9 September, 2010
I went to therapy today. It wasn’t bad. I got to say some things that I’ve had on my mind all week. I thought I’d suffocate if I didn’t get those things out. I told Horowitz how I’ve started using smoking to cope. How it’s become more than fun. It’s affecting my daily life. Then I confessed to cutting again. I told him how I couldn’t bring myself to cut sober, so I smoked first. And I told him how it was easy; how I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t tell him that I smiled or how I laughed at the blood spilling everywhere.
I sat quietly for a long while until he finally said, “can I ask about the cutting?”, and I just shrugged. He asked how much I’d done it and where. Then he asked something that I was really taken aback by; he asked if he could see how deep the cuts were. Maybe it was because that was the first time he ever asked. Maybe it was how he asked. It seemed he was afraid to ask for some reason. I wonder why. Why this time and never before? Was it my affect? Was it the fact that I had cut while I was high and it happened so easily? I got this panicky feeling in my stomach when his words began to make sense in my head. I couldn’t imagine him looking. It’s such a private part of me. It’s intimate. I get so unbearably uncomfortable when people ask to see it or when they’re actually looking. It’s like asking to see me naked. It’s just like that, and it hurts. My scars, my cuts, my burns and bruises are mine. They’re completely private and it’s hard to share that with others. I don’t care who they are. It bothers me.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Back in Business
So I'm not the most computer savvy person in the world. Thanks to my very intelligent and dear friend, Colton, it was brought to my attention that my laptop was in fact not under attack. Close, but not quite. There was a virus threat, I guess, and not a full on virus? Well whatever it might have been, I'm back. My computer didn't explode as I expected it might. It's all intact, thank goodness. Everything is here, and I can continue to update my blog :)
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Malfunction. Oh no!
Yesterday, while procrastinating on my laptop, a message pops up saying that I have 38 viruses threatening my computer and that if I didn't shut it off, there would be irreparable damage. In the middle of downloading AVG antivirus, my entire system shuts down. My laptop, my baby, my life died right before me. All of my journals, poetry, photos, etc are on my laptop. I'm not sure how long it will be before it's up and running again, but hopefully not too long. I won't be able to post any new journals until I get this all worked out, however, I will try to find other media to post. Hang in there with me!
Happy blogging.
xo
Happy blogging.
xo
Friday, March 4, 2011
This is Now
This is now.
See, this right here is me.
In a decade I’ll look back
and say, well when I was 18...
But that’s only hopefully,
because now I know what I’m capable of,
and that is destructing.
Now I know the truth of me.
This may well just be a hard time,
but you’ll break your back trying to prove it’s temporary.
I’d say, “you try to live this life in my body.
You try to fight yourself, when you know you’ll
just keep struggling on empty.”
Then what will you suggest for me? What is left to do?
I’m up against the world and a future.
You can’t deny or minimize.
This is the disease and over there sits recovery.
It smiles. It waves; and in the corner of the darkness it torments me.
See, this right here is me.
In a decade I’ll look back
and say, well when I was 18...
But that’s only hopefully,
because now I know what I’m capable of,
and that is destructing.
Now I know the truth of me.
This may well just be a hard time,
but you’ll break your back trying to prove it’s temporary.
I’d say, “you try to live this life in my body.
You try to fight yourself, when you know you’ll
just keep struggling on empty.”
Then what will you suggest for me? What is left to do?
I’m up against the world and a future.
You can’t deny or minimize.
This is the disease and over there sits recovery.
It smiles. It waves; and in the corner of the darkness it torments me.
Souls Die in Autumn
27 September, 2010
The day is like the soft tissue
coating the throat; soothing like mother’s milk.
And Fury is like acid crawling up
from your stomach, escaping the intestines and waiting
to erupt between winter-dried lips.
I would sit in bed and let the bile drip.
Drip like rain droplets onto the pillows,
soaking in between tear streams,
committing suicide from cold cheeks.
My angst slips out sullenly. Waiting
like gasoline for fire to spark or an explosion to spread
between legs clasped tightly if love lay in them again.
The rage, the wrath, the madness
creaks like wooden Victorian floor boards.
I wonder why the pain doesn’t hurt.
Why? When my patience has been murdered?
My hope has been cut up, burned up,
and rapped with a bow.
Perhaps I could mail it away to someone in need,
seeing how I only feed every mouth
of despair eating at me.
Waiting between the hours, I sit silent. -Witnessing
my inner peace running away on the wind.
Running away from me.
I could sit by the fire for hours
rubbing scarred hands together,
but the heat from the love won’t ever sink in.
The day is like the soft tissue
coating the throat; soothing like mother’s milk.
And Fury is like acid crawling up
from your stomach, escaping the intestines and waiting
to erupt between winter-dried lips.
I would sit in bed and let the bile drip.
Drip like rain droplets onto the pillows,
soaking in between tear streams,
committing suicide from cold cheeks.
My angst slips out sullenly. Waiting
like gasoline for fire to spark or an explosion to spread
between legs clasped tightly if love lay in them again.
The rage, the wrath, the madness
creaks like wooden Victorian floor boards.
I wonder why the pain doesn’t hurt.
Why? When my patience has been murdered?
My hope has been cut up, burned up,
and rapped with a bow.
Perhaps I could mail it away to someone in need,
seeing how I only feed every mouth
of despair eating at me.
Waiting between the hours, I sit silent. -Witnessing
my inner peace running away on the wind.
Running away from me.
