Self Hate vs Self Love

Self love always sounds so foreign to me. I try. I try to do little things to care for myself, but it always seems so selfish and hypocritical. How can I take myself out to a coffee shop when I really hate myself?

I've lived most of my life thinking that the only important thing to be was smart. That is measurable, you can take a test and prove that you have a certain level of intelligence. Pretty? Talented? Whatever. Everything I do comes out wrong. Everything I say seems to come out worse! I just really do not like myself and its so hard to change my mind.

There's a song by Blue October called "Hate Me". Part of the lyric mentions 'suicidal hate'. I so understand that feeling, and I really wish I didn't.  My friends keep trying to change my mind, to convince me that I'm worthy of love, of care, of loving myself. Really I just hate looking in the mirror.

If any one of my friends were to talk about themselves the way I talk about myself, I'd do my best to put a stop to it, to remind them of how great they are, to love them. And they do the same with me... I'm just so far away that I can't hear it anymore, if I ever did.

Been a Year

Woah, been over a year since my last post. I'm still in therapy, still battling depression, though the PTSD rears its ugly head less often, the meds seem to be helping. I'm still on sprintek and I've started zoloft in the past year, which also seems to be helping.

I've been pulling away from Katie lately. She's flighty, scattered, and only seems to want me around when she needs me for something, like driving a long distance. I've tried talking to her and she always says that I'm reading too much into something. Doesn't seem fair, I work my butt off to allow myself to trust enough for a friendship and this happens?

Honestly, it seems that no one really wants me, I'm just there for convenience. I mean, out side of work, I don't have a life. Certainly no real time for a social life. The little time I do have is wasted when people change plans last minute on me. I gave up making plans with Katie. Its an exercise in futility.

Worthless

Any one that actually reads this is going to think I keeled over or something...


So the last few months haven't been bad, really. I've been busy with work and by the time I get in I'm so knackered its pointless to write anything. Went from a butt-crack o'dawn job off-loading trucks to working evenings cleaning other people's offices. The other night there was a pair of men's knickers in a waste bin. I really DO NOT want to know the story behind that, seriously.

I went a grand total of 80 days without harming, so there was a plus. I can't remember what triggered me to break the streak but it did and here we are. As of today its been 2 weeks since my last injury.

I'm feeling ignored, worthless. I figured out why its so hard for me to believe that Doc cares a plug nickle for me. I don't feel I deserve it. I haven't earned it, not really. I care for the people that I do because I feel they deserve the love and protection that I give them freely. I don't feel that I'm worth it. I suppose that's why It always confuses me when people worry about me.

Its funny, tell a person who feels like this that they have value... and they won't believe you.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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. 

What's the Hatter With Me?

I'm feeling a bit manic today. I can't keep still, I have to move something. My hands are shaky, a foot is tapping to nothing and not in beat with the music on the iPod. I went to bed upset, though I don't know why. Took everything I had not to scream my lungs out. Right now, I want to scream until my throat is raw. I want to cut until I'm a mess. The stinging would set me straight, at least a little bit right? Right?? No...? Oh well.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but its like I'm trying to crawl out of my skin. The sudden thought of throwing a rock through my bedroom wall came to me and now I'm having a hard time getting that out of my head along with the thoughts of harming. Oh the joy!

I have worship in about an hour, at least that's when I leave for it. Like this? Of course. By the time I get there I may even appear to be normal. I know I'm going to have to injure to get that done though. I'm too flipping out right now.

Did you ever see Johnny Depp as the Hatter? I feel that way, everyplace at once and only lucid when absolutely necessary. "What's the hatter with me?" Yep, crazy as a deaf bat in the nighttime! WOOHOO!

Unholy Shadows

All right for the last couple of days, I've been seeing shape and shadows flit about in my peripheral vision. I don't like it, it reminds me of my darker days when sleep was as illusive as a fairy god-mother. This doesn't bode well. It sets me on edge and makes me urgy to be perfectly honest. I recall seeing shadows move in unholy ways and thinking that mice and rats had infested my room, but that just wasn't true. And it isn't now.

