Bad Week

Sometimes I wonder if everything I do is even worth anything. I have the hardest time just keep up my blogs, let alone a true life. I make mistakes and mine tend to be monumental fuck ups with horrid ramifications. For instance, I was scammed this week and basically gave away $2000 worth of the company's money. I don't want to go into details on the how because I don't want some mook to go about and scam some one else. Needless to say, I was rather surprised to still be employed. I was, however, written up and demoted. I can feel that I am on a very small tether and its being slowly cut from under me.

To add to it, my parents have expressed that they feel I should move out because they don't want to worry about me being able to live on my own. I know I can, that I could make a success of it. The issue is money. I haven't got any to spare. If I get state aide then its possible, but there are so many people who are waiting. I'd also need food stamps. My head starts to ache just thinking about it.

On one hand I would love to live on my own. I wouldn't have to worry about walking in my own house wearing a tank top, there would be no one to see my scars. No one would make comments such as "Did you play chicken with a cigarette, again?" Yes, my father has asked that, I usually ignore him. There was talk of my moving into the camper. That's fine with me, its big enough for one and my books. Dad worries about my living it though, emptying the tanks and such. I'd rather an apartment simply because it doesn't move with every damned step and its definitely big enough for all these books. But then we come back to how the bloody hell am I going to pay for it?

I'm getting edgy now, I feel like I need to injure. I'm stressing out about moving, strike that... I'm stressing about paying for it. I'm stressing about work. I feel like they are going to fire me. I just can't deal with that right now... I can't. 

Bad Week

This has been a bad week for me. I've burned once and cut twice. I want to do it again because I can't seem to calm down. I'm urgy, I want to go deeper. Being told I'm not good enough and that I need to be calm and happy doesn't help me. I know what I need but there isn't a smart way to go about it. I want to injure, to make the scream in my head go away. There comes a time when you have to give up, to let a part of yourself go forever. But I'm not ready to die, not yet.

Oh My Head

I have the worst headache right now. I want it to go away and, God help me, I have the worst idea of how to get rid of it. I know, logically, that hurting myself will not make the headache go away. But part of me wants to try. That thought is making me ill and desperate at the same time. It feels like my eye ball is trying to pop out of my damned head. There has to be some logical reason, there really has to be. I need there to be. Otherwise I'm going insane.

Steampunk

Well, I was invited by a friend of mine to attend a steampunk convention next year, if we can swing it. So I thought I should best get ideas together for an ensemble. I was thinking of going as what I do best. I'm a writer, I could make a costume that incorporates pens, paper, ink. I was thinking of taking some blank index cards, dying them with tea to age them and adding information to them like the old card catalogs from libraries. Of course I'm going to make them  fake, books that have never been published, namely mine. :) I plan on fanning them to a hat.

Because I don't want to wear a dress, I'm thinking of drover pants, you can see them in old Western movies, cowboys wore them before denim. I could take boots with laces and put gears at the eyelets. I'm thinking of a bolero vest and maybe a light weight coat, long one. The jewelry is easy, I can make that in my sleep. I don't know, just seems like something fun.   

It'd be interesting to see how the whole thing works, what will happen. And the good news is that I can also wear the outfit to Comic-Con.

Bruises and Lies

Most people are assuming that I have an abusive boy friend again. I don't a boy friend in the first place, let alone an abusive one. I had hit my forearm near the wrist, yes as self harm, and now its all bruised. I've been lying to people who ask saying I was horsing around at work. They believe me and that's fine. I won't have to tell them that I did it to myself to keep from screaming, that hitting my arm was faster then finding a blade or matches. I think I'll have to cover it with make-up today, just to keep the questions to a minimum.

Maybe I'm getting to the point where I no longer give a fuzzy rat's ass. That isn't true, I don't want anyone to know what I've done to myself. Its easier, I think. Definitely safer. The fewer people who know the less likely I am to be paraded around or "saved". I'm not dying, I don't need to be saved. Hell, maybe I do need it, maybe I do...

