We Learn as We Age.

I know you'll never change
I won't be good enough for you
I know I'll make it through
You'll never be around to see.

It is true. I will never be good enough for it seems like everyone. & it seems like no matter who it is, I always let them down. My parents have these unattainable goals for me. THis idea of who they want me to be--perfect in a very literal sense. But I can't be perfect, in fact no one can. I might be farther from it than most people, but It will never be something I can achieve. & I can;t kill myself trying. & sadly, that can be taken in the literal sense.

Besides my parents, I have a high quota I ask myself to fill. But I don't always see it as negative. I can always be better, because I have so many flaws. I can always be thinner, smarter, better. & I'm the weak one in the way of achieving this.

But it's not just me & my parents. Others seem to lay out these ground rules & expectations from me, & I rarely measure up. I know it's not healthy for me to truly believe I am a failure, but what evidence do I have to counter attack this idea? Because I sure in the hell have enough to make a strong supporting case.

But I do know I'll make it through. I know that I will get through this hell like I always do. I might be beaten & battered, with a heart of stone, but I'm still standing. Barely, quivering, but on my feet nonetheless. So I know I'll get by, because I have to. I just don't know when--if ever--I'll see an end to this cycle.

That's right I'll see the end of this game, but I'm no longer playing it front of an audience. No more. I'm going to get away from these key players when I can. But I fear that I really won't be able to do this on my own. & I really have little to help me. Like a child I need constant care--but like my childhood, I lack it. & I can only see a continuance of this malsupplement of care in the future. What to do? Nothing. I have nothing.

So yeah, I'll be taking these steps. Rolling the dice this time, & no longer stalling. But I honestly fear that I while I make these moves in battle that I won't really see the worth.

I've been making some of these sort of changes lately. First, I sat away from my mother during a movie. Next I moved to not sit with my parents during our plane ride back from vacation. & finally, I went shopping with mother today & went my own way. However, I feel like I've accomplished nothing & my body now aches.

Do I venture from the safety of the ways I know & hope for the best? Or do I remain in this cycle & just except things as they are?

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.

Broken Down in Bars & the Cold Tile Bathroom Floors Inside Them.

I knew this vacation would be as bad, or probably worse, as every vacation I've endured in the past. & I've prepared myself as well as I can, but you never realize what it's going to be really like until you're in the muck of it. & I've only run drills of hiding under desks in preparation for this bomb, but we all know that will never protect us from a nuclear attack.

& a nuclear attack it was. My parents are like poison. An air born toxin. Yes, they're just words & a but of pain, but those words don't just linger in the air. They seep in & live within me for years. Attack my defense system & leave me worn & deprived. I;m afraid that, like nuclear attacks, the next generation will still feel it's after math. For a child raised in violence & pain, knows nothing more.

So here I am. On a seven day vacation with my parents. Small room. Close corridors. No time spent apart. I should be tanner than I am, because I took a plane ride to hell, & I fear I might not make the flight back. Because Lord knows, I'm heading there when I finally leave this life.

Well, it could be worse than it is. I mean, I can deal with this, but I just don't want to. I feel like I've been building a new life & I'm discovering a few cracks, that can grow in secret until there's no way to repair. Did I build it on a weak foundation? Or is the land just not suitable for development, in the end the walls will cave in?

I don't know what's really going on. I feel like I'm watching my life from the side lines. Seeing the changes & progress but the film has been edited for content. Some parts aren't shown to me, which leaves me questioning the development. Things are changing within me, & sometimes I wonder if it is really for the best. My mother, & now father, continually say that I am much moodier & just plain mean, & I'm starting to fear they're right. I know what I do & don't deserve now, & I'm getting a bit fed up on the way I'm treated. Little things are starting to hurt me. But I just can't do anything about it. I'd rather deal with it then backtrack the progress I've made. Because I can't restart again. I can't go back to the way things were. But should I really settle with this? It's more than I've ever had, but I'm still hurt. I know the answer to these questions. I know I've started stating demands. Unfairly. From myself & others. & I can't expect them. I never get anything I want, let alone need.

Whine whine. I feel so childish complaining like this. I just don't know where else to do it. Thankfully, there is no one out there listening.

So let's get to the real reason for this post & stop using various metaphors to describe how I'm feeling. I should just state crap, but noo. The post wasn't just randomly titled, & I need to share this story with someone, or something in this case. So gather around:

I wasn't feeling well all day yesterday. I learned a long time ago not to complain about feeling poorly, so I had not told my parents. Mid day, I did tell my mother I wasn't feeling well just because... yeah there really isn't a reason. Her response was the classic pinch & twist. One of her favorites. So I didn't complain anymore. I haven't been eating much this trip, partially because I don't want to & the other part because my parents don't want me to. They purposely don't wake me up so I have no time to eat breakfast. & when they get snacks, I am not allowed to eat them. So most of these days I won't eat lunch, or much, & will have dinner. Also, we got these stupid drink cups which cost a pocket full of money for refills of soda. But only soda. So I've been hyped up on caffeine all vacation.

Well, yesterday was actually pretty warm outside & we did about 5 hours of persistent walking. I started feeling poor & shaky mid day & the feeling never subsided. We ended up going to the House of Blues for dinner & I ordered a salad. Before the food got there though, I went to the bath room where I collapsed. Luckily I had already gotten into the handicapped stall, so no one saw. I laid there for a while just crying because I'm just so upset. When I finally got enough energy to, I went back to the table to my parents complaints about how long I took. I don't even know why they care. It was really scary & I didn't know what to do. I have no one to talk to. Ahh. What to do? I don't know if I will tell Shelly, she might just have to read it here if she still reads these things.

I ate my dinner & came back to the room & slept hard for a while. I woke up & stayed up until 3. My parents went to the park without me today, so I have a day to recharge. But I feel so incredibly lonely. But I have no one to talk to, trust me I've tried.

Oh well, the vacation is almost over. So I'll be away from this soon enough.

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

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.