Photograph Day 2

So there a bit of tragic news the other day. A little boy from my congregation died, tragic doesn't describe... not even close. I decided to go to the park and take some photos instead of thinking on the whole thing. He died Saturday, I went to the park on Sunday. No self harm on Sunday's, its a rule. Photos? A walk? Absolutely! So here we go again...

 Autumn Red. I love autumn, its my favourite season and far too short, but the colours are amaing.

 Gazebo at the top of the hill in the park. Lovely views and good place for a bit of quiet reflection.

 Paths that can lead anywhere and nowhere at all.

 Black and white angle experiment. I'm holding the camera against the tree's trunk and looking up. 

 Sun through the changing leaves.

 Another angle experiment. The camera is about an inch off the ground.

Asters, like mums, bloom late in the summer and into the autumn. The flowers will remain until the first hard frost.

Photograph Day

So lately, I've been getting into photography, borrowing my father's digital camera, because lord knows he never uses it. Last weekend, a group of friends and I went into the mountains and took pictures, went on a walk. I don't do well, I suppose, but I do enjoy it. Seeing things in a slightly different way, seeking for inspiration and beauty in strange places. So here we go...

 Kate, she photographs beautifully in black and white, but then most people do. Its very forgiving as a filter.

 Kate and I, she's on the right. So I'm chubby, oh well.>>

The Yellow Wood.

 The Yellow Wood in black and white.

 Sierra Nevada mountains.

Sierra meadow.

I Don't Even Know

I'm not even sure how I'm feeling tonight. Numb, I suppose is the best answer. I want to injure, but that isn't a good idea. Why injure? Because I feel numb and tired and need to feel something!

I told TG about the PTSD diagnosis. She was lovely when I asked her if I could call her when I feel panicked. While she doesn't know about the self harming, or at least I've never told her, she does know about the depression and now the PTSD. I'm a bit edgy about that, though I know its only a diagnosis and not a sentence.

In an earlier post, I believe I rant for a while about my nightmares. If not, here's a bit of my thought process: The  nightmares don't make sense. I dream that I'm bound in some way: tied to a chair, locked in a room, hanging from a ceiling. And I'm being tortured for information that I either do or do not have. I've been beaten, electrocuted, tasered, and burned with cigars/cigarettes in my nightmares.

With the diagnosis of PTSD, the nightmares make sense. Its an emotion that connects them all, feeling trapped against my will. Being hyper-vigilant in crowds, or even at the mall or grocers, makes perfect sense when you add in the PTSD. Before I couldn't make a logical connection to the nightmares. But when I connect my past and the trauma of it all then it works. Its a relief in a way.

I'm edgy and tired and going to bed soon. I'll worry about work later and the season ending.

Numb and Alone

So I'm in a support chat for self harm. I say that I'm feeling numb and urgy, no one says a damned thing and starts talking about shoes! SHOES?!?!

I don't just say things to say them! I felt that I needed to talk, but no! There is less and less support in that chat lately. Its not easy for me to say anything especially when I need something. I'm tired, I'm stressed, angry, numb, urgy. Being ignored isn't what I needed.

Almost tempted to pull a Patch Adams. There's a scene where Patch is talking to his therapist, who is ignoring him. Patch tells him, "And then I decided to use my penis as a po-go stick until I realized that it wasn't a good mode of transportation." I'm so tempted to say that so often, to so many people. But there are two reasons why, 1) its a bit rude, 2) I do not, in fact, have a penis.

I see Doc tomorrow, I'll hang out till then, hopefully.

Stresses of the Life

So many things going on that I really don't care to deal with. I have to go to the welfare office tomorrow to apply for food stamps again. The last time I went it took an hour, time before? Three hours. I hate going through all the hoops for this! Its stressful and makes me angry, urgy.

On Tuesday, I have an appointment, we're discussing diagnosis this time. She mentioned that she thought I may have PTSD, and I want to discuss that more. Honestly, its a bit scary for me. PTSD is not an illness that has "popularity" around here. Of course, most people lump it with the soldiers that return half crazy. I was never in that type of traumatic event. I suppose though, having trauma over a long period of time can result in a mild form of the illness. I won't know more until Tuesday.

I haven't been sleeping well, but when do I ever. Tired, chilled, depressed. I want to scream or injure right now and I have no valid reason as to why. So exhausted I want to cry. I'm actually rather jealous of TG, she can cry and feel better emotionally. I can't and I wish I could.

Dear Body

So I saw this video ( Dear Body by Laura Lejeune ) and I thought I might make my own attempt at it, of course through words and not a video. No web cam and the built in camera on my computer is rubbish. Besides, it feels weird for me talk to myself out loud. As a writer, I tend to have monologues or stories playing out in my head all the time. So here goes, an open letter to my body.

Dear Body,
Overall, you're all right. You're nice and tall, which hides the fact you're chubby. Of course, being tall makes it hard to find jeans. I love your hair, its length isn't too long or short. Its shiny and straight, and very soft. I don't have you coloured often, but when I do I always choose aubourn. It looks lovely that colour and everyone seems to like to it.

Teeth... oh my, I'm very sorry for all the coffee. Your a tad stained, but not too bad. I've tried to keep you clean, but you've a few cavities anyway. For the most part you look good and you're nice and straight and you make for a lovely smile... when I actually do smile. Your eyes are lovely and quiet expressive. A dark brown that I use to communicate because often the words I need fail me.

I love your legs, so long and beautiful, though I keep you covered often. Being in the sun so often, I don't want you to get burned by it. I am sorry though, for the scars. There aren't too many and they aren't terrible looking, but I am sorry. Your arms have a sort of clumsy grace, long and beautiful like your legs but constantly bumping into things. The scars that mar your surface are things that I truly apologize for, more so because I know there will be more in the future.

Body, I do love you, though I don't treat you with the respect you deserve. Thanks for holding me up.