I could sit by the fire for hours
rubbing scarred hands together,
but the heat from the love won’t ever sink in.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Summer
21 June, 2010
So I’m here at the PEOPLE Program. Today was my first day and it was horrible. I sat through five to seven hours of lectures on my education, and how appreciative I should be, and how I need to work hard, and learned about the intensive application process. I heard good stuff today. Stuff that made me think, stuff that made me excited, and things that put even more terror into me. It’s like each day, though, I get further and further away from where it is that I thought I would be. I guess I can kiss that Master’s degree away for now. I don’t think I’ll even survive undergrad. I don’t even want to be here. I thought I didn’t before and now I really don’t. There’s no way in hell I’m getting into UW-Madison, not even if I wanted to. I determined that this past year. The orientation today was so hardcore. I’m not sure if I want to be here. I’d like to get my check and leave. I haven’t told anyone that I’m thinking about leaving yet, except my mom; isn’t that a shocker? She told me to give it a week and that we could talk about it on the weekend, only I’m afraid to start my internship on Wednesday. What if….I have so many, too many “what if” scenarios that I could choose from, I don’t even want to bring them up. I’m terrified. I feel an anxiety attack coming on quite soon. I hate this feeling. High anxiety. Social anxiety at that. That’s the worst and most debilitating, for me anyway. I can’t think of a time I’ve spent sitting down in the past 48 hours that I haven’t shaken my knee. It’s a nervous habit. A very annoying, very addicting nervous habit.
My roommate is interesting. She’s so quiet, I’m afraid to interrupt her with any conversation. She’s seems very artsy, to me anyway. It’s cool and all. I wish she were a bit more talkative. I hope she doesn’t think I’m annoying or weird or whatever else….fat….ugly. Things are so different this year from last year. Qm’s not my roommate anymore. Now this room is just a place that I sleep and store my stuff. It’s hard to come in here for alone time, because my roommate and I are both introverts and we seem to vie for alone time at the same times. Oh well, it’s a social process. I need to find alone time somewhere in this place though, or else I’ll lose my mind. It’s only the first day and I’m losing it. And I fucking had to walk up Bascom Hill today. Fml.
*The PEOPLE Program is a local pre-college enrichment program that I’m a part of. From my sophomore to senior year in high school, I invest my time in their program throughout the school year and the summer and in doing well in school in exchange for tutoring help and prep classes. In the event that I successfully complete the program and am accepted to the university in the city that I live, I will receive four years of paid tuition. But that’s just the short sweet version.
So I’m here at the PEOPLE Program. Today was my first day and it was horrible. I sat through five to seven hours of lectures on my education, and how appreciative I should be, and how I need to work hard, and learned about the intensive application process. I heard good stuff today. Stuff that made me think, stuff that made me excited, and things that put even more terror into me. It’s like each day, though, I get further and further away from where it is that I thought I would be. I guess I can kiss that Master’s degree away for now. I don’t think I’ll even survive undergrad. I don’t even want to be here. I thought I didn’t before and now I really don’t. There’s no way in hell I’m getting into UW-Madison, not even if I wanted to. I determined that this past year. The orientation today was so hardcore. I’m not sure if I want to be here. I’d like to get my check and leave. I haven’t told anyone that I’m thinking about leaving yet, except my mom; isn’t that a shocker? She told me to give it a week and that we could talk about it on the weekend, only I’m afraid to start my internship on Wednesday. What if….I have so many, too many “what if” scenarios that I could choose from, I don’t even want to bring them up. I’m terrified. I feel an anxiety attack coming on quite soon. I hate this feeling. High anxiety. Social anxiety at that. That’s the worst and most debilitating, for me anyway. I can’t think of a time I’ve spent sitting down in the past 48 hours that I haven’t shaken my knee. It’s a nervous habit. A very annoying, very addicting nervous habit.
My roommate is interesting. She’s so quiet, I’m afraid to interrupt her with any conversation. She’s seems very artsy, to me anyway. It’s cool and all. I wish she were a bit more talkative. I hope she doesn’t think I’m annoying or weird or whatever else….fat….ugly. Things are so different this year from last year. Qm’s not my roommate anymore. Now this room is just a place that I sleep and store my stuff. It’s hard to come in here for alone time, because my roommate and I are both introverts and we seem to vie for alone time at the same times. Oh well, it’s a social process. I need to find alone time somewhere in this place though, or else I’ll lose my mind. It’s only the first day and I’m losing it. And I fucking had to walk up Bascom Hill today. Fml.
*The PEOPLE Program is a local pre-college enrichment program that I’m a part of. From my sophomore to senior year in high school, I invest my time in their program throughout the school year and the summer and in doing well in school in exchange for tutoring help and prep classes. In the event that I successfully complete the program and am accepted to the university in the city that I live, I will receive four years of paid tuition. But that’s just the short sweet version.
Spring
28 March, 10
I’m stupid. My mom wanted me to make sausage this morning. I burned it, and now, even though she could easily make it herself, and she knows I‘m in the middle of something, she’s making me do it again. She knows I won’t even eat it. I think she thinks I’m vying for control. Really, I don’t care. I don’t know why I’m crying about this, but I am.
I feel stupid. I feel like cutting myself up into little pieces. I have so much work to do today and I just feel so dumb for letting it all pile up. I’m stupid. I should just give up now. I should just go run into traffic or jump off a roof or drown myself. What is wrong with me?
I’ve been working toward getting my grades up, and so far it’s been working out. But for some reason I still feel like I’m letting everyone down. My grades go up and I just feel more depressed and worthless. I’m ugly and stupid and I should just go die because I don’t deserve to be here at all. No one needs me here and I just waste time and screw up. I spend all my time sleeping and making up excuses.
I feel so pathetic for whining about myself all the time. I hate this.
I’m stupid. My mom wanted me to make sausage this morning. I burned it, and now, even though she could easily make it herself, and she knows I‘m in the middle of something, she’s making me do it again. She knows I won’t even eat it. I think she thinks I’m vying for control. Really, I don’t care. I don’t know why I’m crying about this, but I am.
I feel stupid. I feel like cutting myself up into little pieces. I have so much work to do today and I just feel so dumb for letting it all pile up. I’m stupid. I should just give up now. I should just go run into traffic or jump off a roof or drown myself. What is wrong with me?
I’ve been working toward getting my grades up, and so far it’s been working out. But for some reason I still feel like I’m letting everyone down. My grades go up and I just feel more depressed and worthless. I’m ugly and stupid and I should just go die because I don’t deserve to be here at all. No one needs me here and I just waste time and screw up. I spend all my time sleeping and making up excuses.
