young for such a bleak outlook on life, I know. But I was never really a kid, so I've had about 19 years of adulthood. I grew up as an only child in a semi run down neighborhood. My parents met in a bar (how romantic) & wed a year later. Never wanting to really settle down & have children, my abrupt addition to their life really screwed things up for them. Although their dreams were crushed, they never let them go. Instead they held on to them--but not as something to aspire to but rather something that could have been.

My dad and I are like neighbors. We know each other's names & are courteous to one another when we pass each other, but don't know what goes on behind closed doors. The sad part is, we live behind the same closed door, he just doesn't bother to venture very far into the home he's created. Home is a generous word. I defiantly live in a house that has never been a home. Sure, there are nick-knacks on shelves & furniture & personal rooms. But there isn't a family living in this house, so that "home" feeling just doesn't exist. Well, the family can't be a family if the father figure isn't present. Sure, he's there but he isn't a part of my life. He always worked long hours, so he was gone most of the day. Although when he came home, he'd proceed to watch television in the "family" room where I'm guessing family bonding is supposed to take place. Well, if that's so, I feel that the child should be allowed in when her father is in the room. As I've gotten older, my father has started working less hours, but he & I still rarely interact. I go weeks without saying a word to him. Now that I'm at college, he doesn't call. Well, because he doesn't care to know.

With a life she never wanted, a child that constantly fails, & a distant husband, my mother has a lot of aggression. I understand, she has a life she didn't ask for & had no control over. She was happy until shit just rained down. It has poured for over 19 years, & Noah's not coming for her with an ark. She hates her past, despises her future, & fears the consistency of life in the future. Like a wild animal suddenly caged without warning, she has a lot of aggression. She hates her life & guess where it turned towards hell? That's right, when she had a baby suddenly dropped in her lap. A baby she didn't want. Yeah, I know I know, she could have had an abortion if she really didn't want to have you. Nope, she had a freak pregnancy where she didn't find out she was pregnant until she was 6 months into the pregnancy & that was too late to terminate. So if this mistake ruined her life, it was to blame. When she got angry--it was where she released her emotions. She had very high standards in place for me all of my life. So high in fact, that I can't even tell you really what she was looking for. & of course I was never good enough, smart enough, thin enough, pretty enough, nice enough, I was never enough. & you must punish what fails. I was always pointed out the mistakes I made. All of them. & there have been many. & when she was having a bad day. A bad week. A bad year. I'd know. & I'd have the wounds to prove it.

They say you are what your parents made you. They hate me. I've heard. So I hate myself. If I can't even please the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally, how am I to love myself? I can't. I don't. I see myself for all of my countless flaws. I disgust myself so much I can't even face my reflection. I sometimes wonder how anyone can stand to look at me. & then I think "they look past it to see my inside" but then I know that doesn't work because my inside isn't pleasant either. I understand why I have few close friends, & it amazes me that I have them, because I don't even enjoy my own company. My mother always takes her anger out on me, & I do the same. For five long years of my life I practiced self mutilation. I've stopped now. It was hard, but I haven't relapsed since I told myself no. I can't say I wouldn't have been able to stay "clean" if it weren't for Shelly, but I still haven't hurt myself in 9 months. & I'm proud.

Besides my close relationship with self harm, I almost attempted suicide when I was 14. Yeah, those years were rough. But I was tired of life. With a note written, & the plan laid out, I was ready to take my life. However, I had never been happy. Never. & I wanted to know what that felt like. I couldn't die not knowing happy. Because I'm sure happy is something to live for. & believe me, it is. I've spent 19 years searching for that feeling. True happiness. & I found it less than a week ago. I couldn't believe that I could feel that way. No care in the word. Nothing in my mind, my heart, my body but joy & love. Real love. If you haven't felt that before, stick it out until you do. Because I don't think I lived until that day. & although I'm terrified that I will never feel that again, I won't give up trying.

Man, that's a lot of bad. Why not some good? Well, last entry I said that I had been at the bottom until a few months ago when I finally began my journey to the life I wanted. The life I deserved. I can't take credit for my change, because I couldn't have done it without my best friend, Shelly. She was with me every step of the way, even though she was getting lost with me. But we found the light. I truly love her. I don't think I love my parents. I do, because they raised me & gave me the necessities & are kind a lot of the time. But I don't think I love them. I always thought I did, until I realized I loved Shelly, then I realized what real love is. & what it feels like to be loved in return. The only reason being happy trumps loving is because Shelly was a part of my happiness.

So I'm on the long road of change, but I believe I'm headed in the right direction. & at least I have a co-passenger beside me all the way. & to be honest, I don't know if I would want to make the long journey without her to share it with when I get there.

So I said this was a crash course, well I might have lied a bit. But farewell for now, if anyone is even listening.

My favorite quote: "You are calm & reposed. Let Your Beauty Unfold."

For Starters.

So hello out there. I doubt anyone will read this, but who knows right? Basically, I'm writing this blog to chronicle the changes I think I might go through in the upcoming months, years, decades, or maybe not at all.

I have been stuck in a rut--that's being kind--for all of my life. No, not these last couple of years, my whole entire life. I was abused all of my life by my other, ignored by my father, & have taken it. When I left my home, I faced bullying & taunting by children who definitely missed the lesson on right and wrong. Paired with outside hate, I have hate for myself. Strong hate, that runs deep into my veins & has stained my heart. However, I'm calling it quits. I can't go on like this. I know I will lose the greatness I have found if I continue & I know I'm the one who has to change.

I want to write here about the ways I go about doing this, to help those out there. Yeah, I know you always hear "you're not alone" but you're not a cliche either. You can leave this darkness, & I hope my walk toward the bright might show someone that it can be done. My life isn't a movie, & I'm not some fictional idea of a hard life. I don't have a hard life compared to anyone else, but it is my life & I'm not going to settle with it. So I know anyone can at least pick themselves up because I was at the bottom & not even looking up about a month ago. But with the help of my friend (we'll call her Shelly here because she will be brought up, believe me) & the knowledge that I can do it, & I am the one standing in my way I decided to look up from the bottom & am now on that up hill climb. I know the evil Lifewasoncebrilliant is still here with me, tugging at my heals with ever inch I make, but I hope that once I'm at the top I can pull a Bruce Campbell on that Shebitch's ass! Because you better believe it, Good, bad, I'll be the one holding the gun.

So sorry I know I have made the first few steps without you, but in the next few posts I'll provide some detailed exposition. But for now, farewell,

I will leave you with a quote: (Yes, I am a cheesy person who loves the cheesy things. Hope you do too,) "The fact is, that to do anything in the world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can." ~Robert Cushing