Thursday, December 15, 2011

So, I kind of unknowingly fell through.

It has been about 3 months since I last cut (YES!), however I've taken back up another form of SI without knowing it.

I don't know if what I have can technically classify as an Eating Disorder, since it is not as severe as what other people have. See, I'm underweight. I know this, I'm incredibly thin. But when I stop eating, it isn't because I want to lose weight (usually), it is because I can control the fact that I am not eating. Like "LOOK AT WHAT I CAN DO! HA HA HA! LOOK, WE JUST WENT FOR *THREE* DAYS WITHOUT EATING! HOW AWESOME IS THAT!" And then when I realize I've become thinner and thinner, it's like "BONUS!" I'm still just nosing the surface of my ideal weight range, so it isn't drastic. but the last time this happened, I dropped 15 pounds.

I'm terrified of not eating, but I'm more terrified of what will happen if I [b]do[/b] eat - I ate a lot yesterday and I immediately wanted it out of me. Realizing what it was that I was even considering, I quickly distracted myself and went to bed. I don't know what to do. I know I'm thin, that isn't even the issue. The issue is that my life is spiraling out of control right now and I feel as though I have nothing to hold onto. But, if I refuse to do this, if I stay strong enough to resist doing what I want to give into, I at least have control of something in my life. And that's more than I would have if I stopped.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

I can't breathe.

I really have no reason for feeling this way. I was doing fine, amazing even. I just felt the pull... that sudden drop. There was the resistance I know all too well, resistance to fight it. Not this time. Not again. I was finally stable. I went to the psych ward for a reason. I went there so that I could get better. I put myself on meds. I've been taking them every day like a good girl.

My floor is sinking.

For the past two days, I could barely move myself from my bed. I feel like there is something caught within my lungs, something heavy. I had not been thinking of anything depressing, nothing brought this on. I would like to make this clear. Nothing had brought this on.

I suppose that is the case with bipolar, though. It's painful when people judge you for it... blame you for your own instability because of your 'way of thinking.' Obviously, I just am not trying hard enough. I'm living my life incorrectly. I have to find that 'secret' that they are so convinced they have found.

The difference? They do not have bipolar.

Someone who was once very close to me now has this mindset. It's hurtful, even though I am not there and I was not the one who was targeted with these words. My friend tells me that I'm doing something called a downward spiral. She blames herself for bringing up my ex - perhaps if she didn't, I'd rise up in the water like a cork.

I've skipped too many classes in the last few days. I've been getting all As, been following through with all my commitments, and now this.

Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this. I have done nothing. I have done nothing.

I... have to come to terms with the fact that this will never stop. A friend of mine today told me that the meds were my water wings, but I still have to swim to the surface. But it's so hard.

Do I want to live a life where no matter what it is I do, I will always be stuck in an elliptical orbit like a galaxy around a black hole? Is it worth it to survive just to prove that I am strong, which I very well know that I am. Would it be weak to make a logical choice? Not out of pain, but logic. Not cowardice, but a conclussion come to from many calculations.

I have problems with how I always bounce back and forth between private emotions and societal emotions. One really needs to look at both to choose the best of choices, but really, this is how it is.

One day, I will die. We all will die. And one day, very soon actually since we are quite over due, an object, probably an asteroid, will stray from the Kuiper belt and smack into the earth, wiping out all life. What will the point of any impact I make on the earth be? Any of us? Through time, everything will be forgotten. Who will remember anything after the humans are gone?

Maybe there are no 'why's in the world. Maybe we're looking too deep, as we do in poetry. Maybe the answer is right in front of our noses, but if so, I am hypocritical laying here and trying to type it out.

What more is there to say.

I really thought I had finally found stability. But maybe the only way I shall ever find it is to come to terms with the fact that this hell will never stop. And I will never be stable.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Exerpt of story I'm working on - Letter to Lily.

I think the major irony in this is that I feel like a whore, not you.

I saw a shooting star last night, the second one I had ever seen in my life. I was out of state, in Gettysburgh in a field in the middle of nowhere. Laying on top of my friend's car, we saw it shoot across the sky. It was falling down to earth, as though it was falling down to us. Its tail lit rainbow and we could see it burn. We were so happy. Everything was going to be okay. Everything.

I am a person of second guesses. I always make sure I mean what I say and think because I don't want to change my mind in the near future. But as I was speaking, I realized... this is what I want. Despite your cruel words and accusations, I have found that I am a strong person not because of our relationship, but because I am me. The relationship has been wearing me down. Knowing you so well, knowing what you are thinking (whilst you call me paranoid) before you even realize it yourself, I know what is to come.

