words

not surprising … 3 days of stress. unavoidable, over the top, causing my brain to go blank and literally faultering my steps. it affects me mentally, emotionally, and very much physically. i haven’t had a string of days like this in a while. it is not surprising that because i have 4 blades at my disposal ( … yes, i caved.) sitting in my bathroom cabinet in a cheap travel size bottle, i will have very bad days to follow. seems this has happened exactly this way before … like breaking open the razor has cursed me … and the cuts would be inevitable. countless triggers today. some were to be expected … others caught me by surprise … uncomfortable surprise … like uncomfortable having to wait it out because you can’t say anything or acknowledge it surprise. naturally, i am fully aware … that i have blades. i don’t remember the last time i had any. and i am fighting just as hard to not let them go like last time. i am okay that they are in my cabinet. i am okay that they are in an unsuspecting travel bottle. i am okay … so is writing about it okay? my mind is way tired … i was excited … thrilled even to be able to come home and open my new bottle of melatonin. but it’s now just past 10 pm … i need a shower. i feel gross. thinking about the blades and the melatonin and the fact it is 10 pm … and i decided to turn on my computer and write this all down. maybe i can sleep tonight if i just close my eyes … and stop this inner turmoil of things i can’t control.

It came down to a choice.

Trigger Warning 

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And I only have two. Drink or cut? Overdose … that was once a choice. However, I am not suicidal … and I learned the hard and extremely painful way, that unless you mean to kill yourself, don’t pop the pills. It is not worth the excruciating agony.

Since I wasn’t willing on the way home to purchase cheap alcohol and attempt to smuggle it in the house, I really only have one choice. Cut.

Due to not feeling physically well the past couple days I opted to not meet my friend for coffee today. I cancelled this morning. Now this reason was legitimately true. Anxiety? A little bit … but not enough to make me not go. I love my friend … and I’m glad that we were able to reconnect. We will try again next week. I feel a little bad.

To deal with this, I decided to take my art supplies to church and pay my staff friends a long overdue visit. Really, it was just one friend I talked to. I feel awkward every time I go. I went to try and practice healthy coping mechs. To see people I love and practice art therapy … maybe get a hug or two. One friend was there, but apparently snuck out before I got a chance to see her. The other … well, I should just talk to the other about how I feel instead of bluntly stating it here.

For reasons not because of the environment there, I arrived and left so not wanting to practice healthy. I arrived wanting a hug, yet wanting to put my fist down someone’s throat. I stayed for 2 hours, maybe less. I forced myself to color … though it was highly not enjoyable, I forced myself to do it.

I left at noon and drove myself home. I did not want to (due to words that were said prior to leaving home) but I had no where else to go. I could not think of anywhere else to go. The thoughts would still be there (and they are) … prolonging the return home would be pointless. I am not content. I am uncomfortable. I have one choice. Talking is not a choice. Communication makes me justify the one choice further.

So I have one choice. That is to dismantle a razor. That choice means to defile me. That choice leaves me wanting more. It leaves me broken. It leaves me defeated. I have one choice … I have no choice. I have no choice. Funny … I never realized they were the same.

Who knew? Not me.

It is quite a concept for me to believe that I have the opportunity and privilege to be the strong one … that I can be a friend to another who is in need. How can I possibly be worthy? My moods are unpredictable … I isolate … I become invisible … I have gross thoughts. I’m not the outgoing friend. (Unless, of course, I am convincing someone it’s safe to freefall drop two stories onto a giant pillow. Anyone?) I am not good enough or stable enough to be a new friend to another. I have never been. How do I respond when a friend who really gets me in all the good and bad encourages me to be do and be? I do. I be. And I hang on to every ounce of faith she knows what she’s doing.

Tequila!

Being in the presence of people tonight was an insane need. Not work people, not stranger people. But people I know … some I call close friends, but the vast majority just friends of those friends. Even so … it was much needed and desired, even though I don’t care to admit that as readily in person. Brave to have gone. It was nice … even though I was a little closed off. The hoodie gave me security … despite it being 90 degrees outside. What can I say? My dungeon gets really cold with the AC on … I couldn’t be bothered to remove it. The sugar packets discovered in my purse reminded me I was cherished. The tequila was tempting … jus’ sayin’. I love my sister for taking time to come get me … maybe I’ll be able to call the rest of them sisters some day. For right now though, “friends of the family” will have to do.

Next time I see my sister, I’m gonna ask her to hold me … fleeting moment maintenance hugs are okay when I have people to hug all the time. But I haven’t. It’s been weeks since I’ve touched anybody … and it’s gotten so unbearable to the point where I want to ask coworkers for hugs …  so long that if I have been cutting, the cuts would have healed and no one would be the wiser. Though I doubt I could hold on to the secret if (when) I relapse …

The hoodie was my security … in 90 degree weather.

The thought of reading this post through and editing is overwhelming. I think it’s probably contradictory, but all truth. I’ve added and taken away … confused by my actions tonight. Wanting to dissociate. At the center of the group I sat, but I had nothing to contribute. A little tequila would have done me good.

A double dose of melatonin will have to do. And I so need it to work.

Lies (Apparently)

I can cut the chicken … just a little nick in the hand won’t hurt. I didn’t use the knife I like so it’s not as bad. But that knife was freshly sharpened. I could only cut once and be satisfied. I can place the knife to my wrist and pretend. I could also do this literally behind my f[F]ather’s back. And pretend it was an accident. I could hold back the heavy sigh of relief. Burning is more acceptable than cutting (this has been hard to let go … ). Mom doesn’t love me. She is an addict … just like me. People aren’t as valuable as I think they are. This isn’t me. I am saying these things … it isn’t me. I need to say them … but who am I? I forgot. It’s a mystery.

Feeling conflicted and rejected. 

Just too scared of failing

I don’t know what the plan is in all of this, but I’ll never know if I don’t try …

What if I can’t go back?