Bed Rest

Not doing too great today. I wasn't feeling well, and came home. The stomach pain is gone, mostly, but I don't want to get out of bed. I'm writing this post from my tablet, I can't get to my computer. That takes effort. Instead, I'm curled in bed watching CSI:NY and blogging or trolling pinterest. My parents are outside and enjoying the evening air.

I want to sleep, but am unable. Or else my system is unwilling. I'm tired. Damn it... I am so tired that just thinking about it makes me want to cry. I won't though, I can't. I think I may have forgotten how. That isn't true, I do cry, just never often.

Damn you, depression! Damn you.

Mum Asked... I Lied

So I'm sitting across the room from my mother and she sees my latest burn. The skin is a bit read but, not infected. Its healing rather well, actually. She just saw the mark, not that actual burn itself. She asked me what it was and being across the room with her eyesight as poor as it is, I could get away with the usual lie.

"Nicked myself at work," I shrugged.

She accepted that and left it. I hate how easy it is for me to lie about my injuries. Its almost as simple as breathing. I kept the burn hidden for just over a week. After all this time, all these stories and blaming my clumsiness ( which is very real, I'm incredibly accident prone) she finally notices and asks. We were expecting company, I wasn't in the mood, I didn't tell the truth.

Some day, I'll tell them everything. Some day... probably never. I've gotten into this thing alone. I'll get out of it with the help of my Doc.

Something I've Always Wanted To Do

I have always wanted to go through my hometown and take photographs of the buildings, the people, the flavour that makes my city interesting and wonderful. Without a camera, though, this has been just a pipe dream. Ah! But my father has become a shutterbug in his old age and has purchased a few cameras over the last couple of years. One of them is a simple Kodak digital. Its not much, its not fancy, but its simple and portable.

Saturday I went to a movie with TG and a bunch of her friends and family. Great film, The Giver. Rather well done for a book to movie, they usually leave me angry, but not this time. I digress. Photographs. I was early because parking in Downtown can be a royal pain in the arse. I brought the camera with me and managed several decent shots, if I do say so.

This man was getting married. His future mother-in-law made the vest for him.

The Arts Counsel Grants building. First floor is a restaurant that I've never tried.  I've always loved the architecture.

This man was selling his wares near the river. He looked so sad and lonely, I couldn't help but take his photo. I may write a story about him one day.

There's an amazing sculpture that looks like a huge butterfly. Seriously, its wonderful. The wings turn in the wind. Something constructed purely of metal can look so elegant fascinates me. I also took a photo standing inside. Nice viewpoint.

Finally, my favourite. This is a young man playing an accordion. Its not a common instrument, but hey... its a hobby. He was just down the way from the older man selling bracelets. I was struck but the young man, busking for change and playing by the river.

There will definitely be more of these. It was fun, creative, relaxing. 

A Conversation With Myself

All right, so Doc thought it would be a good idea for me to write out the opposing sides of my brain, of myself, when I want to injure or am thinking of injuring in general. What goes through my mind when I think of harming? All right... I've decided to write this as a conversation. Italics will be the "for" side of myself. Regular will the be "against" side.

I hate feeling this way, this anger at my parents, at the world in general. Or worse, I hate feeling numb. Numb is dangerous, it makes me desperate to feel something tangible. When its not the feeling of being numb, its that anger. It wells up and makes me feel out of control. That isn't something I am willing to forfeit, that control. 

Its perfectly fine to get angry once in a while. On the bright side, feeling numb means I'm not angry. Feeling something "tangible"? That's understandable, but something like a very hot or very cold cold shower might be a better idea. Control doesn't have to be forfeit, but I may not the strangle hold on it either.

It feels so good though, that high, that peace. That moment of calm. Those minutes and even hours in which I actually feel calm, feel good. Of course, those are also the moments that I don't want to scream at people. 

How long does that high last? Cutting is only a few hours, burning might last me a few days. In the end I'm right back where I started, so what good was it? All I end up with is another scar and no better off then I was at first.

Doesn't matter how long as long as there's a result. The scars are nothing important. No one ever notices them anyway. Not even the therapist, who seems to notice everything else, saw the scars until I showed her. Remember, harming keeps me in control and makes sure that the only person I hurt is me. 

That's a load of crap! The scars will always be there, some may fade, but many will remain. And someday some one that I don't expect will notice and I'll have to come up with an idea or another lie. Its the lies that get to me, they add to the guilt. That crushing guilt that makes me hate myself a little more every time I injure. I'm sick of the guilt, of the lies, of the nightmares, of everything!!

Those are perfectly good arguments for injuring. Why feel all that? Its perfectly acceptable to do something to feel better.

But not self harm. There are major risks involved! I could cut too deep, or a burn could get infected. Worse, there may come a time when I'm impelled (read forced) to go into an inpatient centre. There is not a valid to reason to self harm, no matter how well I may seem to justify it.

Hate to say this, but it is my body. I can do what I want to it.

That's a load of bull! I know full well that I have no right to destroy my body this way. Screwing around with pills and booze, blades, matches... That is not what God intended when He created me. There was a better purpose for my life than adding scars to my skin.

True, but that doesn't mean it still doesn't help those times when I'm feeling so terrible. Or confused. Or angry. Or any other emotion that I can't seem to handle. I like how I feel afterwards. There I said it. I like how I feel. 

Doesn't matter though! Feeling good or calm but using self harm to do it isn't going to last forever. What happens when burning isn't enough? Gonna start doing lines or something just as stupid? Of course, not, but still the point is: There will come a time when these current forms of harming won't be enough. Then what?

I don't know. I hate not knowing. 

So we are at the end of the conversation and nothing has been accomplished. I'm tired, I have a headache that I've been fighting all day. No, been fighting it for several days. 

This running dialog is similar to what goes through my head every single time I injure. Its exhausting, it really is. I have no idea how this is going to help Doc help me.