I feel so pathetic for whining about myself all the time. I hate this.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Winter
2 January, 2010
So…today is another day. I’ve accomplished things. I did chores yesterday, or maybe the day before. I cleaned my room last night. I feel better about it. I can breathe. I organized my backpack and my desk. I woke up this afternoon, got dressed and painted my nails. I thought I’d be able to find a friend to hang out with, but everyone is either busy or out of town. So now it’s 3:30 pm. I’m all dressed up and have nowhere to go. I could do homework. I could do chores. I have to do chores. I’m bored. I’m depressed and lonely. I relapsed an hour ago. I had to smoke. Okay, so I didn’t have to. I just started getting this feeling like something was going to happen. Like I was going to explode or cry or something. It’s kind of the same feeling I get before I have a panic attack.
By the way, I’ve picked up a couple nervous habits: leg shaking, jaw clenching, and picking at the skin on my right thumb. Habits are hard to break. The leg shaking especially. Just thought I’d note those things somewhere.
I’ve been mostly good over break about not smoking or cutting. Anyway, I don’t know how I feel about breaking “sobriety,” so to speak. But it’s not like I drink and smoke pot all the time, you know? I probably won’t again for another month.
So…today is another day. I’ve accomplished things. I did chores yesterday, or maybe the day before. I cleaned my room last night. I feel better about it. I can breathe. I organized my backpack and my desk. I woke up this afternoon, got dressed and painted my nails. I thought I’d be able to find a friend to hang out with, but everyone is either busy or out of town. So now it’s 3:30 pm. I’m all dressed up and have nowhere to go. I could do homework. I could do chores. I have to do chores. I’m bored. I’m depressed and lonely. I relapsed an hour ago. I had to smoke. Okay, so I didn’t have to. I just started getting this feeling like something was going to happen. Like I was going to explode or cry or something. It’s kind of the same feeling I get before I have a panic attack.
By the way, I’ve picked up a couple nervous habits: leg shaking, jaw clenching, and picking at the skin on my right thumb. Habits are hard to break. The leg shaking especially. Just thought I’d note those things somewhere.
I’ve been mostly good over break about not smoking or cutting. Anyway, I don’t know how I feel about breaking “sobriety,” so to speak. But it’s not like I drink and smoke pot all the time, you know? I probably won’t again for another month.
Now
17 January, 2011
Lately everything is so blah. I can’t think. It’s like I have no idea how to organize my thoughts. There’s a tension constantly rushing through my torso, and the chest pains are literally breath taking. My anxiety level is so off key, it plays For Elise backwards. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’m constantly on the verge of an anxiety attack. It’s awful. I really need to let my therapists and psychiatrist know about this. I can feel that this is physically taxing for my body. I have constant internal aches on nearly every inch of my torso.
God, I wish I could start writing about all the stressors I have, but I get exhausted just thinking about it. I’m so jumbled and discombobulated all of the time. Sometimes I can’t even figure out how to get myself out of a chair. I forget things constantly. My memory is lazy. I can never remember past the last day, maybe two. Generally, these are all the things I carry around on my mind: achool, graduation, college, finals, future, next semester, my independent English credit, a new tattoo/piercing, money, working, SSI, organizing and budgeting finances, summer, fall, my spring bout of suicidality, my messy bedroom, hygiene, sleeping habits, diet, weight, guilt, weed, friends, morals and values, wanting to please everyone, debt, my parents, failure, dying, cutting, sex, dating, social anxiety, retrieving my creativity from wherever it hides, working, buying crap, my hair, clothes, self sufficiency, being normal, BPD, therapy, treatment overall, ECT, memory, attitude, emotions vs. mood, keeping up with the date, longer term treatment facilities, and figuring out who I am and how to turn whoever that is into a respectable adult. Oh, also how vulnerable and stuck I feel in this ongoing tunnel. Great. I got it out. I feel a touch of relief. Hopefully thoughts of that stuff will fade a little for a while.
Lately everything is so blah. I can’t think. It’s like I have no idea how to organize my thoughts. There’s a tension constantly rushing through my torso, and the chest pains are literally breath taking. My anxiety level is so off key, it plays For Elise backwards. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’m constantly on the verge of an anxiety attack. It’s awful. I really need to let my therapists and psychiatrist know about this. I can feel that this is physically taxing for my body. I have constant internal aches on nearly every inch of my torso.
God, I wish I could start writing about all the stressors I have, but I get exhausted just thinking about it. I’m so jumbled and discombobulated all of the time. Sometimes I can’t even figure out how to get myself out of a chair. I forget things constantly. My memory is lazy. I can never remember past the last day, maybe two. Generally, these are all the things I carry around on my mind: achool, graduation, college, finals, future, next semester, my independent English credit, a new tattoo/piercing, money, working, SSI, organizing and budgeting finances, summer, fall, my spring bout of suicidality, my messy bedroom, hygiene, sleeping habits, diet, weight, guilt, weed, friends, morals and values, wanting to please everyone, debt, my parents, failure, dying, cutting, sex, dating, social anxiety, retrieving my creativity from wherever it hides, working, buying crap, my hair, clothes, self sufficiency, being normal, BPD, therapy, treatment overall, ECT, memory, attitude, emotions vs. mood, keeping up with the date, longer term treatment facilities, and figuring out who I am and how to turn whoever that is into a respectable adult. Oh, also how vulnerable and stuck I feel in this ongoing tunnel. Great. I got it out. I feel a touch of relief. Hopefully thoughts of that stuff will fade a little for a while.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Fall
3 September, 2010
I’m secretly spiraling down the drain. I kind of like it. I feel dark and deep and mysterious. Really it’s just stupid. Ever since I’ve found an interest in relationships and the fact that people can actually be attracted to me, I’ve been more stressed. I feel as though I’ve been too risqué because of my flirtatiousness. I feel like a slut.
