So I'm sitting in my favourite coffee shop and I'm feeling damned edgy. I want to fucking scream and shout and injure and I have no concrete reason as to why. I'm freaking out in my head and I can't understand why. Maybe its the stress of having so much going on right now. I don't know. I need to find a new job. Been applying to all sorts of places today, I'd do more, but guess who left the house without her USB stick? Yeah that would be me... Fuck.
I swear there cannot possibly be more ways in which this week can get worse. I really shouldn't say that, Murphy and his Law are sick bastards. I'm feeling exhausted and annoyed. I slept last night and woke to a screaming alarm clock that I silenced quickly by smacking it. Came close to smacking my cactus too. I just want to crawl away and fade. Its like I'm feeling too much and not enough all at once. Its a terrible feeling. Flying down the highway but feeling like you aren't moving at all.
I have set an appointment with Dr B for this Friday. This time, I'm not telling my family that I'm in therapy. They, especially my mother, don't seem to understand why I need it, but then I haven't explained either. I'm just not in the mood to explain myself. Well that isn't exactly true. I did explain once and was ignored. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it. I'm not a Timelord and have no ability to go back in time and fix what is broken, so I'll just do the best I can and move on, as I always have.
I feel so alone in this fight. I'm doing the best I can to keep my mind on straight, but that just seems to make problems worse. I can't possibly do what every one expects of me. I'm tired and weak and annoyed and screaming in my head whilst lying to the world with a smile on face and skip in my step. Lying to the world... that's me. I'm falling back into poor sleeping habits, poor eating habits... when I remember to eat in the first place.
I need to remember to pick up some more matches, I'm almost out and I have some fucking sick attachment to my tools. Such a dirty fool I feel. Foolish foolish... Oh who the hell cares.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Bad Week
Sometimes I wonder if everything I do is even worth anything. I have the hardest time just keep up my blogs, let alone a true life. I make mistakes and mine tend to be monumental fuck ups with horrid ramifications. For instance, I was scammed this week and basically gave away $2000 worth of the company's money. I don't want to go into details on the how because I don't want some mook to go about and scam some one else. Needless to say, I was rather surprised to still be employed. I was, however, written up and demoted. I can feel that I am on a very small tether and its being slowly cut from under me.
To add to it, my parents have expressed that they feel I should move out because they don't want to worry about me being able to live on my own. I know I can, that I could make a success of it. The issue is money. I haven't got any to spare. If I get state aide then its possible, but there are so many people who are waiting. I'd also need food stamps. My head starts to ache just thinking about it.
On one hand I would love to live on my own. I wouldn't have to worry about walking in my own house wearing a tank top, there would be no one to see my scars. No one would make comments such as "Did you play chicken with a cigarette, again?" Yes, my father has asked that, I usually ignore him. There was talk of my moving into the camper. That's fine with me, its big enough for one and my books. Dad worries about my living it though, emptying the tanks and such. I'd rather an apartment simply because it doesn't move with every damned step and its definitely big enough for all these books. But then we come back to how the bloody hell am I going to pay for it?
I'm getting edgy now, I feel like I need to injure. I'm stressing out about moving, strike that... I'm stressing about paying for it. I'm stressing about work. I feel like they are going to fire me. I just can't deal with that right now... I can't.
To add to it, my parents have expressed that they feel I should move out because they don't want to worry about me being able to live on my own. I know I can, that I could make a success of it. The issue is money. I haven't got any to spare. If I get state aide then its possible, but there are so many people who are waiting. I'd also need food stamps. My head starts to ache just thinking about it.
On one hand I would love to live on my own. I wouldn't have to worry about walking in my own house wearing a tank top, there would be no one to see my scars. No one would make comments such as "Did you play chicken with a cigarette, again?" Yes, my father has asked that, I usually ignore him. There was talk of my moving into the camper. That's fine with me, its big enough for one and my books. Dad worries about my living it though, emptying the tanks and such. I'd rather an apartment simply because it doesn't move with every damned step and its definitely big enough for all these books. But then we come back to how the bloody hell am I going to pay for it?