I Did It

So I did it and showed Doc my scars. Her response was, "That is a lot of pain." No kidding.  Honestly, it went better than I thought. After a while, she asked me what I was feeling. A bit scared, a bit relieved. Honestly, I'm not sure if I want to quit. Part of me does, part of me doesn't.

Doc suggested that I write out both sides of that debate. I put the arguments in my journal and will post a similar account later. Right now I'm exhausted and need to sleep. I'd been mulling over this moment of telling Dc for a week and lost much sleep worrying over nothing.

I'm glad it went so well, really. I'm in hury to tell the world mind, but it does make it easier.

Request From the Doc

So today, Doc asked if I thought it might be helpful to myself if I let her see my scars. Really see them, not just the glances that I'm sure she's gotten. Honestly, I think it might be time. The thought alone makes me edgy and slightly panicked, I've never really offered to or allowed someone to see the scars. Nightengale is the exception. Maybe it would be helpful, to her and to me.

You see, self harm has become this huge secret that gets in my way. Maybe by allowing her in a little more, it'll help me to be more open in general? Am I scared? Yes. Am I willing to try something new? Yes. Do I think it'll help? I'm not so sure, but willing to try.

Honestly, the scars, while mentioned, are not address directly. Feels like an elephant in the room that I don't want to think about, which of course makes me think about it more. I think that showing her will take away some of the guilt or shame in hiding.

All right... here goes. Next week, I'll show her my scars. God... did I just say that? Must have done, I feel slightly nauseous. And a bit light headed. But there it is, I said it, I'll do it.

"You Don't Deserve It"

At least, that's what the therapist says. Anger is something I always have to deal with, not easy. I tend to turn such an emotion onto myself in an effort to protect others. My arms tell the story of loosing my temper. I grew up with the phrase, "good girls don't loose their temper, good girls are ladies, good girls don't shout." To this day, I think those same things every time I loose my temper. It only makes it worse.

The thing is, sometimes I feel that I do deserve it, every single scar. Lost my temper, failed at whatever, lost jobs, no money, over stressing when I should be calm. I don't process anger well, so I tend to injure when I loose that temper. I know that its self punishment. Logically, I realize that I don't deserve it, but you try arguing with my subconcious.

This was the topic today, but I feel it should be gone further into at a later date.

Such a Liar...

Well that last post was about as vague as it gets. I was in California attending a convention that would start the next day. I was already stressing out and getting edgy. The next day, I had an anxiety attack that lasted about an eternity in 30 minutes. It was great...

On to the next bit of news. TG is my friend, I love her. I'll defend her and protect her as best I can, when I can. I feel like I'm lying to her every time she asks me how I'm doing. I haven't told her about my harming, that may never a topic a broach. Still, I feel badly that a person that has become such a part of my life is someone I lie to almost daily. We text all the time, spend hours at a time together. We're friends, sisters in every way that matters.

As if I don't feel guilty enough about hurting myself, add to that the guilt of lying by omission and I feel horrid every time I see her. I felt the same with Nightengale.

"How are you?" -- Great! Perfectly fine, I didn't burn today. (note: that was sarcasm) What an ass am I! What do I do? The thought of telling her makes me feel sick because I don't know if she'll tell anyone, like her husband. He's one of these that will go to elders if he feels you need the help. Sure, I need help. Why do you think I'm in therapy? TG loves her husband and he has this freakish ability to see right through a person. He's even managed to do that with me and it was damned terrifying. No one can do that with me, I'm too good at hiding.

If I tell TG, she may or may not tell her husband, either way he's going to know something is wrong. And I can't burden her with this. Its not fair. Not fair to her, I can't do that to her, put her in the middle. So I'll deal with the guilt and keep my secret.

Damn It

Stressed out. I'm fighting to not cry, or scream. My parents don't know what to do. Mum offered to have Dad go and get me a beer. the last thing is alcohol. Of course, what I'm craving is something that I cannot have either. I want to harm so bad, just to calm my brain.  I have a blade nearby, so at least I have the comfort of the knowledge that its nearby.

Right now, I'm using deep breathing to try and calm myself. Its not really working. Next, I'll be cross stitching, maybe that will help. I just need to keep my mind busy on somethng productive. I'm just tired and edgy and screaming in my head.

Damn it....
Damn it all.

Dealing With Frustration

So last Friday, I had an extra session with Doc. Along the conversation she said, "I don't know how you handle that must frustration all the time." I think her statement was rhetorical, either way I told her exactly how. I pulled up my 3/4 sleeves past the elbow and showed her a fresh burn and a couple week old cuts. "That... That is how I deal with the frustration!"

It was a flair of dramatics, something I am not prone to and that I felt the need to apologize for today. Her response was good. She was actually proud of the progress I've made. When I first started seeing her, I wouldn't say a thing about self harm even though I sought her out because of her work with it. I would talk in circles, I still do, its just not as bad.

Its not easy, carrying this with me every day. I'm tired, exhausted. I feel that there should be an end, but it seems to be going on forever. I don't feel that I have made any progress, though Doc disagrees. The secret I'm carrying seems so all-encompassing, so enormous.

Great, now I'm feeling that old foe, Depression, tugging at me with his buddies, Shame and Guilt. Screw it... I'm going to bed soon. I'll deal with this mess my life has become tomorrow.

Frozen

So I've finally seen the animated film everyone is singing to, Disney's Frozen. I must say that I was impressed. Lately, Disney has been just one major disappointment, but this wasn't bad. Its also the first of Disney's films that deals with depression, something that I heartily applaud.

TG had me over and we watched it. I can completely identify with Elsa, for many reasons. She keeps her pain to herself and doesn't let others into her thoughts or heart. To protect the person she loves most, she makes sure that there is no way she can be hurt by either her force or her pain. I get it. I do the same thing.