TWOLHA

For anyone that doesn't know TWOLHA, To Write Love On Her Arms, is an organization that tries to bring awareness to self injury. They try to educate those that don't understand and help those in pain find help they need. All in all, its a good programme. To support the organization's financial situation, they sell t-shirts and jewelry that has they're name on it. I saw one of those t-shirts yesterday and told the girl wearing it that I thought she was doing a good thing. She smiled and said that she thinks people that don't have clue need to be educated about self harm, that its not suicide but no one seems to get it. I smiled at her because, even though she doesn't hurt herself (well not that I could see anyway) she seemed to want to help.

Her mother asked what TWOLHA meant and I gave her a short explanation. Her response? "I feel sorry for those that hurt themselves. To be in so much pain that they feel they need to hurt themselves on the outside to calm whatever hurts on the inside? Such a burden."

Such a burden, indeed. Its heavy having to lie about how you got the bruises on your wrist, why you have marks that seem to have no explanation, saying that you don't like to show above your elbows because it makes you feel uncomfortable. Okay so the last one isn't a lie, more like a half truth. Many of my cut scars are above the elbow, where a t-shirt will hide it well. Still, though I couldn't tell her aloud, I did think to myself, "Thank you, ma'am, for not thinking that we're trying to die. Thank you for realizing that we are trying to live."

Updates

Been a rough couple of days. I haven't been sleeping again, which does nothing to improve my moods. I'm edgy and annoyed, which in turn causes me to stew over things then I get urgy and then I injure. Its a horrid cycle. I was late for work yesterday and that isn't good for me. I view it a failure and that never goes well. I banged my hand so bad that now its all swollen and sore. I really should be more careful.

I did receive my latest copies of Fullmetal Alchemist, my reward for not injuring for a month. No cuts and no burns! I have to say that I am proud of myself for this. I have bruised myself in that time, but nothing that left scars. I'm feeling a little hyper and panicky. I just need to sleep damn it. Last night, I slept but tossed and turned, no nightmares that I can recall. Sick of the nightmares, though they do provide a good basis for stories.

I guess that's all I have right now. Ciao!

Reward For Hard Work

On Monday, it will be one month since my injury. It hasn't been easy and yesterday especially I wanted to because it was such a stressful day. People at work were all nasty and mean, I had a headache and was stressing out. I wanted to get into my car and light a match. I resisted, blared the radio and came home. If I can make it to Monday, then I can buy two new books in my favourite manga series, Fullmetal Alchemist.

I've been watching the anime and I have been enjoying the story again. Its funny how something so simple can make me calm.

Game System

I'm debating buying a video game system. I used to love the PlayStation One, but that was obviously a very long time ago. I bought a PS3 last year and returned it twice because I could not get it to log onto the internet, thus making it useless. Might be a good way to distract myself, maybe an Xbox360. I don't know. I'll look into it and see what I can find.

No Need For Excuses...

...When no one notices. I suppose this is a good thing. I managed to keep myself from screaming and freaking the hell out at work the other day. Of course to do so meant that I bit the palm of my hand, that plump part nearest the thumb. Now its all bruised and looks like I spilled ink from a toner cartridge. It only really hurts when I use my hand, which is all the time. I plan to do some yard work today, I could explain the bruise as a mishap with secateurs, hand shears.

Its getting harder and harder to live with my parents. I seem to keep doing everything wrong. I was blamed for leaving a mess on the kitchen stove, keep in mind that I hadn't personally cooked anything for several days and it wasn't me who left the bloody mess! Makes me wonder for how long this can go on. I'm beyond tired. I took a few sleeping pills last night and blissfully did not dream once and I slept all the way through the night.

This morning was a bit odd, there was a boom of some sort. Something sonic, it made my curtain move in a way unnatural of a breeze. I'll have to keep in mind to find out what it was.

God, this has become a ramble, hasn't it? Back to coffee and Inspector Lewis.

Just Tell Me

So tonight I made dinner of chicken fajitas with bell peppers and onions and a side of salad. It was a big hit, Dad had three servings. I'm glad he enjoyed it, though it would be nice if he actually said something once in a while. I make dinner rather often and he rarely tells me if he liked it, so I don't know if I need to change something or not bother cooking it again.

Of course where his damned pride is concerned, I'll not hear the end of it. For instance, Brutus was the house last week when I got home and it was quite a shock. I'm not terribly fond of him and view him as a liar and betrayer. My father seems to think he is perfectly kind and has changed. Not from what I saw! It was an argument the moment I walked into the door. Again Dad said nothing and I had no warning. I don't care that I forgot my cell at home, just having the courtesy of a text would have been appreciated and I wouldn't have been angry at Dad. He knows that I don't like my brother. At least let me know! Bit what happens the next day? I get in trouble for not being kind to a guest! GUEST?! More like an enemy invited into the gates and given plans to the inner citadel!

