I found myself missing Ida last night. I mean, it sounds pretty normal since we were best friends for ten years. But I don’t actually miss her. I miss the way I could walk a block over to her house at three a.m. if I needed to, and just crash on her couch or talk about stupid shit. That’s what I miss. I mean, we had a shitty friendship. We put each other down, and next to never talked about anything meaningful, except for the time her brother died or the time she say the scars on my thigh. All it ever was was movies and bong hits. But it was nice to have somewhere to escape to at all hours of the day. We had it all worked out. If one of us would just show up, we wouldn’t ask what was wrong, we’d just ask what they wanted to do. We wouldn’t try to make the other feel better, we’d just act normal. That’s what I miss. It was comfortable.
And last night, while I was sitting on a bridge (I’ll get back to that), lonely as hell, I realized that I don’t really have anyone to call anymore. I’ve distanced myself just enough so that I don’t have anywhere to go at times like that. Everyone’s either out of state, or I don’t know if they’d be awake, or I know that they’d ask what was up right off the bat and freak me out. See, I like talking about what’s wrong, but I’m the kind of person who has to beat around the bush about stupid shit for hours until we work up to that, you know?
So last night, swinging my legs off the edge of the bridge, I sat there staring at my phone contemplating who I could talk to. My sister flashed into my mind, but she never answers, ever since the time I called her at four a.m. so that we could get my stomach pumped. Maybe she’s scared and would rather avoid it, I don’t know. My dad popped in my head too, but we don’t talk about things. He doesn’t know the things about me that I would need to talk about while sitting on a bridge on the highway. A few friends popped into my head, but even them, I just know I would have worded something wrong, or I would have freaked them out over something that was literally just a pang of isolation. So I sat there looking down at the water, staring at my phone, with the dawning realization that I caused this. And I hate it. So, I do miss Ida. I could have road my bike back to her house, hopped in her bed, and talked about spongebob or some other meaningless bullshit.
Now, don’t get freaked out about the bridge thing. It’s not what you think. I just love bridges, and I always have. I don’t talk about this because next to everyone would take it wrong, but for years now, I’ll get in this mood, hop on my bike (usually in the middle of the night), look at a map, and ride to some bridge miles and miles away. Then I’ll just sit. A while back, I went for the potential. Bridges have the potential to end a life, and that’s what I liked. I could have done it at any second. I’ve never been afraid of death or the afterlife. We’re all made up of carbon and atoms and all of that will still be there once you’re gone. And whether the essence of you lives on or not is irrelevant. I’ve always been afraid of the loss of potential. I’ve always felt that my life would be pointless, but that doesn’t mean I can know that. I could save a life, change a life, fall in love. I don’t know. And that’s what scares me.
Now, I don’t go for the potential. I go for the control. There’s nothing that makes you feel more powerful that knowing that you’re in complete control, and the one thing you have complete control over is whether you end your life at that moment. So, when everything else is spinning out of my control and I feel overwhelmed, I go and sit on a bridge, and it brings me back to reality and reminds me that there’s nothing more terrifying that getting rid of all possibilities.
Tumblr has been pretty done for me for a while now. It’s not that I don’t like the people on here, or that I like it any less, It’s just that, a few months back when I stopped getting on here, it was the pressure. It was like I felt like everyone would be disappointed in me, mad at me, because I wasn’t just all better. I felt like people were constantly telling me that I was doing things wrong and I should just be recovered by now. Maybe I did lead it upon myself, because when I looked back at my blog, I realized that amount of times that I said things were getting better, only to completely contradict that a week later. But the thing is, that’s how my life is. I’ll be in a good, positive mood when I type up one thing, and then an hour later I could type up the most pessimistic, defeated thing you’d ever read. That’s how I am. So if you want to take that to mean that I SHOULD be better, well then that’s your problem.
So honestly, those of you who guilt tripped me for doing what I needed to do to get by, fuck you. Advice is one thing, encouragement is fine too, but once you start guilt tripping me like some of you did, you’re out of line.
So, no, when I post something uplifting and positive, it doesn’t mean everything is just better, that my ptsd, depression, and harming tendencies are gone. All it means is that in that instant, things look okay. Not to mention, it’s none of your business whether I’m cured or not. Not to mention, thinking it can all just be cured is pure ignorance in and of itself.
So if any of you start guilt tripping me again, I’ll delete and block you right on the spot. Don’t make me feel like shit just because my life isn’t going the way you think it should.
