Crying? Whatever

I am so tired of everything. I don't want to bother with any of it anymore. My brain is screaming for release and I have only one way to appease it. Injure or cry. One leaves scars that last a lifetime. The other? Hell, I can't remember how to cry anymore.

That's not exactly true. Last week I felt so overwhelmed that my system had a mild meltdown. I came home from work, went to my room, and cried until my head was splitting. Did I feel better? Did my brain release hormones to counter the stress? NO! All I got in return was a damned head ache. Where do these yuppies get that crying helps?

Maybe I'm not normal, maybe there is something wrong with me. Hell, that's a given. Of course there's something wrong with me. I cut, I burn, I hit myself. Normal people don't do those things. If they do, they must be better actors then anyone in Hollywood.

Steampunk Done Right

All right, I do like Steam Punk, though I have yet to dress the part. I love the clock works and romance of it all. The simplicity of a time long past. There are gentlemen of honour and woman of poise, self respect and the beauty of telling a story.

That being said I want to point something out. This is NOT Steam Punk!!

This is nothing more then soft porn and if you think that this is what Steam Punk looks like, you're a flaming moron! Steam Punk looks like this:

Rich, deep tones, leather, lace, keys, cogs... That is real Steam Punk. Its romantic and beautiful, not slutty. Get it straight, I beg you.

Partial Suicide

So I talked to Dr B about sharing parts of my blog with her mainly because I think it would help her in our sessions. I have this abhorrent inability to talk directly about my self harm. I dance around the issue like you wouldn't believe. How the hell is she supposed to help me if I say nothing about why I'm there? She suggested that I "cherry pick" posts that I want to discuss and she'll help me. All right, that's fair. And I appreciate that she gives me the freedom to choose.

I'd love to tell her that I snap rubber bands at work, or bang my wrists and hands till they bruise. I cut to feel something other than anger. I burn to calm down because I can't handle the screaming in my head anymore. "It makes me feel sad when you say things like that, that you hurt yourself," Dr B said once. Really? How do you think I feel when I have to fight my demons alone?! I'm tired, exhausted from living. Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I'm too damned stubborn for that. Besides, I know that I don't want to die. I guess Susanna Kaysen said it best, "I didn't want to die. I wanted to kill the part of myself that wanted to die. A form of partial suicide." What she had done was swallow a bottle of aspirin then go to the grocer's and pass out in front of the meat counter. She'd succeeded in some way, killing only a piece of herself.

Maybe that's what I'm after, killing the part of myself that hates breathing, that finds life a daily struggle. Cutting, burning, bruising as a way to find an inner peace that is beyond me. I can almost grasp it sometimes, barely touching it before it slips away like a butterfly in a breeze. I can find beauty in the most filthy alley, but not when I look into my own eyes... eyes that have watched as my pen slides across paper and writes poetry that others find moving.

You have no idea how damn tired I am, I can't seem to close my eyes without feeling a sense of foreboding. That can't be normal.

Do you know how you can tell that you aren't crazy? You're asking what is or isn't normal. Sane people don't need to ask, crazy people don't care. 

I Know I Shouldn't...

...but I just can't help it. I cut my wrist about a four days ago, but I keep picking at it. Its going to scar over eventually and that doesn't really bother me in the slightest. I feel as if I deserve the scar. I got angry, lost my temper and injured... Am I going crazy? Do I care? Answers: Not sure and Yes.

I'm starting to see shadows shift in the night and bend unnaturally during the day. That's one of the ways I know that I am stressing too much. Yes, I do care if I'm going mad... it means I may be committed and I do not want that. Maybe I'll discuss this with Dr B at our next session.

I'm also considering giving her access to this blog. Not my private journal, that is strictly for me. It may have some bearing come Thursday when we speak again.

Damn You, Murphy

That went well... If it could go wrong it did. The heater in my car doesn't work, but then neither does the passenger window, so I'm screwed no matter what time of year it is. I had to deal with monumental stupidity at work, every fool and her son had to have shown up! I scratched my hand on the register and asked for a bandage. Took twenty minutes to get one and I had to do it myself on my break. Until then, my finger was wrapped in packing tape. I was almost hit by carts in the store and then vehicles on the road. Everyone was a maniac!

With everything going wrong, I was so angry, all I wanted to do was to injure and reset myself, like flipping a switch. In the end, I chose to take a very hot shower. That helped. I apologized to Mom for shouting at her. First thing I did when I came home was to shout at her all my frustrations. I should get her some flowers as a thank you.

Part of the problem was my sleeping, or not sleeping to be more precise. I go to bed at eleven, shut off the lights and stare at the damned ceiling. I was awake at one then again at three before I gave up at five. Sometimes I can sleep without problems, sometimes I don't. If I take an otc sleep aide, I wake with a head ache. Not worth it. I'm buzzing, I don't know really what the issue is. I can't work retail anymore, all I want to do is scream at everyone.

Maybe that is why people "go postal" and start shootings and whatnot in stores. Little wonder... And for the record: I HATE GUNS AND WOULD NEVER USE ONE!! A life isn't mine to take, not even my own.

Job Hunting

Here we go again... I hate hunting for work, especially when I need something rather specific. I need a job that pays at least eleven and hour if I am to pay rent with out my parents help. You see, my parents want me to move out just to settle their minds that I can handle living on my own. Whatever, I don't care. They can think that I am pathetic and unable to survive all they want, but I have been surviving all this time without their help, emotionally. I know I can do it without their help financially.

I have applications all over town, for everything I can think of that is not retail. I cannot handle retail anymore. All that makes me want to do is destroy everything I see. I have no patience for all the stupid I have to deal with. The only thing I can do is smile and nod.What I really want to do is throw soup cans at them. I'd get fired and sued, but that might be worth it. "Yo!" *smacks fool in the head with a can* "Stupid should hurt, bonehead!"

Oh well, if my therapist could read this, do you think it would worry her or make her laugh?

Lost Time

I mentioned this to Doctor B at our last session. The last few days I've lost track of time, I've been ahead of myself. For instance, if the clock reads three in the afternoon I'd be convinced its seven in the evening. Then I shut down in a way. Kind of like leaving your computer on and the screen saver goes? Like that. People would have to say something for me to pop back awake again. Its rather disconcerting.

The lost time makes me edgy and need something to hold myself in place. Usually this means injuring, which is exactly what I've done. Several times. I have four fresh sets of cuts as of today. I really want to burn, but feel like I should hold off, that I have to. There are far too many marks on my arms as it is, but I seem to crave it more when I shouldn't. Doc has told me that I should try allowing myself to cry more often, that the release of emotions would be better for me. She's right, of course, but my problem is that I seem unable to cry when I need to the most. Its troubling.

I'm having trouble sleeping again and that is probably adding to everything. I wonder if I should ask for sleep aides? No, best not. Most are addictive and I'll forget to take them anyhow. I was also thinking that letting my T read my blog may offer some insights since I am more free with my thoughts as a writer then a talker. I'll ask about it with some friends of mine that have had similar situations and get their input.