Brutus also stayed the night, not leaving until after I had gone to work that morning. I had to lock my door for the first time in almost two years. He's stolen from me before and I did not want a repeat. Dad didn't like that too much and I did not care. What I did care about was having a situation made very clear to me that I was no longer wanted in this house. It seems that since I can't acknowledge that Brutus is my brother and has changed, I am being disrespectful. I view it as self preservation. This entire thing is a big ass mess which left me feeling urgy for hours afterward. A feeling that I gave into. I cut and that makes me feel like a failure. I tried deep breathing and cross stitching and knitting as distractions. No luck.

I wish I could talk to my therapist, but I won't see her for another week. I wish my health insurance would kick in, then I could see her more often.

New Possibilities

So there has been talk around the house over the last few days that I could move out by this time next year. I'll have my vehicle paid off by then and will have a simpler time of things but not by much. I'm going to try and get money from the county for rent help and food stamps. If things go according to the simple plan, I will be living not far from here and in a place of my own.

One can only hope.

S.I.A.D -- Not a Holiday

Self Injury Awareness Day, yet another has come and I haven't done the ribbon idea. I've been wanting to take orange ribbons and tie them all over town and have them say SIAD on them. I forget every year. I think though that today I will track down my orange bracelet. I'm sure I have one floating round someplace.

The point of today is to wear orange and start discussions on self harm, an idea that scares the hell out of me. Self harm is scary anyway, the hiding, always hiding! I'm glad though that there is one day devoted to self injury awareness. Not enough people know the truths about self harm. To many we come off as sick and twisted people who need to be very well medicated. Not the case. We're survivors, like anyone else. We aren't monsters... not by a long shot, but people who need compassion.

Rough Afternoon

I got to work today and had a rough go of it. My hands were shaky and I was really edgy. I'm not sure if I can all it manic, but it was close. As soon as the lines calmed, I was still pacing the floors and moving, shaking my hands to rid them of the shakes. I didn't notice at the time, but I see that I have a few nail marks in the back of my hand. Minor dissociation, I suppose, which scares the hell out of me.

I know I should tell Dr. B about that, but I really am afraid of being locked in a psych ward. I can't even have my socks on in bed because I feel like I'm tired up, so really being locked up would not be the best course. She has reassured me time and again that she will not send me into a hospital unless I am very much a danger to myself and she would have no choice then. That always makes me curious, the phrase "danger to myself". I injure myself to take the pain away, or to feel something real, tangible. Doesn't that say I am a danger to myself, or does it mean suicidal? If danger to self equals suicidal then I'll never be in a hospital because I am never suicidal. Even if I was, I'm not sure I'd tell Doc about it. There are still many things that I don't tell her, but I have opened more in these latest sessions then I did at the start.

I feel more free to discuss my self harm. I still think that she is disgusted by certain aspects, though she never says so. She asked me, "What do you think I'm thinking when you mention self harm?"
"I think you're disgusted, most people would be."
She looked sad and said that she was sad that I thought that way. "I'm sorry that you hurt yourself and I wish you wouldn't, but then that's why I'm here. To help you."

God... I feel so ugly and dirty, so horrid. I'm not attractive, not really. I'm chubby and lazy, which means that I never seem to stick to a fitness schedule. I need to eat better, no more junk. I need to start walking again. I'm gaining a few pounds and I hate it. I hate being fat!

Bad Idea

For some reason, I am feel very edgy and I do not like it. I can't seem to think straight and I feel that if I would injure then I could be stable again. This is not logical, I know that. Maybe I could take a sleeping pill and be all right? I'm not wanting to do that yet again because I had a beer earlier.

My therapist did not like it when I said that self injury is like destroying myself one bit at a time, but what else could I call it? I feel like this entire thing is one big bad idea. I feel fat and ugly. I feel manic... I don't know what to do or think right now. The whole thing is giving me a head ache. Fuck it... I'm taking the pill and going to sleep!

Breaking Point?