I recently started cutting. I had urges for weeks and soon it turned into days and days* until I couldn’t hold it anymore. I cut Wednesday, the night before school started. The night time came around and I just couldn’t resist anymore. I sent TB a text saying that I needed to promise. A second later I remembered that I had already decided that I would cut, however dumb, or stupid it sounds because… (*see paragraph at the end of this entry).
So I sent another text saying never mind. I don’t know why I thought that would fly. That didn’t end well. She texted me in the middle of the night to see if I was okay because she was worried. I felt badly. How did she honestly want me to respond to that? And what if I saw it when she sent it and not three irrelevant hours later? What would I have said? “No, I ended up cutting”. How is that soothing? It definitely would not calm her anxiety. So me being Imani, I said, “I’m fine”. Truthfully, I wasn’t okay. I didn’t want to worry her more. Only for a split second did I consider an option other than saying I’m fine. I think it’s courtesy. Maybe not common, but in telling someone else about something you’re upset about or your bad day, you also open up a little door of guiltiness. I didn’t want the guilt. Was it a bad idea for me to use this idea when replying to her text? I really don’t know. My job is to keep others around me happy and or comfortable. I don’t know why, that’s just how it is. It should change, I know.
People don’t want to know how you’re doing. They ask because it’s polite, it looks good for them. How many times a day are you asked, “how are you?” and how many of those times did people stop to converse with you, or even care to reply to your answer. Some people don’t even answer the question. Those are the smart people. Those are the people I need to be with because they’ve figured out that in most scenarios, no one really cares how you are. They only care about what you’re doing for them. They don’t get caught in the hooks like most, and feel offended because the other person was short with them. Not to say that any of this pertains to TB because it doesn’t. I just thought I’d take the opportunity to point out that fact about people.
How ironic is it that the next thing that’s bringing me down is MaryJane and I’m high right now? I’ve been high three fourths of today. Not good. I think I’m turning into a pothead. I question whether or not that will impinge on my success. I think that if I plan to work hard and I actually do it, it won’t be a big deal. I can feel my lungs going. I gotta stop treating my vocal cords so badly. We’ll see.
*I was really stressed out that day. It hadn’t been a good day and I had a lot to take care of before school. I remember feeling irritable and lonely. I had a sense of emptiness. I hadn’t cut in a month plus and the urges were coming and I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t deal with the pressure of one more thing bothering me. I felt better. I smoked and then I took out my blade and stuff. I tried to keep it as close to my wrist as possible so my wristband could cover it. I kind of felt like I could hurt myself as badly as possible and I wouldn’t care about the consequences. I mean, when I was younger, cutting didn’t use to hurt. My skin was like butter and the cuts were painless. It felt good. I’ve grown out of that a bit. Sometimes it’s still like that, but most of the time I have a hard time being to risky with my cutting. I think it’s because I’ve learned to either love or respect myself a little. Or maybe just that the scar tissue hurts.
*Days and days - Teagan and Sara
I’m secretly spiraling down the drain. I kind of like it. I feel dark and deep and mysterious. Really it’s just stupid. Ever since I’ve found an interest in relationships and the fact that people can actually be attracted to me, I’ve been more stressed. I feel as though I’ve been too risqué because of my flirtatiousness. I feel like a slut.
I recently started cutting. I had urges for weeks and soon it turned into days and days* until I couldn’t hold it anymore. I cut Wednesday, the night before school started. The night time came around and I just couldn’t resist anymore. I sent TB a text saying that I needed to promise. A second later I remembered that I had already decided that I would cut, however dumb, or stupid it sounds because… (*see paragraph at the end of this entry).
So I sent another text saying never mind. I don’t know why I thought that would fly. That didn’t end well. She texted me in the middle of the night to see if I was okay because she was worried. I felt badly. How did she honestly want me to respond to that? And what if I saw it when she sent it and not three irrelevant hours later? What would I have said? “No, I ended up cutting”. How is that soothing? It definitely would not calm her anxiety. So me being Imani, I said, “I’m fine”. Truthfully, I wasn’t okay. I didn’t want to worry her more. Only for a split second did I consider an option other than saying I’m fine. I think it’s courtesy. Maybe not common, but in telling someone else about something you’re upset about or your bad day, you also open up a little door of guiltiness. I didn’t want the guilt. Was it a bad idea for me to use this idea when replying to her text? I really don’t know. My job is to keep others around me happy and or comfortable. I don’t know why, that’s just how it is. It should change, I know.
People don’t want to know how you’re doing. They ask because it’s polite, it looks good for them. How many times a day are you asked, “how are you?” and how many of those times did people stop to converse with you, or even care to reply to your answer. Some people don’t even answer the question. Those are the smart people. Those are the people I need to be with because they’ve figured out that in most scenarios, no one really cares how you are. They only care about what you’re doing for them. They don’t get caught in the hooks like most, and feel offended because the other person was short with them. Not to say that any of this pertains to TB because it doesn’t. I just thought I’d take the opportunity to point out that fact about people.
How ironic is it that the next thing that’s bringing me down is MaryJane and I’m high right now? I’ve been high three fourths of today. Not good. I think I’m turning into a pothead. I question whether or not that will impinge on my success. I think that if I plan to work hard and I actually do it, it won’t be a big deal. I can feel my lungs going. I gotta stop treating my vocal cords so badly. We’ll see.
*I was really stressed out that day. It hadn’t been a good day and I had a lot to take care of before school. I remember feeling irritable and lonely. I had a sense of emptiness. I hadn’t cut in a month plus and the urges were coming and I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t deal with the pressure of one more thing bothering me. I felt better. I smoked and then I took out my blade and stuff. I tried to keep it as close to my wrist as possible so my wristband could cover it. I kind of felt like I could hurt myself as badly as possible and I wouldn’t care about the consequences. I mean, when I was younger, cutting didn’t use to hurt. My skin was like butter and the cuts were painless. It felt good. I’ve grown out of that a bit. Sometimes it’s still like that, but most of the time I have a hard time being to risky with my cutting. I think it’s because I’ve learned to either love or respect myself a little. Or maybe just that the scar tissue hurts.