You make me want to vomit. I already can't keep the food down, so I have no appetite. I don't eat unless forced. I can't sleep. I lay awake and stare at the ceiling. I count the seconds... the minutes... the hours. I watch the shadows on the walls change. It isn't what you want that hurts me, but rather your lack of compromise. It's not even realizing that you've put me on the back burner. It's the hypocrisy in claiming that I do not love you. At this point, you've threatened me with a break, but I fear that I want more than that. I'm not your bitch on hold, I am your fiance. But I am also my own person with my own feelings. I never wanted to be your wife, but rather your partner. Though, it's clear to me now that what you wanted was much the opposite. A year ago, you promised me this would never happen again, and yet 12 months later you seem to have taken it many steps further.

Threatening someone into doing something, manipulating them by fear of harm is the exact tactic rapists use, and I find it angled and comical that you've used the same methods of those that you hate. I will admit, when it first began I did not wish to go through with it. I found myself walking for hours when you refused to reply to my texts. Walking... searching... I thought about the lake but it's too polluted even for that purpose. No rope. But - aha! - how easy are knives to find on this campus? Quite easy. In my room even. I texted goodbyes in ways that were slightly subtle... so that they'd KNOW I loved them, but they wouldn't do anything because they could just be misinterpreting things.

Couldn't find the knife, but behold the razors! I found myself a shower stall far away from the rest. Never had I felt this way; without a doubt in my mind, I wanted to die. There was nothing holding me back saying "Maybe we don't want to do this", because we did want to do this, all parts of me. I bent the razor so that the blade bent out. It sliced open my finger, which startled me. I was... enthralled by how the blood wouldn't stop dribbling to the surface of my skin. It had been about a year since I last self injured.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, I held out my wrist. You're supposed to slice downward, aren't you? But where? The first mark to ever graze my wrist formed. But I was... too much a coward to slice the vein. "Just a little cut" I said, "Just a small slice and it's done." I held it to my skin. I pushed a bit more, I rocked the blade but it wouldn't cut my flesh. I was scared.

Enraged by my own cowardice, my leg became the victim. No longer caring about being subtle, hiding what I have the power to do to myself, I massacred it. I carved in letters, I made heaping gapes. It was no longer calculated as all my other sessions had been, but bloody and angry and so sick of it all.

I exited the shower and discarded my make-shift knife. I reentered my dorm. My friend had called me. I tried my best to seem calm. She told me she didn't know what was going on. She tried to distract my mind with stories I can relate to all so well. But then the conversation drifted back to me and finally, I spoke.

I let out close to everything. She was stunned. My close friend, this dear woman, was at a lack for words for the first time since I knew her. She told me she didn't know how I was handling this so well. She said if she were me, she'd be flipping shit. I was numbed by my excursions in the shower, I could think. My voice was calculated. A few times, I started crying during our conversation, but I quickly corrected myself.

It was about ten minutes after the phone conversation that I started bawling. My roommate, by my side with tissues, a water bottle for rehydration and a trash can for vomit, I was sobbing something terrible. For three hours, my panic attack shook the both of us. I don't remember what I said to her, just repeating over and over that I didn't want this to happen. That I didn't want her to do this. That I didn't want to lose her and that I had no choice. My sobs woke the rooms in our hall. Knocks on our door at three AM, people not sure if I was alright. Sending me support. People I hardly know, people who had no knowledge of what was going on, just that I sounded awful.

I was determined to keep you, no matter what it took. No matter what you wanted of me. That's why I gave you permission, because of all your threats. Just as it's still rape if a girl gives her consent under extreme pressure, can it still be cheating if the conditions for me are the same? "It's either this or a break", you said. "I do this because I respect you. I could very well have just gone and done it." At the time, I didn't realize you could laugh at such a line. How hilarious it was. How utterly and sickeningly hilarious that you believe that you respect me. That you believe to love me! It's heart-wrenchingly, unbearably too funny! "You know," you said, "while I do this, you should get therapy." Our friend gaped, cheese fry in hand as I told her. Me? I find more irony in this than she does. How you worship at the feet of this musician and yet use the same lines her lovers used on her. And so often.

My panic attacks shake me, they are relentless. This is hell and yet, I do not wish to die. I wish to live. And that leads me to my final point: the point of loss. I do love you. And I'm so glad you think what you're doing is going to make you happy. You never know, maybe it is. But life is give and take and I am empty. I have given you so much and suffered for it each time. Each day my body grows weaker and this, this is too much too fast too not now. Too uncompromising, too uncaring, too unfidelic and too abusive.