That being said, this is the longest amount of time consecutively that I didn’t strongly wish I was dead since my senior year, so there’s that.
For all of you wonderful followers, and if you’re not blocked, that’s you. Have a wonderful night.
I went on a walk through the extremely crowded park today with my sister in nothing but a t-shirt and a skirt. You could see the scars at the bottom of my thighs and the scars all the way up to my elbows, and let me tell you, they shine like a neon sign in the unfiltered light of a sunny day. It’s not like she didn’t already know about it, but she didn’t know the extent, but honestly, she still doesn’t, because all of the deepest scars are on the tops of my arms and on the tops of my thighs. But it was a step. I was self conscious and nervous and I got some looks, but fuck it. It was god damn hot, so why should I have to wear pants and long sleeves? It’s not like I’m suddenly going to wear shorts and spaghetti straps every day, but I have the right to bare my arms every now and then if I want. It makes me uncomfortable, but at least I won’t have to wear a sweatshirt in 90 degree heat.
So, I haven’t been coming on here much lately. And I sure as hell haven’t been posting anything personal, and now I kind of feel like updating everyone on my life, if anyone even comes to my blog anymore. Oh well, either way.
So last year, spring semester, and this year, fall semester, I had a really hard time with school. The guy who raped me went there and it terrified me, so pretty much I just stopped going in the spring. That resulted in a bunch of failed classes. And then this fall, I convinced myself that I was just being weak and stupid, signed up for classes again, dropped out of all but one, and failed that. So now I have about five failed classes, and three withdrawn courses. It doesn’t exactly look good on an application.
While this was going on, I was working at Domino’s Pizza. I worked there for about three months until something set me off in October, which, as you know, was when I tried to kill myself. That made me miss work that day with no explanation. Then, two days later, something set me off again, and I cut my arms up pretty badly, in places that I just couldn’t hide at work, so I didn’t go. I never called, just stopped going.
So, for the past seven or so months, I haven’t been in school, and I haven’t been working. My self harm problem escalated rapidly to the point where my arms, shoulders, thighs, and hips are completely covered with scars, most of which are shallow and will go away in four or five months, but fifty or so that I could possibly have for the rest of my life.
Now, in the past month, things have been just a little bit different. I’ve been selling homemade things to my sister’s coworkers and on etsy, so maybe I’ll post a link to that later to see if anyone wants to buy anything. I’ve also been cleaning a lot around the house and remodeling, reorganizing things for my family. It makes me feel just a bit more useful than I normally do now. I’ve been reading a lot as well, which takes my mind off things. I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession with both books and anime but whatever, I’m okay with that.
On the college front, I’ve applied for fafsa (late, but oh well), I applied to Portland State University, and I hope I get in, but I’m not sure about their G.P.A requirements, and since I fucked up this and last year, mine’s pretty low. I’m willing to appeal and beg to get in, if necessary, though. I have to pay off a two thousand dollar debt before I can even send my transcript to PSU, though. I’ve got $200 right now and my Dad said he’d help me pay off the difference until I can pay him back. I’ve also almost completely decided to major in English. It’s always what I’ve been passionate about. I love reading, I love writing, I love discussing literature, all of it. Plus, I think it would be awesome to be a freelance editor.
I’m attempting to fix the three most important friendships to me right now, after almost a year of burnt bridges, so there’s that. One of them is pretty set, and I’m really hoping that the rest of them work out as well. I’m attempting to stop cutting/burning. It’s not going well, but I’m still trying. I don’t like having to wear long-sleeves and pants all of the time. Plus, what do I say when I’m asked to swim? I mean, we have a pool so that makes it even harder.
I redecorated my bedroom and I like it a lot better than I did before. I feel comfortable in there now.
I had sex with someone, and it was stupid and immature of me and I’ve come to terms with the fact that that’s not something I should do in a long time, if ever. I’ve only ever had sex while wanting to punish myself, it always ends in tears and self-hate so it’s just not good. I’ve also come to terms with the fact that it’s okay for me not to have a relationship for a long, long time. Once again, the only time I’ve ever gotten into a relationship is because I felt I should, that I’m supposed to. Also, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m pretty bi-sexual. I don’t really find that a big deal though. I’m attracted to women, whatever.
I’ve still been having really bad sleep problems, though. I have troubles falling asleep, and when I do I usually wake up three or four hours later, usually from some form of nightmare.