I don't cry in front of people; I hide my emotions under jokes, sarcasm, or bravado. The problem is that I see I do this and still make that a habit. TG is amazing, on two occasions she has just let me cry a little, didn't push me to talk about it. "Did you want to tell me?" That's how she asks, if I want to, no pressure. I love her for that. I should tell her more often.

I also understand Elsa feeling numb. "Conceal, don't feel." Shove emotion into a bottle and leave it there until you explode and create an everlasting winter. Sure, we've all been there, right? Ok maybe not turning the village and surrounding areas into winter wonderland, but we've all gotten to a point in which we either crumble into ourselves or explode.

I'm trying to not explode and send ice crystals all over the place, trying to keep myself together. I'm fighting, fighting... fighting. There has to be a moment in which I see the end, isn't there?

Lately, I've been feeling as if this darkness is trying to drag me into an abyss again. Its getting harder and harder to survive. There are more forced days, days in which everything is an effort. This week I had two days that I had to force myself through every motion, hells I even had to remind myself to breathe. In... out. In... out. An annoying mantra. "Remember, you still have to breathe."

Time, that's what I need. Time to heal and try to recover. I'll be 30 in a month... Thirty. And I'm still doing this?

Extra Session

I called Doc and left a message for to see if there was still an opening on her schedule last Friday. She returned my message in about a half hour, answering me with "Are you all right?" You see, I never call her, I leave emails. For me to call and request an extra session is unheard of, so of course she was worried.

When I got to her office, her face was marked with concern. I told her how I was feeling, that an extra bit of talk might help. She listened. I fought back tears like always.

"Why don't you want to cry? You always fight back tears."
"Because I'm supposed to be the strong one, because crying only ever gives me a headache and nothing more. Because I never feel that emotional release others do."

Maybe next time...

Even now, I'm still urgy. I am jonesin' for a burn. Not sure how much longer I can hold out. I've tried most of my usual distractions. Pinterest, chatroom, Avengers, blogging, reading. I'm running out of options.

I had to buy a new bra the other day, finally got one in my size and, while its comfortable, its also a great way to make me feel like a lard. Lucky me, I'm proportioned the way I am, otherwise these breasts would be way too big. Hence, why I am taking my ass to a gym, whether or not my mother wants met to.

I mentioned this to Doc as well. She's all behind me going to a gym. "Exercise releases endorphins. I think this is a great idea!" Not something that people tell me. So upon my Doc's recommendation, I'm going to a gym! I'll start Monday, loose a few pounds, hopefully get into a size 16. That's the goal.

My worry though is my mentality. It wouldn't take much for me to start going too far and wind up with an eating disorder. I already have a tentative relationship with food. I'm trying to nibble more and "eat" less. Should boost the metabolism. I'm just so sick of how I look.

Sick of how I look, sick of the scars, sick of the depression! Damn it!! I'm sick of everything. Tired, exhausted!

I'll see Doc again on Tuesday. We'll go over it all again.... Maybe it'll stop, this sick and twisted cycle of self hate.

Feeling Hopeless

I've been feeling so hopeless these last few days. I feel on the edge of tears, borderline despair. Its hard to find a reason to keep going. I'm tired and just want to give up.

People are dying left and right every night on the news. Children with guns are throwing temper tantrums and killing others. Its just a mess.  I see these things and it breaks what's left of my heart. Yesterday, TG and I were talking and the shootings of the last few weeks came up. I was also thinking of a report I'd heard about a former child soldier in Uganda. I cried the loss of lives of such young ones, children that barely had a chance to live before their innocence was stolen from them. It breaks my heart.

These thoughts are haunting me. I wake with them, and have to survive my waking hours with news reports and people talking. I want to escape through music, through books, through self harm. Anything to feel better.

No one seems to hear me, to see me, crying in a corner or hiding in plain sight. I'm so done! There has to be an end! I long for release, for sleep without haunted thoughts of the waking.

Misery Loves Company

I come home to see my mother near tears. Apparently, after I left the house this afternoon, everything went wrong. She had trouble with the dishes, tripped over the rug, slammed her shoulder into the table, bashed her hand against a door jam, dropped wet clothes on the way to the dryer. All in all not a great hour!

I tell here that my friend, TG (Tangle Girl), had a rough day too. She said she wanted a giant chocolate bar. Mother's reply?

"If'd get one for her, if I new she'd accept it."

The Fuck?!?! I love that she does this, plays the damned martyr. Its almost like she wants people to hate her to give her an excuse to be this way. She's paranoid and loves to push those fears on me. I'm just not in the damned mood to deal with this! I'm urgy and drinking a beer. Trying to stay away from the sleeping pills, something I do when I don't want to deal with people's shit anymore.

Trying to be good. I'm tired and this is just not helping. She loves to do this, wallow in her misery. I can't be like this.

How To Handle a Nightmare

Therapy today wasn't easy. I never expect it to be, really. If it was easy then there must be something wrong.

Anyway... Therapy. Today we went into something I've briefly mentioned then floated right by, my nightmares. I understand the mechanics of dreaming, the brain processing information that the conscious mind can't or won't. Its amazing that its easier to type this then it is to actually say.

Nightmare: Recurring. Some one is demanding information that I either won't give or can't give. The attacker is a well dressed man, well spoken. I'm being tortured for that information. I don't want to go into the methods, suffice to say that its always brutal.

Therapist Interpretation: The man seems trustworthy, kind spoken, good grammar, but he's not. A representation of all the people that I think I should be able to trust? Information that I won't give or can't... protective instinct.

It all makes sense, but I don't have to like it. I also didn't like telling her about the nightmares. It just doesn't feel right to dream like this. Her suggestion was to try lucid dreaming, to think before I go to bed what I want as an outcome. For example, could the bonds turn to things like licorice? What would I want to happen to the attacker? The answer is always the same: I don't know.