I'm getting edgy now, I feel like I need to injure. I'm stressing out about moving, strike that... I'm stressing about paying for it. I'm stressing about work. I feel like they are going to fire me. I just can't deal with that right now... I can't.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Bad Week
This has been a bad week for me. I've burned once and cut twice. I want to do it again because I can't seem to calm down. I'm urgy, I want to go deeper. Being told I'm not good enough and that I need to be calm and happy doesn't help me. I know what I need but there isn't a smart way to go about it. I want to injure, to make the scream in my head go away. There comes a time when you have to give up, to let a part of yourself go forever. But I'm not ready to die, not yet.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Oh My Head
I have the worst headache right now. I want it to go away and, God help me, I have the worst idea of how to get rid of it. I know, logically, that hurting myself will not make the headache go away. But part of me wants to try. That thought is making me ill and desperate at the same time. It feels like my eye ball is trying to pop out of my damned head. There has to be some logical reason, there really has to be. I need there to be. Otherwise I'm going insane.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Steampunk
Well, I was invited by a friend of mine to attend a steampunk convention next year, if we can swing it. So I thought I should best get ideas together for an ensemble. I was thinking of going as what I do best. I'm a writer, I could make a costume that incorporates pens, paper, ink. I was thinking of taking some blank index cards, dying them with tea to age them and adding information to them like the old card catalogs from libraries. Of course I'm going to make them fake, books that have never been published, namely mine. :) I plan on fanning them to a hat.
Because I don't want to wear a dress, I'm thinking of drover pants, you can see them in old Western movies, cowboys wore them before denim. I could take boots with laces and put gears at the eyelets. I'm thinking of a bolero vest and maybe a light weight coat, long one. The jewelry is easy, I can make that in my sleep. I don't know, just seems like something fun.
It'd be interesting to see how the whole thing works, what will happen. And the good news is that I can also wear the outfit to Comic-Con.
Because I don't want to wear a dress, I'm thinking of drover pants, you can see them in old Western movies, cowboys wore them before denim. I could take boots with laces and put gears at the eyelets. I'm thinking of a bolero vest and maybe a light weight coat, long one. The jewelry is easy, I can make that in my sleep. I don't know, just seems like something fun.
It'd be interesting to see how the whole thing works, what will happen. And the good news is that I can also wear the outfit to Comic-Con.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Bruises and Lies
Most people are assuming that I have an abusive boy friend again. I don't a boy friend in the first place, let alone an abusive one. I had hit my forearm near the wrist, yes as self harm, and now its all bruised. I've been lying to people who ask saying I was horsing around at work. They believe me and that's fine. I won't have to tell them that I did it to myself to keep from screaming, that hitting my arm was faster then finding a blade or matches. I think I'll have to cover it with make-up today, just to keep the questions to a minimum.
Maybe I'm getting to the point where I no longer give a fuzzy rat's ass. That isn't true, I don't want anyone to know what I've done to myself. Its easier, I think. Definitely safer. The fewer people who know the less likely I am to be paraded around or "saved". I'm not dying, I don't need to be saved. Hell, maybe I do need it, maybe I do...
Maybe I'm getting to the point where I no longer give a fuzzy rat's ass. That isn't true, I don't want anyone to know what I've done to myself. Its easier, I think. Definitely safer. The fewer people who know the less likely I am to be paraded around or "saved". I'm not dying, I don't need to be saved. Hell, maybe I do need it, maybe I do...
Thursday, July 26, 2012
TWOLHA
For anyone that doesn't know TWOLHA, To Write Love On Her Arms, is an organization that tries to bring awareness to self injury. They try to educate those that don't understand and help those in pain find help they need. All in all, its a good programme. To support the organization's financial situation, they sell t-shirts and jewelry that has they're name on it. I saw one of those t-shirts yesterday and told the girl wearing it that I thought she was doing a good thing. She smiled and said that she thinks people that don't have clue need to be educated about self harm, that its not suicide but no one seems to get it. I smiled at her because, even though she doesn't hurt herself (well not that I could see anyway) she seemed to want to help.
Her mother asked what TWOLHA meant and I gave her a short explanation. Her response? "I feel sorry for those that hurt themselves. To be in so much pain that they feel they need to hurt themselves on the outside to calm whatever hurts on the inside? Such a burden."
Such a burden, indeed. Its heavy having to lie about how you got the bruises on your wrist, why you have marks that seem to have no explanation, saying that you don't like to show above your elbows because it makes you feel uncomfortable. Okay so the last one isn't a lie, more like a half truth. Many of my cut scars are above the elbow, where a t-shirt will hide it well. Still, though I couldn't tell her aloud, I did think to myself, "Thank you, ma'am, for not thinking that we're trying to die. Thank you for realizing that we are trying to live."
Her mother asked what TWOLHA meant and I gave her a short explanation. Her response? "I feel sorry for those that hurt themselves. To be in so much pain that they feel they need to hurt themselves on the outside to calm whatever hurts on the inside? Such a burden."
Such a burden, indeed. Its heavy having to lie about how you got the bruises on your wrist, why you have marks that seem to have no explanation, saying that you don't like to show above your elbows because it makes you feel uncomfortable. Okay so the last one isn't a lie, more like a half truth. Many of my cut scars are above the elbow, where a t-shirt will hide it well. Still, though I couldn't tell her aloud, I did think to myself, "Thank you, ma'am, for not thinking that we're trying to die. Thank you for realizing that we are trying to live."
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