You have lost me. I have waited for you, like a ghost waiting for you to walk through the door, I have vanished with time, I am ready to move on. And while I love you, I will quote what you have quoted and say to you "You just want to get laid", and look, now I'm giving you all the space you'll ever need. There were no other options you'd consider. You didn't even want to hear options, you just wanted me to say yes or be ready for you on the back burner.

But I am not your wife. I do not hang in wait at your every action. I am a person. I am the same as you are, and yet so different. I would never have done to you what you have done to me.

I'll keep your ring as a cross. It will never leave my hand. It will serve as a reminder years later, of how far I've come. I will have the stone reset so I can not lose it. It will be... my favourite object that I own. It will be my tattoo.

I've learned a lot. I've learned about love. I've learned what it's like to give yourself to a person... selflessly. Unconditionally. I've learned to be kind to others; I will never expect anything back from them. But... the most important thing I've learned is that I do love myself. There is this person inside of me who is so beautiful and so strong. She fights, you know. She fights for the good of others and for her right to live. She is taller than she knew. More independent, more wise. More revolutionary.

I wonder if you'll ever read this, though a large part of me doubts it. That's okay though; just writing this I've gotten to know myself a bit more. I'll tell you today, but I doubt you'll listen to my story. In my mind you're either too thrilled to get rid of me or you'll paint yourself as a martyr (which I also find sarcastically amusing).

I hope you'll make a great therapist. You have a way of bringing out sides of arguments that most people can not see. But love, sometimes you're wrong. And if you want to grow, you're going to have to remember that. Become a person who isn't so against second guesses. Become a person who makes sure she isn't hurting others when she doesn't need to.

My heart is broken, I will admit this now and be unashamed of it. It is shattered into billions of pieces. But hearts mend. I am turned off by the aspect of sex now; I'm sure it won't stay this way forever. I'm not going to go looking for love, but when it finds me I will not hide.

Life goes on.

So now I am saying goodbye. And I wish you the best of happiness, and I wish for you to grow.


Monday, April 25, 2011

I had a dream I was dead.

They didn't let me keep the dreams, but I remember that they were good. I felt like I was finally in a space where I belonged with people I can't remember...

I had a dream all of this was over and I wasn't so angry and frustrated anymore.

I had a dream that there were no more expectations. I remember there was a girl with curly blonde hair, but I don't remember what she was saying to me.

It was a heavy sleep, like that out of a blessing. And in my dream, I could finally breathe.

Thursday, April 21, 2011


I think I'm starting to come to the acceptance that without meds, I won't be able to function in society.

From my eyes, at this moment, it looks like this:

There's the outside world. And then there's mine. I'm safe here. For the time being, at least. But I can't live out there. I feel as though I'm going insane. Things are disappearing, physical things. Think I can't function without. My only sanctuaries are being torn down by my own hands, and I don't mean to do so. It's not my fault. It's out of my control, it's not in my hands.

Too many strikes. I know I will not be forgiven. I know I am losing all the things I had worked so hard for, things that came to me as gifts from the universe.

I wanted to cut myself today, but I knew that wouldn't stop anything. Wouldn't delay anything. So instead, I formulated a plan to kill myself. The pills are next to me, three different types. But upon further research, I had found that these pills, these OTC pills are designed SPECIFICALLY to prevent overdosing. My razor is too high quality to come apart in my hands. I am alone.

A large part of me wants to check into the hospital, but then I wouldn't finish this semester and I'd have to start all over again. Further behind. Much further behind as I see the rest of everyone I know and love moving forward...

I feel as though I'm watching the world from a glass wall. It's safe in here, for the time being. But the effects of being a flake, of not facing what's outside are going to build up and attack me.

They say suicide is not a crime, but self defense. I am defective. People form disabilities because of traumatic experiences and they can heal. But I was born with this. I was born broken, defective. I always fight people when they tell me I'm broken. I retaliate. I say I'll challenge anyone and prove them wrong. Fight until they all see how strong I am.

But I am broken. And now that I think of it, I've been broken my entire life.

I can't function anymore without meds. I can't do it. So either way, the outcome is a pill.

My friend is picking me up. I can't be alone right now. In the end, everything is going to be okay.

Monday, February 21, 2011


For the first time in over six months, I have intentionally injured myself to the point of bleeding.

As an after effect I feel very, very guilty. Like I should have been able to withstand it. I couldn't think straight... couldn't function. Had to go out but I couldn't put up with the thought of being somewhere cold. I tried to talk myself out of it. Tried texting people but either everyone was busy or I couldn't think of who there would be to text. I reasoned that if I just... did this. Did something that had been on my mind for half a year, I would have the energy to function. Go out and run the errands I needed to.