She suggested allowing myself to daydream. Really? Daydreaming? All right, my issue is that it feels silly. What's the point? To learn to think outside the box, exercise the imagination I use when I'm writing. She thinks I can manipulate, rewrite my nightmares in the same way that I edit a story.

But what would I have the man do? Melt like wax left out in the sun? Vanish like fog in the morning sun? What of the bonds? Licorice is just not my gig. Butterflies? Silly string?

Damn... it feels hopeless. As though this is going to be my life forever. I can see Doc sitting in her chair, smiling that sad grin she gets just before she says something about the fact she is my cheerleader.

Next week, she wants to help me find ways to feel grounded. Though, I think we'll probably talk more about these nightmares.

How do I feel right this moment? Same as I felt when I left her office, and I told her the truth. Edgy, urgy, shaky. There are going to be many, many more sessions like this before I am normal. That is just the way it works.

Bad Night

So tonight there was a thing... Mum got upset with someone who ignored her, according to her. She always sees things that aren't there. A person may not have ignored you, just not noticed, but I can't say that nor anything similar because she goes all "you don't need to defend them! I understand its your friend." Her voice is always full of venom when she says that, like she's now pissed at me for doing what she taught me, looking on the fucking bright side like Pollyanna.

So I cam home, made lunch for tomorrow, put on a damn happy show for about an hour then went to my room, cut my arm, and slammed a shot of schnapps. The alcohol has gone to my head, I want to sleep. I may have blown a three week stretch, but I didn't mix alcohol and sleep aides. Yay me...

Therapy today and Doc has decided that we need to go into the trauma of my school years. Joy... That was hell then and I'm not excited to go back into it, but it needs to be done. All my life, my emotions have been shoved into a box and locked away. I've been told that I have to just leave my past behind me, but its not working. I've tried it everyone else's way, but all its done is drive me to self harm.

Damn... just damn it.

Three Personality Traits I'm Proud Of

Who comes up with this stuff? All right here goes.

I'm loyal. I'm the most loyal friend you could ask for, I'll go to bat for you, defend you, take a beating if needs be. I don't make friends easily. Those I do have, I protect. I've put myself on the line for friends because I consider them my family. My blood relatives wanted nothing to do with me. I make up for that by choosing people that really want me around. So I suppose my first quality is my loyalty.

I'm empathetic. I can feel the pain of people I care about, their pain becomes mine. I can see different parts of the issue because, as a writer and reader, there are always stories that require deeper thought. It makes it easier for people who are really upset and thinking that no one really understands. I do, because I can feel it.

I'm trustworthy. Tell me a secret and it dies with me. Ask me to do a job and its done without your having to hover over my shoulder. I've been lied to and betrayed most of my life, I won't return to others.

So there you go, three personality traits that make me proud.

Next:  Ten Favourite Foods. Doesn't sound too terrible.

Thirty Day Challenge-- My Guilty Pleasure

My guilty pleasure? This required some thinking, mostly because I never feel guilty about having a smile or feeling good for a short time. But something that I go back to time and again for a smile or to feel something other than numb?

Marvel's Avengers! I watch it all the time. I love the story, the characters, the fact that they are so perfectly damaged. One drowns his emotions in alcohol and fast living, another buries her emotions so deep it takes an Asgardian to dig them up, another actually tried to kill himself and when it didn't work he focused on helping others. I suppose I identify with them all in a different ways.

Hamlet. For similar reasons. I understand having depression so terrible that it threatens your sanity, driving you to madness.

You'd think this would depress me more, but in all reality I feel better knowing that people can accomplish great things in spite of their pasts.

Tomorrow: 3 Personality Traits I'm Proud of. Oh that won't be hard at all...

Thirty Day Challenge-- Earliest Childhood Memory

I think my earliest memory is of me at about three? My older half brother had taken my teddy bear and threw him on the heater vent. The house had one of those old systems in which the vent was metal and extremely hot. Mom had placed a string fence around it and warned me not to go there because I'd get hurt. My half-brother threw my bear on the vent because he was being mean and thought it was funny. I had to go over the string to get him, in a child's mind Teddy was going to get hurt and I had to help him.

I ended up hurting my feet from the heat on the metal grating. Mum scolded me for it until she found out why I went over there in the first place. I remember my idiot half brother got in trouble for it. I still have that bear and he's always been a bit singed. As a result, I never like that half brother. And I don't like people touching my stuff.

Next up: My Guilty Pleasure

Fear of Loss

I can feel myself starting to talk in circles again while in therapy. I'm sure that Doc has noticed. I think I'm a bit scared to let go of so much, of so many secrets. Its hard to let go of things that I've held onto for so long. Its just strange that I should want to hang onto such things.

Today we discussed abnormalities, at least in the way that the average adult thinks of them. I'm a geek and I love it. Most of my friends and acquaintances are not so there is often a gap. Even among injurers, I feel a bit strange because burning isn't nearly as common as eating disorders and cutting. I never really feel as if I belong anywhere.

The only place I feel myself is online, in my chatroom. I can be myself, I don't have to lie or fake it. I guess in a way I feel that if I talk too much, I may loose parts of myself instead of gaining. Strange, I never think that I'm worth saving. I'm self-deprecating, self-loathing. Honestly, it surprises me that I have friends at all.

Its funny, I think of all these things that I would want to talk to Doc about during the week, but when I get to her office that all goes right out the damned window. 

Thirty Day Challenge-- Business Name

What if you don't have a business? Did anyone think that through? Ok, so I do.
My business is called Studio395. I make jewelry and geek wear. The name comes from the simple fact that I live next to a highway. I can change my style without having to change the name. Its a simple explanation, but there you go.

Tomorrows challenge: Earliest childhood memory... joy.
I'll blog later about therapy.

30 Day Challenge. -- Twenty Things About Me

All right, I'm going to try a challenge and blog once a day for a month. Lets see how this goes, even though no one really reads this anyway.

DAY ONE-- Twenty Things About Me.