I know what I think I'm seeing is fake, I know it isn't real. This is how I know that I'm not crazy. When you question, you aren't completely nuts yet. Once you accept this as "normal", you've gone round the bend, as they say. So that is how I know for sure that I don't need to be locked up, not yet anyway.

My problem is the reasoning behind it. Last time this happened, I was freaking right out of my head, going days without sleep, rarely eating, and so stressed out and fed up with life that I am incredibly surprised that I didn't off myself at eighteen. Its not nearly so bad this time round, but my question is why? Why am I seeing this? What's different?

I'm sleeping better these last few months then I have in the previous ten (?) years. I'm not sure how you'll think of getting five to seven hours sleep, but it used to be no more than four. I'm calling that an improvement. I just can't seem to see the reason behind the shadows. And to save you asking, I only just saw the optometrist (see the post I Hate November) and she said that my eyes were very healthy, with the exception of needing corrective lenses of course. I'm fairly sure its nothing to do with my physical eyes. Psychological? I'm not as certain.

How screwed up am I? The forever question seems to be ... why? Its always why?!!! Why do I harm? Why am I so depressed all the time? Why does every small mistake amplify into a failure? Why can I not simply accept that I am 'enough'? Always... always its 'why'. Three simple letters, one tiny word, but such a large meaning behind it.

Medicaid and Me

So therapy today went well. It looks like I can use medicaid to continue therapy starting in January, only a few weeks away. There was talk of cognitive behavioural therapy. I've not had the best of luck with people that have gone through that process. They come out being annoying and preachy, sounding much like a religious zealot. We'll see.

I'm just tired of feeling like this all the time. I'm always depressed, its hard for me to be motivated to do anything. I'm almost always on edge these days, its like that's my new normal and I hate it. I hate it! The feelings of being worthless are weighing on me.

I told Doc something I never have outside of my little blog that no one seems to read. I told her that "I'm stupid with sleeping pills". She asked for clarification. I have taken sleeping pills with alcohol because I don't want to deal with anything, just sleep and forget. Bingo, pills and booze. Technically, its self harm because its not the best thing for the liver and because the goal is to make the pain go away. Not something I'm proud of and it could easily have become a very bad and addictive habit. Now I have rules when it comes to pills like that.

I think that my sleep patterns worry Doc. I'm doing better! I can get at least five to seven hours of sleep these days. Better then even a few months back where four to five was the limit. So come January, we'll see how things are going.

I Hate November

I really cannot say how glad I am that November is over. If it can go wrong, it did last month. First week, I had a flu-like bug that knocked me flat for several days. I can't call it a real flu because I get ripped by the medical folks I know. Unless I went to hospital, was diagnosed, and treated by a doctor it wasn't a real flu. Whatever, if you're vomiting everything you've eaten for the week, shaky and feverish then I call it a flu. Don't agree? Well, I don't care!

Middle of the second week, my van failed the county ordered smog check. That meant that it had to be repaired. There goes about $300 including diagnostic to repair what was screwed up by Pep Boys! NEVER GO TO PEP BOYS!!! I paid them six months ago to replace my gas tank, which I had punctured on a large rock. I wanted and paid for a new tank, they gave me a used tank and charged me full price. Now, I'm unemployed so my father, kind man that he is, paid for the repairs. He also took being ripped off by Pep Boys much better than I would. Personally, I wanted to go down there and demand my money back for the gas tank "repair". Dad wouldn't let me. *shrug* Oh well.

Next? Oh my glasses broke. I need them to drive and see anything past six feet from my face. Joy... No glasses. Again, my father to the rescue. There was another $200. The van repair and the glasses set him back $500 in a week!

End of November is in sight, almost to the finish line and.... cold. I catch a cold! Of all things! A damned cold.

Needless to say, I wasn't very kind to myself last month. Cuts on my legs and a burn. I didn't eat very well either. In a way, I feel as if I deserved everything that happened last month. But then I think, no I don't. I didn't do anything wrong and I definitely don't believe in karma.

This feeling just never seems to go away. The low depression. I'm never truly happy, maybe a smile here or there, something will make me laugh, but it never lasts. I'm so tired of all this. Tired of everything. 

