surviving.

It's been two months that I've been on this depression medication and I do believe it's working. I'm not saying that I haven't had anymore crashes but they are much less frequent and further in between. I'm still covered in sin and wanting so bad to get out. I'm trying to find myself again, find my God. He didn't leave me, I left him. Never again.

New scars line me now. A switch from two blades made for a deeper cut than I remebered. I need to stop.

This is selfish.

help.

Another breakdown. The sobs just rip out of me and the need to hurt is so strong. I can't speak, I can't look at myself in the mirror. I hate myself. I disgust myself.

I need to learn to love myself. But it's so hard.

I pray for help because I don't want to be alone. The blade stayed put but I used my own hands to break the skin, crying, begging my wrist to open up. Open up. Open up.

Open up.

But a small miracle happened. I prayed for help, and I received. All those horrible thoughts that ran rampant in my head stopped. They were muffled and I couldn't bring them back up. It was beautiful silence, a quiet calm, so peaceful. Thank you. He took it away and I was able to sleep. I stopped crying instantly. And I could sleep.

I was just so tired.

Thank you.

bloodless breakdown.

I haven't been feeling my best this week, mentally and emotionally. Last night I must have been tired because I broke down after he left. The urge to cut open my skin was so bad but I was able to keep myself from sharp objects and get to bed before I did some damage. I think that is the key there, or at least it helps. Make myself fall aleep before things get worse.

The cutting is no doubt an addiction and although my scars are hard to hide and to explain, I find that I like them now and I want more. More and worse ones. I don't think this is a cry for attention, I just love the way the white stripes cross my arms, my back, my shoulders. They tell a story and they are like art and my body is my canvas. I know I shouln't be ruining my body. It was created for me to use and to protect and to cherish. A body is part of the reason why we came to the earth anyway. But I went and got addicted to the pain, the red that follows, and the white reminders that are left behind.

I hope I get better, but part of me hopes I carry this with me always because it's a part of me now, but a crutch. I know I need to be strong enough to get rid of it, and so far I've been doing reasonable well. The last time I cut myself was April 12, 2012. It's been 2.5 months. Let's see how long I can keep this up.

scars.

I stripped down to my swimming suit, not remembering till after the angry marks that lined my thighs. An angel on my left, an apology on my right. I saw them look at the marks. The old and the new. I saw them watch my back, those raised white stripes are a curious sight for you, I bet.

I sat talking with him on the couch. I laughed and smiled and leaned my head against my outstretched arm. I saw his eyes flicker from one to the next, and the next, and the next. I slowly pull my arm back into my lap.

The hardest question that I cannot find an answer for: "What happened there?" I would think after all these years I would have a solid answer, but no. Sometimes I just want to reply, "Life." That wouldn't satisfy their curiosity. What happened? 

I felt.

I loved.

I sinned.

I hurt.

I hesitated.

I wronged.

I cried.

I kissed.

I touched.

I prayed. 

I lived.

self destruction.

A big black E marks the place where I lay alone at night. E for empty, which is what I've been for some time now. Longer than I originally thought. Right now is when I need saving the most, but the sad thing is I know no one is coming. No one is coming. And the saddest thing is the hope that hides under my skin, faint and sickly. Half dead and being swallowed by hate. Hate for Self. Why I decided to live in self destruction, I may never know, but here I am pulling down lights and peeling off skin and breathing underwater until I'm dragged down to the bottom with my hair floating silently like a rope. Waiting for someone to come, but no one will come. No one is coming.

cold.

Wave after wave of depression hits me. This is my own fault, of that I am sure. Exiled by my own hand. I remember what you said, "Depression is a choice." Then I choose to be happy... I am knocked down again. Depression is in my blood. It swims up and around in my veins, tearing and singing it's melancholy song that resonates cold in my bones. I want it out. I want to be warm. Set myself on fire....

I'm so cold.

weakness.

I made a mistake and now I'm paying for it. I sit on the edge of your bed. You're concerned, I'm not responding.  Tears brim at the edge of my eyes, that hesitation before they spill over and down my cold cheek. "Is it one of those days?" you ask. I barely nod, I can't tell you anything.

At home alone. I try to do the mundane tasks. Grab the handle of the fridge and grief knocks me to my knees. I hold on for support and wait till it passes. My muscles and limbs ignore me when I command. My hands go limp and I wait and wait and sink lower into the dark.

I've got to get out.
Get out.
Out.

i can't speak

A digression. You asked me to talk about it. I lay there on my side, jaw clenched and brain reeling. I had no idea what to say. I tried to form a coherent thought. Gone. One sentence to say... I forgot it. You start getting frustrated. You sigh and run your hand through your hair. "Should I leave you alone" you ask. 

I'm alone in my head. Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Nothing comes out of my mouth. He is upset and he positions himself to leave. I finally force a pitiful phrase, "..just hold me." He looks at me with sad eyes and then pulls me close to him, positioning me so I'm cradled into his chest. Just hold me. 

I'm mentally checking out. It's what I programmed myself to do. Something hard, something emotional? Leave, check out, don't think, don't feel.

Just hold me.

10/12/10

Go Green! - Go Suck On A Fish.

Baby, tonight I have Harry Potter bedsheets on and I don't feel like explaining myself to you. I want a hug. Don't make out with me, just hold me like the child I still am. All I want is a security blanket wrapped around me.
  I feel like my body is slowly dying. Well, I guess it is. But Z brought some knives over today and I want to say "Cut me babe, bleed me dry. Test your blades on my body." Obviously I didn't get to say it, but I wanted to.
  Don't worry, I don't want him. I want... I don't want much. I want a smaller nose and firmer thighs. I want to dance the way I see it in my head. I want the Movers to say "Here I am, you're not that crazy because today I'll be real for you."
  Did you see that? I'm not the only one. Anxiety creeps in the corners like theives in the shadows about to fall in. Blades glistening with my murdered sanity. Do I even have it? Did I start out with a sound body and mind?
  Sound. Sound is the sound you make when everything is solid and hollow at the same time. Envision that. It's a pale ivory color, before it gets stained by the lies and sins and pollution of this earth. Not the industrial pollution (Go green! - Go suck on a fish.) The pollution that spews from every humans mouth and mind. Everybody contaminates each other. No wonder God flooded the earth.

companion, consumer.

A TV ad for depression medication. Depression is a dark spot that follows her and consumes her. With the medication she is put in control. The spot shrinks and can no longer consume. Victory, right? No, the spot continues to follow her. It is not a monster, but it is there. It will always be there. No matter how happy she is, no matter what medication she is taking, the spot is constantly following. Attached like a shadow. Seemingly harmless but the spot is waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to consume her.

It never goes away, but I will accept that and deal with the spot. And it will still follow me.

At least it is a companion. I am never alone.