Seriously? This was on the list, I kid you not. That sounds so very pretentious.Honestly, I'm combining the original list's day one and two. Day one was "Introduction". If you read my blog then you already have that intro. All right, twenty list, moving on!

One-- I love to read. I mean really love to read. If I could be paid to read all day every day, I would in a heartbeat. With the exception of romance, I'll read just about anything. Right now I'm in the middle of Cloud Atlas.  I also have several reading lists that I have. In the air of pure self publish-ment, my book review blog is Quill and Ink .

Two-- I can make jewelry. I prefer to work with natural stones, but I'll use anything. Well, almost anything. I've given away more of my work than I have sold. Some of my friends hire me to repair their older pieces.

Three-- Coffee! Its my favourite thing to drink. Add a good book and I will be very a content lady. Columbian beans are affordable and delicious. I've had Ethiopian beans and they are both delicious and expensive, so I don't get them often. By the way, I loathe StarBucks with a firey passion.

Four-- Spiders terrify me.

Five-- My favourite colours are blue, purple, black, and grey. I love the shadow colours. Instead of depressing me, as is common with many people, they calm me.

Six-- I'm a writer. Short stories and poems are my main forms. I use them as a type of therapy. I can create whole worlds and emotions from nothing. I love that I can do that, its my talent.

Seven-- I know how to cross stitch. I use it as a distraction when I'm on edgy and feeling like I need to self harm. I knit for the same reasons. Keep the edge off and make something, win-win.

Eight-- I love to do research. I know it sounds odd, but I do. Hunting through internet posts, encyclopedias, old tomes to find the information that I need for a project. Instead of giving a superficial report, I give a study that you can really enjoy. Or at the very least be informed.

Nine-- I'm allergic to certain meats. I can't eat mammals: pork, beef, lamb, venison. I get flu-like symptoms and am then weak the next day. Its not a terribly common allergy, but its also easy for me to avoid.

Ten-- (Half way there) Music. I enjoy almost every style of music. Classical, rock, punk, alternative, jazz... If it sounds good to me, I'll add it to the iPod. My favourite is Punk/Alternative, anything with a wicked guitar riff and killer bass.

Eleven--I'm not fond of American news coverage. It always seems to be too polite. I listen to BBC World News on my phone (yay, there's an app for that) because I feel they have more comprehensive coverage than their American counterparts.

Twelve-- I've always wanted to go on a Book Tour. I want to visit all the places that feature in my favourite stories. Sherwood Forest, Nottingham, Edinburgh, Oxford, London (specifically Baker Street), Paris, Calais (these two are from Three Musketeers), Barcelona (from The Shadow of the Wind). I want to see what the authors saw when they wrote these amazing works!

Thirteen-- I can't draw to save my life. I've tried, I really have! I would love to be able to draw like some of my friends, but nope its not going to happen. Of course, none of my friends can write like me... so there we go. I see places in my head that I want to draw but I write them instead.

Fourteen-- I lose my heat through my feet. Specifically the soles of my feet. Come summer, if I can be barefoot, I tend to feel cooler. Most people loose heat through the tops of their heads, this makes perfect and logical sense. I can walk on snow and not feel it for a few minutes. My mother thinks I'm weird. I think she's right.

Fifteen-- There's a bed and breakfast I want to stay in, all the rooms are designed after different authors. Its right by the ocean and has no wi-fi. Its lovely! And not terribly expensive. Since I'll be so close, I want to hit up Powell's Book Store too. If I ever get to go, this will be the trip I take alone! I don't want my mother flipping a wig, but I have to do something alone.

Sixteen-- I'm white, I mean burn in-the-sun-in-a-heartbeat white. SPF 45 or better and I'll probably not burn. Many of my friends are not Caucasian. My point? I HATE WHITE SUPREMACISTS!! Those freaks piss me off faster than anything. Mostly because of their complete stupidity. Genetically, the entire planet is African anyway! Follow the mitochondrial DNA from your mother, or the mutations in the DNA of the Y-chromosome from your father and you'll eventually arrive in Africa. This makes such views on race ridiculous.

Seventeen-- Recycling. I managed to get my father to recycle! And now that my local Waste Management has the bin included in your bill anyway... Mom's been reusing things for years and we still do, but getting Dad to recycle was a bit of a chore. Now a family of three adults throws away only one bag of trash a week. The rest is in the recycle bin.  I'm a bit proud of this accomplishment.

Eighteen-- I collect poker cards. I like to play solitaire and enjoy using different cards to do so. I have about six different decks. Pirates of the Caribbean, Edward Scissor Hands, Green/Dark Green, and Black/Silver. The last two are the best and are pretty cool to play with.

Nineteen-- The only make-up I wear is lipstick. Covergirl has this great product that lasts all day, so I don't have to reapply. Without the lipstick, I look ill. I know because people have asked if I'm feeling all right when I don't wear lip colour.

Twenty-- Best for last! I'm a geek! I love it!! I love being completely obsessed with things. Sherlock, Avengers, Batman, Firefly, Lord of the Rings... There's more. I just love to watch the shows, read the books, make obscure references that no one else in my family seems to catch. The back stories, the simple escapism, I love it all. You ought to see my Pinterest boards, nothing but the things that I obsess over.

So there we have it, twenty things about me. Next is the meaning behind my business name. Stay frosty people!

Say "Stop"

This was the advice that Doc gave me Tuesday. When I start the track of negative thinking, tell myself "no stop". I've been, as I always do, trying to practice what she preaches. She did warn me that it will be damned annoying at first but it will help in the long run. Mostly, I think, because I am being more aware of my thoughts and the process that motivates my self harming.

She's right, its annoying! Do you have any idea how many times I have had to tell myself to stop that thinking today? Do you? No I'm serious. I lost count!  Its incredible how often I think that way. Incredible, frightening, sad... pathetic.