Woah this was really long. Everything’s not better. As a matter of fact, most things aren’t. But they’re just barely enough better for me to not feel completely hopeless like I have for years now. I’ve accepted that I’ve probably got a few mental disorders, like depression, PTSD, insomnia, and social anxiety, the first three that I was diagnosed with. All I can say right now is that I’m going to try. That’s all I can do right now is try.
I just finished watching no. 1. I was a bit disappointed in the end, but overall it actually ended up being really good. The characters were wonderful, and I liked that all of the female characters weren’t automatically ditzy stupid girls like most other shows.
Do you ever have this dead feeling, where you’re just sitting there, alone, and you can’t even force yourself to move an inch. You can’t get up, you can’t even make any facial expression whatsoever? And everything feels hollow. It looks like you’re not feeling anything and everything’s so numb that you almost believe you’re not feeling anything. But you can feel all of this shit bubbling right under your skin, right under your eyelids. I have to wonder if I’m forcing myself numb to keep it at bay or if one just comes before the other..
It’s so fucked up. How we all just go around faking, day in and day out. Pretending to be what we’re not, hiding everything important as deep down as it can go, so no one’ll be able to see it, and no one will be able to know what you know. That you’re completely and utterly terrified. It’s atrocious. It grates on your nerves time and time again, wears you down until that smile, that laugh is just so hard to force out anymore. It’s so fucked that the only time any of us can be real is when we;re secluded and alone. It’s even more fucked that this is the time you need someone the most, because that’s when we break. So, when your sitting there crying, sobbing even, all you can do is regret that you never had the courage to be real. Everything now is too easy. It’s instinctual, this fakeness. And it’s horrible. I’ve always had this pipe dream that I’ll meet someone, anyone, new, and I won’t be that way, we won’t be that way. We won’t say what we think the other wants to here, we’ll just say what we’re thinking, feeling, who we are. And then maybe we wouldn’t feel so god damn alone all of the time. But it never happens. Because we’re all so god damn terrified. And late at night when we’re breaking, we’re still alone because we never let down our guards. I’m so sick of it, honestly. But I don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to fix something like that.
There’s this void, where everything feels so empty and terrifying, and nothing seems to make it go away. You can’t bleed it out. All of the pills in my medicine cabinet last October didn’t make it go away. All the screamed lyrics I scream don’t dent it. Nor do the addressed letters I write that I’ll never ever send. Because in the end it’s all empty. It’s still not real because I’m still terrified. And so lonely it’s ridiculous. Isolation only gets you so far and then you’re stuck. This is so fucked.
So, there was a shooting at the Clackamas mall. Some people died and a lot were injured. My sister left there like a half an hour before it happened, and she called me when she found out. All I felt was panic. Just the idea that it could have been her nearly sent me over the edge. Because I just can’t deal with shit like that. I’ve had too many people get in car accidents, fall of cliffs, get cancer, end up in the hospital, just not come home when they’re supposed to. And just the thought that anyone of them could just be gone breaks me up inside. I wanted to scream or cry or panic. But that makes me feel so stupid. It’s an overreaction. She wasn’t there. She’s fine, and freaking out just made me feel weak and powerless. So, because of this and because I had two friends over, I ignored it. I baked muffins and brownies. And then I curled up in my chair and huddled under a blanket in what I hoped was a normal fashion. But I was shaking. And when they left, I cleaned more. I baked more. But then everything was clean and there was no more flour to bake. So I sat down. And then I lost control and I cried. They were fearful and desperate tears. And it was such a god damn overreaction to the situation, but if there is one person I could never ever live without, it would be her. And the thought that that could potententially happen, that it’s a possibility, scares the shit out of me.
I feel like absolute shit. These throaty, incessant coughs are finally taking their toll. My voice is completely gone, so I’ve resorted to hand gestures and grunts. No one’s realized it yet. This is the sickest I’ve been in a while. I can’t even seem to eat or sleep because my throat hurts so goddamn bad and I can’t stop coughing for five seconds. I am so fed up.
I just spent a good ten minutes picking at this thing in my mouth, trying to figure out if it was a popcorn kernel or if I had a wisdom tooth coming in. Let’s just say it wasn’t a popcorn kernel. Ouch.
This is like Victoria and I. Except in real life….ahahhaha Although there was that one time we watched Jeepers Creepers at the same time and had a commentary through facebook….I’m feeling nostalgic of that.
Internet friends are my favourite kind of friends because I don’t have to make any eye contact or shower