*Days and days - Teagan and Sara
Summer
15 June, 2010
I want to be more enthusiastic and happy-like, but I just can’t, unless I get stuck in one of those rare moments. I’m really depressed and physically I feel sick. I ran out of Zoloft and I keep getting brain shivers. I have a headache. I have to go to bed early so that I can go to my doctor appt. I need to fold my clothes and pack so that I can be ready to leave tomorrow. Some friends and I are going to the Wisconsin Dells for a couple days.
I really just want to sleep right now. I’m getting sad. I wanted to write a song or a poem, but there’s nothing to write about and I don’t feel up to it anymore. I have to stay up and babysit Amir* though, cos my mom’s decided to go out tonight -something that only happens once every six months or so, not even. I don’t really care. I really don’t even feel like writing this right now, but I don’t want to sit with myself in the silence because it’s too painful.
I’ve been thinking since I talked to Horowitz* the other day that maybe going the hospital is an option. I don’t want to, but maybe that’s what I need. My family would be so disappointed in me. I’d be embarrassed. My family, my grandparents probably all think I’m better. I’m not. These past few weeks have been almost unbearable. I spent four hours straight cleaning my room yesterday. I thought I’d feel better and I do, but now it’s empty and bare. I kind of rather the mess everywhere, because at least then it wasn’t lonely.
I’m lonely. I’ve isolated myself emotionally from everyone. Everyone. There’s no one that I’ve really talked to open and honestly lately about how I feel. I tell lies about myself. I figure that most of the time when people ask how you are, they don’t really care or they don’t really want to know the truth. I think we all know this deep down inside. That’s why we have phrases like, “I‘m fine/good/okay.” I mean, have you ever had someone ask you why when you responded with an “I'm good”? -That never happens. If you’re okay, there’s no need for further question, but if you aren’t okay they have to do a full investigation, complete with crime scene tape. Your whole conversation freezes right there and you hardly ever end up getting to the heart and soul of your original conversation destination, if you will. And all of this to say…..well hell I don’t know what the point is. I never do.
Oh yeah, the point is, I might have to check myself into the hospital because I haven’t been telling the truth about how I’ve been, and truthfully, I’ve been depressed and mildly suicidal.
I question, however, if I’d be going solely for safety’s sake or because my heart really isn’t set in going to PEOPLE. I’d be excused. I can’t deny that. But if I go to the hospital I’d end up having to tell a hand full of people, and even if the words didn’t come from my mouth, they’d come from someone’s. Handling all their reactions would be enough to take a second trip to the bin. Then I’d have to deal with just being in that environment again. A third time. As if I don’t feel like a loser enough already. A third trip to the psych ward. I should have come out the womb with a fucking sign saying FAIL on it.
I feel like shit. Complete and utter shit. It hasn’t even been summer for a week yet. With all the pressure and stress I had, I thought I’d be happy and optimistic and shit, but I’m not. I’m as bland as a beige carpet. This sucks. There’ve been times before where I was so fed up and angry that I would have done anything to get rid of this…thing and live my life normally, or I was so depressed and exhausted that I was just sad, I cried and wanted to end it all. Well now I’m trying to pick one of those extremes and I just can’t. I can’t . I’m not completely despondent because I’m still complaining. I just feel stuck. I’m as stuck as that Playboy Cm found lodged in his clothes chute the other day. Yup, I’m stuck like that. I don’t really care what happens at this point, I mean, obviously I do, otherwise I’d be sitting in the bin right now, but like if I end up there, I end up there. If I die, I die. If I’m walking down the street and some junkies gang rape me, well then I guess I’ll be gang raped. If I’m stuck like this, I’m stuck like this. I halfway think I deserve all those things anyway, so whatever. Honestly though, I’d rather go to the ward, get raped, get HIV/AIDS, have a baby and die alone in a snow storm than stay like this forever. I’m obviously really fucked up, and that’s not even the half of it.
I’m afraid I might be a borderline. Something tells me that I might be. I’m super clingy, more than I’d like to be, and I think my ultimate fear, if that’s possible, is abandonment. I’m really embarrassed at how needy I am at my points of desperation. I have trust issues. I loathe myself. I can live in harmony with the fact I have to live with the person I am for the rest of my life. At one point I even liked myself and accepted some of my flaws, so that’s not a huge problem. I feel that I will never come to like or love myself fully, though. I just don’t like the person that I am. I think I’m ugly and out of everything, I think I’m stupid. I feel like the lowest piece of shit that ever breathed on this earth. I’m broken. My core isn’t whole, and what’s more, my core is lost.
*Horowitz is the therapist I'd been seeing from my sophmore year to my January of my senior year.
*Amir is my little brother. Age 8.
I want to be more enthusiastic and happy-like, but I just can’t, unless I get stuck in one of those rare moments. I’m really depressed and physically I feel sick. I ran out of Zoloft and I keep getting brain shivers. I have a headache. I have to go to bed early so that I can go to my doctor appt. I need to fold my clothes and pack so that I can be ready to leave tomorrow. Some friends and I are going to the Wisconsin Dells for a couple days.
I really just want to sleep right now. I’m getting sad. I wanted to write a song or a poem, but there’s nothing to write about and I don’t feel up to it anymore. I have to stay up and babysit Amir* though, cos my mom’s decided to go out tonight -something that only happens once every six months or so, not even. I don’t really care. I really don’t even feel like writing this right now, but I don’t want to sit with myself in the silence because it’s too painful.
I’ve been thinking since I talked to Horowitz* the other day that maybe going the hospital is an option. I don’t want to, but maybe that’s what I need. My family would be so disappointed in me. I’d be embarrassed. My family, my grandparents probably all think I’m better. I’m not. These past few weeks have been almost unbearable. I spent four hours straight cleaning my room yesterday. I thought I’d feel better and I do, but now it’s empty and bare. I kind of rather the mess everywhere, because at least then it wasn’t lonely.