My last therapy appointment was not easy. I suppose that's the point. If its easy, is it worth it? Anything that is worth keeping is worth fighting for. I want to live, not just survive, that means that I need to fight for it. I told her that I'd injured the day before, that it was two weeks since my last injury. Felt like an AA meeting. "Hi, my Alcatraz and I'm an injurer. Its been two weeks since my last injury." Or maybe confession. I'm not Catholic, in case you were wondering.

I notice that I shake my head when I tell myself stop. It must be interesting to see, some woman shake her head to some voice only she can hear. I'm always to angry, all the time! Angry and exhausted. For being so angry, I suppose I deserve to be punished for it *stop*. No, I deserve to be listened to, because the anger is often because people don't listen to me. Woah, Doc would be pleased, I'm sure. That's the type of thing she is trying to get me to do.

Renaissance Faire

All right, so this is interesting. Nightengale is a big RenFaire fan, she loves those things. There's a faire coming up in autumn that she wants to attend, and I with her. She's been trying to get me to a faire for years, so I figured why not?

"Oh and you have to dress up!" She tells me. Woah, me? Dress in medieval garb? I can speak the lingo (thank you, Shakespeare), but I was really unsure of going. What good am I going to be at a ren faire? But then I thought that it might actually be fun to do something so out of my comfort zone.

"What kind of costume will you wear? I'll help you make it!" She is an incredible seamstress. But who or what would I be? I don't really care for the long skirts and layers that are required of women, I prefer the clothing that men get to wear. Its simpler. But wait! An idea came to me. I could dress as Arwen. The first time we see her in Lord Of The Rings, she's wearing a riding outfit. Pants with a flowing top that extends to the knees. Its lovely and something I could wear all the time if I wanted.

This isn't something I'm comfortable doing, but I suppose it would be good for me to go out of that zone I'm forcing myself into.

Long Battles

Today was a bit harder in therapy. Doc is always gentle, though today she was firm as well, like a parent teaching their child to swim or ride a bike. They have to push a little before the child will have success. That was today.

Last week, I gave her permission to be more direct, that she could ask or steer the conversation to places where I normally do not go. I feel that I am my own worst enemy because I'll divert the conversation or beat about the bush, as they say. This afternoon, Doc took advantage of that and said she was thinking about something I'd said last week.

"You said that sometimes you miss self harm, what did you mean by that?"

I must admit I was very close to telling her to back off, but in all honesty, its not the worst question she could ask and it was one that desperately needed answering... for myself. All of my siblings are addicts. One's an alcoholic, another is a drug addict, two are addicted to their own misery. Me? I worked very hard to not be a junkie, not be an alcoholic. Look at me now. Addicted to self harm.

I know a few out there ( okay... probably more than a few) will disagree with me, and that's fine. That's you. For me, injuring is an addiction. When you're stressed out, pissed off, in emotional pain, or feeling numb, do you have something you say you need? "I need a cigarette, I need a hit, I need a beer". I tell myself, "I need a tool." I hate thinking that I'm an addict, I hate it! But there is no getting around that fact. It is what it is, I am what I am.

Hells bells, I talked more about self harm today alone than I have in the whole of the time I've been seeing Doc. This tells me one thing that I hadn't really wanted to think about: Its going to be a very long time before I am no longer seeing her. It took years for me to get this bad, years to go from one method of injury to another, years.... Its going to take a while, maybe even years, to get myself "normal", or at the very least to conquer my addiction.

Am I up for that challenge? A few months ago, maybe a year ago, I would have answered "I don't know." But right now? I've fought all my life to survive. Its what I do, its how I function in this big, bad world. Its all I've ever known, and its exhausting.

I'll tell you this... I Want To Live. There are so many times when I should have died, when I could have died. Yes, that implies I had a choice and made the right one.

So here we go, its going to be one hell of a long battle, but I've fought this long. I'm worth it.

Not So Great Morning

Its been a week since the last post. Today, I'm feeling pretty much the same. I'm exhausted after falling asleep after midnight and waking at 5.30am this morning. My tummy is rumbling, but I have zero desire to eat. I have to copy all my music to my computer again. I tried doing it a fast way, using the flash drive to transfer the music. But guess who didn't know that you need to save this to a separate file as well? Yep... me!

Now I'm pissed at myself for being stupid. I'm also mad at Mum for giving me step by freaking step instructions on how to make spaghetti sauce! I've only been making the same recipe for about 20 years.

I have therapy in a couple hours and just want to scream. I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin, I need to harm. Its like a damned drug in my veins. I just really want to injure... I'll try to hold off for a while. Talk to Doc.

Get To The Point

Had a session with Doc today. I think we may do things a little differently for a bit. I don't really go into things that matter for about half the session, then we have to cram. I told her that she may start asking more direct questions. I need to get things off my chest and take too long to get to the point. I've decided that to make the progress I feel that I should, I'll let her direct more.

For instance: Today we were about half way through the session when self harm came up. I know that I need to get going on this and I think allowing Doc to ask more direct questions should help. I'm not going to do the whole med thing, so its either talk it out or not at all. And that isn't an option.

Never Fear

So I went to karaoke this evening. I wanted to test if I was the anomaly when it comes to drunks. But this is Valentine's day so that means people are in fancy restaurants with their loves. That means no one wants to spend the holiday in a pizza joint. Any way... the point is there were no drunks. Seriously I think the group of people I hang out with are the problem, they engage and seemingly encourage the drunks. Its like they want the attention, I don't.

My mother was afraid for me, she didn't feel comfortable with my going alone. Now if I would have told her that there would be a group, she would have been fine with it. She fears so much and pushes those fears on me. I've been called a great many things, but fearful has never been one of them! I refuse to be counted among that lot.

I have never been afraid of a man, nor a woman. There are a several things that I've been called: bitch, crazy, maniac. Never fearful and never stupid. Now I may be crazy and a maniac at times, but I refuse to live in fear of going out my own front door.