I am beside myself right now. My dearest mother is insisting that I have a walkie talkie in my room so she can contact me when she wants. I cannot believe that the little freedom I have is being taken away. Its not right. The entire thing is one sick method of control. I am tempted to break the fucking thing right now! I'm angry, furious that I am forced to be a fucking lap dog!

Sad thing is, when she mentioned it before and I said I didn't like the idea, she was not best pleased. Oh god this is beyond anything I agreed to. I hate it. The older she's getting the more paranoid and ignorant. I can feel my blood boiling and all I want to do is cut to get rid of the anger, if just for a little while. I want to cut so bad. I want to burn so bad... This is not right!

Freedom

Had therapy yesterday. I mentioned it and thought, "Wow, how sad is that?" I realized that I am truly myself when no one else is awake. Before anyone gets up, I can enjoy my coffee and chat online, I can write my block and read my books, I can make jewelry and knit all without having my parents making a fuss or getting in the way. I can wear tanks in the early morning without worrying about my scars. I can chat with my friends without my parents, specifically my mother, telling me to be careful and that those people are only out to get me. I know them better then that.

I feel free in the early morning and late evening. When I am alone, I can be who I am not some actor on a stage. I don't have to put on a happy face and smile though it hurts. Its so hard, exhausting to act all damned day. My only freedom is in the small hours of the morning or evening.

Nothing Of My Own

Mom said yesterday that the house is too small, that we need more space for when my niece and nephew come to visit. The solution? Put the niece in my room! Oh, of course, why did I not think of this? That would be because we tried that once before and I had to sneak into my own room, and barely move all night so she wouldn't wake up. I am beyond sick of bending to the will of everyone else. For fuck's sake! If I could afford to move out, I would, in a heart beat, but since I can't I'm stuck with allowing everyone to do what they want to me. Feel like a victim, violated for what they wanted and left to deal with the aftermath.

I have to get rid of things I've had for years, because Mom thinks I'm too cluttered. She doesn't want me to become a hoarder. I could fucking shoot TLC for showing that programme. Now she thinks that I am weak and incapable of anything! FUCK!!! I mean really, I am stronger then she ever was. I have never allowed a person to beat on me without delivering more then I got. I handle my own issues, I cope as well as I can and that usually involves blades or flames. But damned if I deserve being treated like an idiot or a mental case!

I mean hell, I am this close to just giving in and telling her to do whatever she wants. Don't bother asking me anything because you aren't going to care what I want anyway. One day, she'll see that all the strength she empowered me with was a bad idea because I am going to snap and freak out on her.

Assignment

I wrote last time that my therapist sent me with a homework assignment. First to free write on anger then to write a letter to self harm. The free write on anger is proving difficult and I think I'll write poetry without rules instead. Anyway the letter is done and I wanted to post it here as well.


Dear Self Injury,
It would be easy to say that I don't like you, even that I hate you, but I find it difficult to hate one that has been of such help to me. You've made it easier for me to handle problems that I didn't have the ability to cope with, emotions that were too difficult for me to handle. Times when I felt numb, you've been there to let me feel something tangible. When I've felt too much, you've given me only pain to focus on.

Hitting, you've been a constant companion for over a decade. You never leave a lasting mark, only a change of colours. Your effect doesn't last as long, but you're always around when I need you most. I'm afraid of using you sometimes because I don't want to cause any lasting damage. A broken bone is hard to explain, bruises are easier.

You've been with me a long time as well, Cutting. I've used your services when I need to calm down, when I feel a failure, or that I am not enough for anyone. Your sting is just enough to keep me from loosing myself, from becoming numb. In some way, I'm glad that you're there when I need you, but you've left me with scars. I can't wear shirts shorter then my elbows now.

Its funny how we don't realize that something is self harm until much later. I'm not sure when it started but Scratching or Picking my skin has become as common as Bruising. I don't realize I'm using you until I have bled and the deed is done. I have noticed that I pick when I'm anxious. You're the sneaky one, you come onto my skin of your own accord, uninvited. Often I don't realize how much damage has been done until its too late. You've left your marks on my hands.

Finally, Burning. You have left me with the most damage, you're also the youngest. I'm glad that you don't show up too terribly often. The problem is that you're too good, you feel too good. The pain you give me to focus on isn't like any of the others. The high lasts for hours and the pain can continue for days. The scars, though, though are highly visible, yet no one has ever noticed them.