I’m lonely. I’ve isolated myself emotionally from everyone. Everyone. There’s no one that I’ve really talked to open and honestly lately about how I feel. I tell lies about myself. I figure that most of the time when people ask how you are, they don’t really care or they don’t really want to know the truth. I think we all know this deep down inside. That’s why we have phrases like, “I‘m fine/good/okay.” I mean, have you ever had someone ask you why when you responded with an “I'm good”? -That never happens. If you’re okay, there’s no need for further question, but if you aren’t okay they have to do a full investigation, complete with crime scene tape. Your whole conversation freezes right there and you hardly ever end up getting to the heart and soul of your original conversation destination, if you will. And all of this to say…..well hell I don’t know what the point is. I never do.
Oh yeah, the point is, I might have to check myself into the hospital because I haven’t been telling the truth about how I’ve been, and truthfully, I’ve been depressed and mildly suicidal.
I question, however, if I’d be going solely for safety’s sake or because my heart really isn’t set in going to PEOPLE. I’d be excused. I can’t deny that. But if I go to the hospital I’d end up having to tell a hand full of people, and even if the words didn’t come from my mouth, they’d come from someone’s. Handling all their reactions would be enough to take a second trip to the bin. Then I’d have to deal with just being in that environment again. A third time. As if I don’t feel like a loser enough already. A third trip to the psych ward. I should have come out the womb with a fucking sign saying FAIL on it.
I feel like shit. Complete and utter shit. It hasn’t even been summer for a week yet. With all the pressure and stress I had, I thought I’d be happy and optimistic and shit, but I’m not. I’m as bland as a beige carpet. This sucks. There’ve been times before where I was so fed up and angry that I would have done anything to get rid of this…thing and live my life normally, or I was so depressed and exhausted that I was just sad, I cried and wanted to end it all. Well now I’m trying to pick one of those extremes and I just can’t. I can’t . I’m not completely despondent because I’m still complaining. I just feel stuck. I’m as stuck as that Playboy Cm found lodged in his clothes chute the other day. Yup, I’m stuck like that. I don’t really care what happens at this point, I mean, obviously I do, otherwise I’d be sitting in the bin right now, but like if I end up there, I end up there. If I die, I die. If I’m walking down the street and some junkies gang rape me, well then I guess I’ll be gang raped. If I’m stuck like this, I’m stuck like this. I halfway think I deserve all those things anyway, so whatever. Honestly though, I’d rather go to the ward, get raped, get HIV/AIDS, have a baby and die alone in a snow storm than stay like this forever. I’m obviously really fucked up, and that’s not even the half of it.
I’m afraid I might be a borderline. Something tells me that I might be. I’m super clingy, more than I’d like to be, and I think my ultimate fear, if that’s possible, is abandonment. I’m really embarrassed at how needy I am at my points of desperation. I have trust issues. I loathe myself. I can live in harmony with the fact I have to live with the person I am for the rest of my life. At one point I even liked myself and accepted some of my flaws, so that’s not a huge problem. I feel that I will never come to like or love myself fully, though. I just don’t like the person that I am. I think I’m ugly and out of everything, I think I’m stupid. I feel like the lowest piece of shit that ever breathed on this earth. I’m broken. My core isn’t whole, and what’s more, my core is lost.
*Horowitz is the therapist I'd been seeing from my sophmore year to my January of my senior year.
*Amir is my little brother. Age 8.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Spring
22 March, 10
I’ve completely wasted the past 72 hours. I feel icky. There really isn’t another way to describe my emotions right now. It’s all my fault. I set out to accomplish things this weekend and I haven’t accomplished a damn thing. Not even a good night’s sleep. I haven’t been taking my pills or watching what I eat. I’ve only weighed myself twice. My body is in horrible shape. I want to cry because I know it’s all my fault and it’s going to be a long week getting back to the small start I had.
I’d kill for a cigarette right now. It seems to make everything better for five or ten minutes, and that’s all the time I need to fall asleep. It’s already 12:30am and I really don’t know how I’m going to get myself to sleep. But then I don’t want go to bed because I fear I’ll just wake up at five again, like last night. I don’t like those kinds of repeats.
I really don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I don’t want to live tomorrow. It’d be great if we could just skip to Tuesday. (Wow, that sentence put a new taste in my mouth. I hate Tuesdays.) I don’t want to have to go tomorrow and see the look on everyone’s face when they find that I’ve failed to follow through on my word. I told Ms. Bailey I’d have that damn story in by Monday. Ha, so fucking much for that. I don’t remember promising anyone else of anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if come tomorrow, I realize that Ms. Bailey isn’t the only one I let down. I remember making a list of homework to do on Friday afternoon. Maybe, for the first time in my life, I’m upset because I’ve let myself down and not someone else. *Audience gasps in awe*
I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine with lying in bed all day tomorrow while the sun rises and sets beside my window. I keep telling myself that if I do decide to go, I won’t put any effort into pleasing anyone. I’ll do enough to get through the day, because
1. pretending not to care is sometimes my way of dealing with stress
2. that’s the only way I can imagine myself getting through
3. I’ve already forgotten what three was
We’ll see how it goes. I’m sure there was more I wanted to say, but I’m too tired and irritated and icky to do anything more but to go lay down.
I’ve completely wasted the past 72 hours. I feel icky. There really isn’t another way to describe my emotions right now. It’s all my fault. I set out to accomplish things this weekend and I haven’t accomplished a damn thing. Not even a good night’s sleep. I haven’t been taking my pills or watching what I eat. I’ve only weighed myself twice. My body is in horrible shape. I want to cry because I know it’s all my fault and it’s going to be a long week getting back to the small start I had.
I’d kill for a cigarette right now. It seems to make everything better for five or ten minutes, and that’s all the time I need to fall asleep. It’s already 12:30am and I really don’t know how I’m going to get myself to sleep. But then I don’t want go to bed because I fear I’ll just wake up at five again, like last night. I don’t like those kinds of repeats.