Seriously??

I went to fix the coffee for Mum and Dad, so they just have to turn on the pot tomorrow. In the pantry, I noticed a slip cover from the anime I just purchased. There are only two ways that it could have gotten there. Either I put it there, or my mother did. I'm sure it was in my ROOM this morning. Either that or the trash. So my mother had taken it out of the trash and put it on the pantry shelf. (The garbage is nearby. Its the pantry/laundry/etc.) Either way, she took it with the intention of having a little chat with me about how she feels its objectionable.

Lets male one thing very clear right here and right now. I am going to be THIRTY YEARS OLD in July. Thirty! She seriously cannot be doing this anymore. I hate that she watches B-rated sci-fi flicks, I find them annoying, and often vulgar. Add to it that they always make women seem to be idiots and you have a film I hate. I don't go badgering her!

To avoid the issue, I took it back and have every intention of disposing of it away from my house! Its so stupid that I have to do this. She already made me throw away Live Free or Die Hard. She didn't like that words and phrases such as "son of a bitch", "damnit", and "bastard" were in it. Its not like it was every word or anything. Beside, I am an adult. I can make decisions for myself. Now I have to hide things.

I'm now concerned that she will read my journal. The handwriting is terrible but there is a possibility that the odd phrase could be discerned. This is a risk I am unwilling to take. So... I will have to hide my journal. I don't worry about the computer. Its password protected and she's tech stupid anyway.

If I'm very lucky, she won't remember where she put it and will be unwilling to ask me anything about it. It'll just vanish and the anime will not be easily found so she won't be able to check the spine of the disc. I seriously hope that I don't have to start locking my damned door again.

This set me off. I've been fighting back the Fury and the Abyss for weeks. Now? Now I just want to give in and injure. I seriously have been trying hard, but the last few weeks have been hard to handle for so many reasons.

I don't feel good enough, like I'm not the person I should be. That I should be happy, there isn't too much fucked up with my life. But the depression never goes away and things like this just push me so close the edge. I want to harm and be done with it. I know full well it won't help, not in the long run, but that isn't important to me right now. At this moment, I want to feel semi-stable.

I really did not need this. Thanks, Mum...

Assertive vs Bitchy

What is it about me? There must be something that makes freaks and drunks think that I am willing to be touched or talked to. So here's what happened: I went karaoke with some friends handed my songs to the KJ (karaoke jocky). A drunk was "dancing", if the moves he was making could be mistaken for dance, and kept backing into me. Thinking he didn't see me, I pushed his back *between the shoulder blades and no where near his ass* to let him know I was there. His response? Oh to come closer of course! I pushed again. Third time? That isn't a charm, its a "I will kick your sorry back side from here to the curb!" I shoved him away from me, pressing my fist into his back hard. That was the clue he needed.

Next, I had finished singing my first song, one that I am rather good at, thank you very much, and I received some adoration from another drunk. "You were really great, I love that song and you were amazing," he tells me. I thank him, trying to twist out of his awkward side hug. "No, I mean it,you were great!" I look him in the eye, "Thank you, now stop touching me." He backs away, apologizing for trying to be nice.

This is what amazes me. When a man says 'no' or 'back off', he is being assertive. When a woman does the same thing, she is called a bitch. When she tried to be polite and then has enough of a man's advances and tells him in clear English to back off, she's called a tease or a tart. WHY IS THIS OK?!?!

I really am getting sick and tired of being told that I need to be nice and whatever only to have some drunk ass bastard start thinking that I am being a flirt. Honestly, I do not engage the drunks, ever! They have lost all ability to think clearly thanks to the effects of alcohol. Apparently, my ignoring them is considered a challenge, one that far too many are all too willing to take on. When I make is abundantly clear that I have no desire to be touched, I'm called a bitch and made out to be an unfriendly woman.

I'm nice, I'm friendly! I just have zero tolerance for stupidity and drunks.

The whole thing made me so angry. Beyond angry, I was ready to slam my fist into the next person that laid a finger on me. Instead, I went to the bathroom, made sure I was alone, and slammed my left fist into the wall. Now my knuckles are bruised.

I love hanging out with my friends, even if it is in a situation that I find difficult. I find this is good practice for me to maintain my cool and not bloody panic. Sometimes, I even have fun. But seriously? It would be awesome if the drunks would leave me the hell alone and not think of me as a challenge.

While I'm thinking about it... why don't my friends ever seem to come to my rescue as I do them? I'm always alone. Always. 

The Brain is Messed Up Organ

I don't want to be awake. I'd rather be sleeping and not having to think about anything. Not about how my failures as a daughter, as a person, as anything. I have zero motivation. There are so many things that need to be done. I have to finish: Two cross stitch patterns, a knit shawl, handful of books. I also need to get jewelry made to sell in my etsy shop. Zero traffic in the shop. Mostly because I have not the faintest idea of what I'm doing. I can make it, but I'm having a hard time selling.

I'm never going to be good enough for anything am I? Certainly, not good enough for my own standards. Damn it. DAMN IT!

Fighting the urge to injure right now, I want to, if for no other reason then to make the emotions tangible. I'm wanting to sleep and forget. I have some alcohol but no sleeping pills, which I suppose is good thing. I don't see Doc for another week. Joy... I just hate that I even think this way. "Just one injury, just one cut or burn and I'll be all right." But I won't be. I cut the other day on my leg. It hurts more there than on my arm. I can't believe I'm analyzing this. More pain here then there... the brain is seriously a messed up organ. 

New Year-- Start 2014

I never really put much stock in the new year celebrations. I honestly do not care because the new year is always just as crappy as the last one was, so why bother getting excited? People enter the next year with new hopes and resolutions. Its no big thing. Most folks will fail at their resolutions anyway and hopes will be dashed to pieces.

Sure call me a cruel hearted cynic, but I'm an honest cruel hearted cynic.