Fear and Self Loathing

No job, no prospects. Nothing. I'm feeling damned useless and a failure. Self loathing is creeping in and starting to rear its ugly head hissing to me that I am what I fear becoming. Sleep is evasive, filling my head with nightmares. The only way to keep them at bay is to either use a sleep aide or harm myself. I wish to do neither, but I feel I may have no choice. I know what you're thinking, "You always have a choice." Well, bite me! I feel powerless here! I'm drowning and falling into an abyss, ripping my nails out as I claw my way back from the brink of disaster.

For a little while, I was feeling good, really good! Now I feel like crap and wish I hadn't had the time to feel good in the first place. At least then I had no idea what I was missing. I feel like I'll never get that back, though I know the thought is damned ridiculous.

There has to be an end to this crap.

I've started to punish myself with food. For instance, I'll only allow myself to eat once I finish certain tasks. Or I won't let myself eat anything because I'm not working. "Don't eat what you don't earn." I'm surviving mostly on coffee. I feel like injuring now, cutting and not giving a care. Burning and saying 'to hell with it'.


I'm supposed to go out with Nightingale tomorrow evening. Something tells me that she would notice, she tends to be very observant and sees far too much. Sometimes I feel she can look into my eyes and see everything.

Right now, I need a cut or a burn the way a junkie needs a damned hit.

Does it really matter?

I have no insurance and therefore cannot afford therapy. Of course once I do have private insurance, I also cannot afford therapy. Email to my therapist what I've found for health care and that its still not affordable and she replies, "Its a flawed system". No shit, Sherlock. Of course she isn't on the receiving end of the shit storm! She has health care, and the money to afford whatever the hell she needs. At $170 a session before insurance and "sliding scale" no wonder. Of course whatever she doesn't get directly in cash that day, the insurance reimburses to the point that she only has her office open to the psychos like me for three days in the work week.

I shouldn't be angry with Dr B, its not her fault. She's trying to help in her own way. She is a prisoner to the system just as much as I am. She can only do so much whilst my hands are tied completely.

I'm angry, pissed off, fucking furious and there is not a bloody thing I can do about any of it. Sure, I can injure, like I did last night. Doesn't help, none of it helps. I could change my injury spot again, new pain... No, doesn't help forever. Numb in the skin and pain in the brain. What a way to go. I close my eyes to try and calm myself, to not see that my life is nothing but a waste most of the time. My parents are disappointed in me because I can't move out and leave them alone. I have few friends and none of which I would ever tell my darkest secret. I have virtually no support.

I. Am. Alone.

I feel it every day I breathe, every night I try to dream. Part of me is so close to saying "fuck it" and giving up. But what of the other part? Too subbourne to die, to give in, to leave. I'm screaming in my head, I'm begging to be heard, but on one seems to hear me. Maybe I'm not loud enough, maybe none of them care, maybe maybe maybe... Does any of it really matter? Do I?

Unemployed

This hasn't been the easiest week. I was forced to quit my job as a cashier, not a big loss, but I don't have any income at the moment. My mother watches too much late night "news" and is convinced that I am "handicapped" and can't "have other people working" with me. I told her that if I'm disabled I better be able to get money for this. My therapist tells me that she's never heard of such a thing. I think I'll trust the woman who has the degree in the mental department.

Since I'm unemployed, I canceled the appointment I had with Dr B and emailed her an explanation as to why. Basically I have to save whatever money I can and she's a commodity that I can scarce afford. She replied that she'd give me a session because she felt that I was having too much at once and needed some encouragement. THANK YOU, DR B!! I don't know if she realizes how much I needed to hear that I'm not useless, that I'm not "handicapped", that I can do this. I know my coping skills aren't great, but at least I'm coping. She doesn't berate me for injury, though she does agree that coping by cutting isn't healthy. She encouraged me to do things more creative, like my jewelry or knitting.

I'm hunting for work, probably end up in a restaurant or something. I'll lie to my parents of course. Plaster that damned smile on my face and make everything look all peaches and roses. No one notices, nobody sees... they never do. Not even when I'm looking them in the eye, they can't see the pain in my own. I can, I see it plane, every morning and every night when I look in the mirror.