Self harm, you have twisted my mind and warped my thoughts to the point that anything and everything can become a tool, a weapon to kill the emotional pain. You've become like a gang land ally. I have to pay a price for your help and its not always the help I need. Certainly not the safest way to cope with my problems. In a way, I feel you've lied to me. You promised to make me feel better. I guess I should have read the fine print where you said that it wouldn't be permanent.

Sometimes I feel as if I've become a can of soup, you know, labeled. I have come to think of myself as a Harmer or an Injurer first and a writer second. I know all the thinks I am; clever, intelligent, talented, grounded. Every time I turn to you, though, everything melts away and I am merely an Injurer or a method, cutter, burner, scratcher.

I hate how you have become like a drug to me, like heroin. If I injure enough, I'll calm down and sink into oblivion. If I'm really lucky, I'll sleep without dreaming, without the nightmares that have plagued me for some time. I blame you those partly. The more stressed I get, the further I try to go without you, the more difficult the nightmares become. Some mornings, I wake and want to go straight to you to make the start better then with me stressed out and edgy. Self Injury, you've been a helpful friend, but, like every friend I've had, you can't be trusted. I want to live my life without you, but I'm not sure I'm ready that I can. You have infiltrated my life like a Cold War double agent.

There has to be a way for us to part ways, one day. I know that I'm strong because I bear much weight on my shoulders. I know that we can separate, its going to take time and help, but I'll move forward and live my life without you.

Right now, I feel weak and feeble because I rely too much on you. It has to stop. You're not good enough for me. This parting is going to be long and bittersweet, but it has to happen.

Most Sincerely,
R-

Homework

So my therapist gave me a homework assignment. Since I go so far between seeing her, I asked if she thought that would be a good idea. She was agreeable and gave me a few points to write on. First, write on anger, free write style. Then a letter to my methods of self harm, either collectively or individually.

I think that I made the right choice last time when I had her ask me anything. I feel more free to talk about self harm and what its done to me, or rather what I've done to myself. It helps. We'll just have to wait and see what happens, not much to do but wait as I see it.

Rough Session

So I told my therapist that I would let her ask me anything, in an attempt to stop talking in circles. She asked me what I thought she would, methods. I went to therapy wanting to find better coping methods, maybe even stop SI all together. It was hard, it always is, being in a room and telling someone that I'm an injurer. Its harder still to tell them methods. I can type them, no worries, because I don't ever have to see your faces, Readers. I don't ever have to look you in the eye.

I told her about the hitting, wrist banging (which I had to explain. Apparently, she doesn't encounter that one much.), cutting, burning, skin picking/scratching. I felt broken, damaged... I guess I always feel that way. I started to cry, I allowed myself to be vulnerable for all of two minutes, then I stopped crying. Tears are not something I do in public or in front of others. Tears are mine and mine alone.

"You're trying not to cry," my therapist said. I only nodded.

It was a rough session for me, but I hope it helps me open up more, stop talking in circles. She had suggested that I use the rubber band trick as an alternate for self harm. Not good for me, the welts left behind look like cuts that weren't deep enough to break the skin and they snapped right over the burn scars. Those burns are still discoloured from the band. I don't think I'll be using that too often. Maybe as an alternate to hitting, which I do when I'm at work and feeling panicked.

I've been getting attacks of anxiety lately. My hands shake and I get paranoid. Not sure what triggers them. Well, I suppose I can change the subject here...

--Books--
So I've got a few reading challenges going this year. The most notable is to read at twelve books that have been on my shelf for longer then a year. All the ones I chose have been on my shelf for way longer then that. So far I have read four of them and finished one from last year, so my total books read are five this year. I've picked up reading more often again, nice release, to vanish into some one else's story for a time and forget your own.

Ask Me Anything

I've decided to tell my therapist that she can ask me anything on my next visit. I feel that I am talking in circles and that this would be a good chance to break that habit. I always reserve the right to not answer any question. That habit has led to a few walls. For example, during our first session, she asked about my methods and I told her that I did not want to answer that.

I think that by not answering, I am making more problems, or at least difficulties for her. If I allow myself to trust her enough then this work out fine. We'll know for sure on Tuesday.