But there wasn't any energy. Instead, there was a mess of blood that got all over my jeans when I went out to ask my neighbor for bandaids. She didn't notice. It just looks like a small unnoticeable stain on denim.

After I patched myself up, I felt tired. I want to sleep now. Can't imagine going out and doing rehearsals. I didn't run the errands I was supposed to run for the rehearsal. I'm unprepared. Not just in that, but in just about everything. I don't have my homework done in a few classes. I missed Acting for the third time in a row today, but I had a doctor's note so I will be excused. I'm failing.

I have no reason to be this way. I refuse to submit to a chemical imbalance but god damn, it just gets hard sometimes. I ruined it. My perfect streak, my perfect six month streak of not cutting. I ruined it. My promises, broken. It's like... no matter how far you've come, you're never really as far as you thought. I'm low. Low low low. I want it to stop. I want to be able to make it stop.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

I can't sleep.

Woke up around five this morning.

Nothing in particular kept me awake, but it was like my body was too tired to even sleep. So after an hour or so of trying, I got out of bed and listened to music, checked to see if anyone I knew was online so they could distract me. They never are, not anymore. We've reached that age where to be awake before 8 or 9 AM is early. I remember when 4 o'clock used to be the norm for me. I was thrilled by waking up when it was pitch dark and watching the colours change across the earth. I like them, colours. Just their aspect. I can not imagine living in a world where they did not exist, where I was completely colour blind. I find them to be most beautiful in nature where they're wild, untouched by man. I've sat beside streams for hours, just watching the sun dance off of them like rainbows in each drop against the stones that touched the grass.

It's come to the point where everyone has told me that I need meds. My aunt had been trying to get my dad to put me on meds since I was a child, but he fought her off. I never knew about it. But now, even my father, his entire side of the family, my old therapist. Even my girlfriend who used to hate the very idea wants me on medication. It's hard to tune out the noise when it surrounds you.

I always felt that meds were unnatural. A substance in your body that you're not supposed to have. Like Lithium. I mean, really? What the FUCK? Who decided "You see this? I'm going to stick it into a bipolar girl's body!" Oh wait, that's right. I forgot they were all crazy back then. But I'm wandering off topic.

I spoke to two girls yesterday. The depression is getting worse. I'm not just tired anymore, I'm in pain. My chest, my throat, the air inside of me if that's even POSSIBLE is aching. I feel as though my back is slipping away from the last vertebrae of my spine. I asked them about meds, as they are both bipolar. The first one is actually on Lithium and she swears by it. She also tells me that meds aren't for everyone, but this was the one thing that worked for her. She has bipolar 1. I asked her if she missed the mania and she told me that no, she didn't. That when she was manic, she'd act like an ass hole and say things she didn't mean to say and regret it instantly and I understood where she was coming from.

The second girl has Bipolar 2. She was put on medication and she hated it. She self medicates. Herbs and the like. She shares the same views on medication as I do and it was nice talking to someone who actually understands what I mean. She told me what really saved her was yoga and suggested I try it too. That the Yoga teacher is really nice and would love to have me in her class for free. I told her thank you, and I'd see.

I feel empty. I'm afraid of leaving my room and having people see me, so different from the everyday face they're used to. I don't want to deal with the world right now, with society. It's hard to remember feeling like this when you've been high for so long. I have no reason to feel this way. My life is so much better, so much more eventful than many other people's.

I feel like I don't have anyone to talk to, or that anyone who wants to talk to me I am uninterested in sharing with. Selective, and the like. I feel like a horrible person for feeling this way, a horrible girlfriend. I can only write music now, I don't have the ability to concentrate on homework and relationships. I'm lagging behind in my Theory class which is one of my favourite classes and I skipped Theatre all week. I skipped Bio and I can't make it next week because of the Vagina Monologues - it's a once a week class. It's also my hardest one.

I just want to sleep.

But sleeping never solves anything, does it?

I'm too lazy to eat. I don't feel fat, but I don't feel thin either. Whenever I see people lose weight, it's like something inside of me is triggered and I begin eating less and less. I need to eat. I can argue and say I ate dinner last night, but I need to eat breakfast this morning too or else I'll stop all together.

I feel like an arrogant, clingy, fraud person for some reason. I don't know where I'm going. I mean, I do. Sort of. I've nose dived straight into the classical world of music. I love what it has to offer, the experiences. Not what I want. I just wish someone would fully understand that.

I want to skip all my classes today. I want to go to the piano labs and just write music for hours and hours... But I know that can only be damaging.

But first, I need to eat. So that's what I'll do.