I’m a mess right now.
Mania, running hard and fast, 100 miles a minute toward a concrete wall.
Making stupid choices, irresponsible decisions, *knowing* they’re stupid and irresponsible and fumbling on anyway, just because it feels good at the time.
My brain feels like the uncooked yolk of an egg.
Almost welcoming the inevitable crash, to forcibly slow me down.
I wish I wasn’t such a completely needy friend to everyone.
I probably should have stayed with Elizabeth Saturday night. Instead I went home and played idiot with my neighbor all damn night and into the next day.
I really really really really wanted to cut myself last night. I didn’t.
It was so damn hard not to, I doubt I could explain it to anybody.
Except maybe Chris. He gets it. Which, is why I keep going back to him. He gets me. He helps me, he wants me to be better, at the same time that I am undoing myself completely for him. It’s really fucked up.
I’m really trying here.
I wish I hadn’t acted so stupid this weekend. All the while knowing that if this were Saturday night again, I’d be doing exactly the same things over again.
What is wrong with me? I’m feeling awful. I can barely type… I feel so… can’t even describe it. Non-functional. Guilty. Stupid. Angry. Sad and rejected and lost. Again.
I really really really want to cut now. I’m probably going to go to bed so that I won’t. I hope I can fall asleep quickly.
I bought a car today. They totaled my car from last week’s wreck. This new one is not great but it runs okay. Couple things wrong with it but my friend’s husband David works at a mechanic’s shop downtown and he’s fixing it for me for cheaper than usual. I miss my car. I loved my car.
Drew was with me all day today, helping me with the car thing, since I am apparently helpless with any major decision. He didn’t see anything wrong with me. How come I feel like I have CRAZY written all over my face, but he has never recognized it, not in 9 years of knowing each other? My hands are shaking constantly. My knuckles are busted and purple from where I hit Chris and my wrist and arm are bruised where Chris hit me, all in a ridiculous game of Bloody Knuckles. I’m crying over fucking nothing. Every other word out of my mouth is “Chris”. Still, Drew thinks it’s all good. Everyone thinks I’m fine. I’m not fine. I wish someone would see that.
I’m not better, but no hospital visit, no cutting. Lakin is mad at me because I couldn’t walk her into school like usual this week. I showered last night for the first time in many days. I just don’t care… I want to go to bed and sleep until next month.
Cutting is trendy… lots of kids do it these days, trying to show their moms how sad they are I guess, with razor thin stripes that heal within 2 days. I don’t cut for the reasons that 95% of these kids give, and I didn’t even when I was 12. It offends me to be lumped in with those emo kids, and it happens all the time, since cutting has gotten trendy enough to be a teen pop culture reference now.
For me, it’s a serious psychotic desire to cause as much damage as possible to myself. Cut out the part that hurts. Hurt on the outside as much as I do on the inside. Bleed as much as possible without dying because it’s hypnotizing and a high and something that I can feel intensely. No one can hurt me as much as I can hurt myself. I am suicidal, and I have been for years. Obviously I know how to do it, and I have not done so, but every time I cut I think how easy it would be to just be done with it. I have a plan. My girls keep me from putting it into place.
It’s not ocd though… I thought so at first but quickly realized that it’s much more than that.
I’m not better. I have gone to update the ladies at Midday Faire about a half dozen times and I haven’t because I can’t get past the feeling that they really don’t want to know. Not that they don’t care, because I know they do, but that I’m doing them a disservice somehow by making them read this awful shit that I type out there. Or maybe doing myself a disservice by typing out a post that no one knows how to respond to.
In short, I’m not better. I fell apart late last night after I had an argument with Drew on the phone and ended up sitting at my desk with a razor blade against my forearm. I didn’t cut though. I wanted to, very very badly. I’m not sure why I didn’t, but I do know that it took everything I had not to, literally. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed now, though I did get some sleep last night.
I think I’m a hard person to be friends with, and I know I am a very needy friend. I’m sorry for that. I will feel better, soon I hope. I don’t know. My cycling is all out of whack now. It’s still ultra rapid (cycling every 2-3 days), though that’s an improvement from the ultradian cycling (every 4-16 hours) that I was in last year.