I really don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I don’t want to live tomorrow. It’d be great if we could just skip to Tuesday. (Wow, that sentence put a new taste in my mouth. I hate Tuesdays.) I don’t want to have to go tomorrow and see the look on everyone’s face when they find that I’ve failed to follow through on my word. I told Ms. Bailey I’d have that damn story in by Monday. Ha, so fucking much for that. I don’t remember promising anyone else of anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if come tomorrow, I realize that Ms. Bailey isn’t the only one I let down. I remember making a list of homework to do on Friday afternoon. Maybe, for the first time in my life, I’m upset because I’ve let myself down and not someone else. *Audience gasps in awe*
I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine with lying in bed all day tomorrow while the sun rises and sets beside my window. I keep telling myself that if I do decide to go, I won’t put any effort into pleasing anyone. I’ll do enough to get through the day, because
1. pretending not to care is sometimes my way of dealing with stress
2. that’s the only way I can imagine myself getting through
3. I’ve already forgotten what three was
We’ll see how it goes. I’m sure there was more I wanted to say, but I’m too tired and irritated and icky to do anything more but to go lay down.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Winter
29 December, 09
I had a panic attack last night. I don’t know why. A million thoughts flooded into my mind suddenly and then I couldn’t breathe. It lasted for about an hour. I caught my breath in half that. My grandma was on the phone talking about all this shit that’s been stressing her out. It really had nothing to do with me, so I don’t know why it bothered me so much. I kept hearing her talk and it just got worse. Ugh. I just heard a ton of stuff I didn’t need to hear.
I ended up texting Qm. She was so sweet about all of it and helpful. She talked to me for like two hours, even though she was at a party. Probably at the apartment. She made me promise that I wouldn’t “do what (I) usually do.” I kept it, even though it was beyond tempting to break. I just stayed on my laptop and kept texting her. I didn’t feel wanted or loved. I don’t, still, but last night Qm made me feel better. That counts for something. I told her I wanted to go to sleep, but that I couldn’t. That I needed sleeping pills. This is what she said: “no more pills baby. You need your life back.” It’s so true. I need my life…back. I’m hesitant on the back part. I don’t believe I’ve had a worthy life to begin with. Or at least not one I want back.
I feel like crying, but I don’t want to. It’s childish. But maybe not. That wouldn’t be the only thing behind my tears. I’m only upset because my break has been…uneventful and depressing. I finally had something to look forward to. Now I don’t. It makes me sad. Makes me want to cry. Now I have nothing. I have a couch to lay on and a DVR to watch. I don’t have anything to do. I don’t want today to be another day that I spend in my pajamas. I want a reason to get up and get dressed and see people and do things. All of my friends seem to have someone to hang out with or somewhere to be, something to do. I feel like I’m gonna cry. I could call Horowitz. I could, but I don’t want to bother him. I don‘t want to bother anyone. I feel like a burden. I’m at my grandparents and I feel like a burden to everyone. I’m going to cry.
I had a panic attack last night. I don’t know why. A million thoughts flooded into my mind suddenly and then I couldn’t breathe. It lasted for about an hour. I caught my breath in half that. My grandma was on the phone talking about all this shit that’s been stressing her out. It really had nothing to do with me, so I don’t know why it bothered me so much. I kept hearing her talk and it just got worse. Ugh. I just heard a ton of stuff I didn’t need to hear.
I ended up texting Qm. She was so sweet about all of it and helpful. She talked to me for like two hours, even though she was at a party. Probably at the apartment. She made me promise that I wouldn’t “do what (I) usually do.” I kept it, even though it was beyond tempting to break. I just stayed on my laptop and kept texting her. I didn’t feel wanted or loved. I don’t, still, but last night Qm made me feel better. That counts for something. I told her I wanted to go to sleep, but that I couldn’t. That I needed sleeping pills. This is what she said: “no more pills baby. You need your life back.” It’s so true. I need my life…back. I’m hesitant on the back part. I don’t believe I’ve had a worthy life to begin with. Or at least not one I want back.
I feel like crying, but I don’t want to. It’s childish. But maybe not. That wouldn’t be the only thing behind my tears. I’m only upset because my break has been…uneventful and depressing. I finally had something to look forward to. Now I don’t. It makes me sad. Makes me want to cry. Now I have nothing. I have a couch to lay on and a DVR to watch. I don’t have anything to do. I don’t want today to be another day that I spend in my pajamas. I want a reason to get up and get dressed and see people and do things. All of my friends seem to have someone to hang out with or somewhere to be, something to do. I feel like I’m gonna cry. I could call Horowitz. I could, but I don’t want to bother him. I don‘t want to bother anyone. I feel like a burden. I’m at my grandparents and I feel like a burden to everyone. I’m going to cry.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Monster Inside Me
I wake up in the morning and I feel nothing. My body, my mind is numb and as I look around me, I begin to suffocate slowly. There is nothing on earth for me. I hear the voices of everyone I love repeating the same words, repeating expectations, and force feeding me wisdom. I pull hard to keep my ears closed, because I just feel like a waste of God’s energy, but the voices are too persistent to ignore. I can sense the tears crawling forward when I think about it in that way.
Every night the same thoughts flutter like fireflies in my head. They say that I’m worthless. They say never to show my fucking face again. They say to follow through with the darkest thoughts I‘ve ever had. And I just sit and look at myself feeling sorry about the scars and how my body has to pay for my bad behaviors. I’m ashamed and I wonder how anyone could think of me in a good light. I’ve shamed God and I’ve shamed anyone who has ever loved me. I’ve shamed myself.
I’m in a scary place. I’m terrified to be alone with myself, and I don’t believe I’m mistaken. Terror is the correct word. I’ve been waiting and hoping every night that these thoughts just go away because they’ve been lingering for quite some time. I end up putting myself to sleep before I’m tired, only to quiet the voices. I’d like to get this off my chest and not be so lost and alone in this because I suddenly feel awfully alone. Suddenly I have no one at all to turn to.
This one is bad, the worst all year. Maybe I should catch it while I still can. These thought’s begin as a mere bud and then they sprout, and I brush them aside, hoping they’ll dissipate. Until I realize they’ve blossomed and I become so overcome with fear that it paralyzes me. Seven years and every year I go through this, but somehow it never grows old. It seems the older I get, the more grueling the circumstances. I’d reach out, except each time I think about it, I end up talking myself out of it. I’m an adult, I need to figure things out on my own, especially after all this time. I should have it together; another reason why I’d rather just swallow my pills right now.
Every night the same thoughts flutter like fireflies in my head. They say that I’m worthless. They say never to show my fucking face again. They say to follow through with the darkest thoughts I‘ve ever had. And I just sit and look at myself feeling sorry about the scars and how my body has to pay for my bad behaviors. I’m ashamed and I wonder how anyone could think of me in a good light. I’ve shamed God and I’ve shamed anyone who has ever loved me. I’ve shamed myself.
I’m in a scary place. I’m terrified to be alone with myself, and I don’t believe I’m mistaken. Terror is the correct word. I’ve been waiting and hoping every night that these thoughts just go away because they’ve been lingering for quite some time. I end up putting myself to sleep before I’m tired, only to quiet the voices. I’d like to get this off my chest and not be so lost and alone in this because I suddenly feel awfully alone. Suddenly I have no one at all to turn to.
This one is bad, the worst all year. Maybe I should catch it while I still can. These thought’s begin as a mere bud and then they sprout, and I brush them aside, hoping they’ll dissipate. Until I realize they’ve blossomed and I become so overcome with fear that it paralyzes me. Seven years and every year I go through this, but somehow it never grows old. It seems the older I get, the more grueling the circumstances. I’d reach out, except each time I think about it, I end up talking myself out of it. I’m an adult, I need to figure things out on my own, especially after all this time. I should have it together; another reason why I’d rather just swallow my pills right now.
Introductions...
We all hate them, but they must be done. There's no avoiding. There's no procrastinating. It's just down and dirty. So, I'll start by talking about me. Why? I'm not quite sure. Maybe because it's simple human nature for one to be fascinated with themselves and to expect others will be just as intrigued? It's possible.
The Basics
Name: Imani
Nickname (Because those are so important): Mani
Age: 18 (Legal, as I like to say)
Sex: F
Location: Stuck in Wisconsin
The Gritty Details
For the past eight or nine years I've suffered from a disorder. It's called major depression, or clinical depression, or a mood disorder, or major clinical depression with recurrent episodes. Whichever way you choose to skew the wording, I suffer from depression. But that's not it. Along with the depression are it's friends generalized anxiety (GAD), social anxiety, and self harm (SH). Through the years I've accumulated more scars than I can count, I've gone through more psychiatrists and therapists than I'd like to count, I've become well acquainted with hospitals, and I've felt more negative emotions in my adolescent life than some will before they die. It hasn't been a fun time, especially when you spend most of your time in an episode, waiting on an episode to reoccur, or getting over an episode.
This year is my last year in school, if we don't count college. This year has also been on of the worst, and that says a hell of a lot. Depression has been my sidekick since fourth, maybe fifth grade. We've grown up together. We've tried to destory each other, but despite all my might, there is no substanial relief. I was sad before I ever knew what happiness was, so to me, depression has taken over my entire life. Gradually, but surely.
So what's the purpose of the blog?
This year, after all that I've been through, I decided that I'd like to start a blog. Since I could write, I've been writing, journaling, and practicing the craft of poetry until it became second nature. Most of my writing, I've salvaged for the very moment I'd take the time to reach out to other people. Well this blog is me reaching out. This blog is me wanting other kids, other adults, other sufferers to know that they are not alone and pleading with them not to fight their fight in the darkness of isolation. And if I do nothing else with my life, I want to stand up and out so that I can help people fight.
In this blog I will include poetry. I will post journals from different time periods of my life so far, hopefully I'll manage to do it in some order. I will post pictures of my artwork. I will share my day with you. I will put myself out there so that light will be shed in as many corners as this blog can reach because I'd like for you to fight with me.
And there you have it. My story. An intro to my wry humor and sarcasm. Happy blogging.
xo
Imani
The Basics
Name: Imani
Nickname (Because those are so important): Mani
Age: 18 (Legal, as I like to say)
Sex: F
Location: Stuck in Wisconsin
The Gritty Details
For the past eight or nine years I've suffered from a disorder. It's called major depression, or clinical depression, or a mood disorder, or major clinical depression with recurrent episodes. Whichever way you choose to skew the wording, I suffer from depression. But that's not it. Along with the depression are it's friends generalized anxiety (GAD), social anxiety, and self harm (SH). Through the years I've accumulated more scars than I can count, I've gone through more psychiatrists and therapists than I'd like to count, I've become well acquainted with hospitals, and I've felt more negative emotions in my adolescent life than some will before they die. It hasn't been a fun time, especially when you spend most of your time in an episode, waiting on an episode to reoccur, or getting over an episode.
This year is my last year in school, if we don't count college. This year has also been on of the worst, and that says a hell of a lot. Depression has been my sidekick since fourth, maybe fifth grade. We've grown up together. We've tried to destory each other, but despite all my might, there is no substanial relief. I was sad before I ever knew what happiness was, so to me, depression has taken over my entire life. Gradually, but surely.
So what's the purpose of the blog?
This year, after all that I've been through, I decided that I'd like to start a blog. Since I could write, I've been writing, journaling, and practicing the craft of poetry until it became second nature. Most of my writing, I've salvaged for the very moment I'd take the time to reach out to other people. Well this blog is me reaching out. This blog is me wanting other kids, other adults, other sufferers to know that they are not alone and pleading with them not to fight their fight in the darkness of isolation. And if I do nothing else with my life, I want to stand up and out so that I can help people fight.
In this blog I will include poetry. I will post journals from different time periods of my life so far, hopefully I'll manage to do it in some order. I will post pictures of my artwork. I will share my day with you. I will put myself out there so that light will be shed in as many corners as this blog can reach because I'd like for you to fight with me.
And there you have it. My story. An intro to my wry humor and sarcasm. Happy blogging.
xo
Imani
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)