WELL HELLO, CRAZY NOISE

WELL HELLO, CRAZY NOISE!!
> THANKS FOR CHECKING IN.

SO YOU THINK WE SHOULD SLICE OUR ARMS AND BLEED, JUST TO PROVE WE ARE ALIVE?
> okay.

SO WE SHOULD SLIT OUR NECK ACROSS ITSELF TO SHOW OUR OWN STRENGTH AND DETERMINATION?
> sounds great.

OR MAYBE I CAN JUST JUMP INTO TRAFFIC, DRIVE INTO THE ONCOMING, OR SHOOT OURSELVES OFF THE CLIFF.
>  perfect plan.

_____________________________________________

did you disagree?  because I didn’t?

I suspect tomorrow will be fine.

but I’m seriously running out of “bad days” that don’t get logged as “last days”.

____________________________________________

SEE ALSO:

the Final Day is ideal,

desired,

perfect,

heavenly,

HOPE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

please allow it to come soon … or even better ASAP…..

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work nigh resulted in self-injury

I was lying on my side, repeating a phrase with which was I was far too familiar. at the “ch” sound in the collection of words, I felt the top of my tongue bounce of the roof of my mouth in a familiar pattern. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, and I could barely transmit breathes past the sounds I was chanting. my eyes burned, and I could feel the air against the entire surface of my eyeballs. tears from the topside eye flowed into the lower. snot was dribbling out of my nostrils, passing just above my upper lip and down onto the couch.

but I didn’t cut. I didn’t pull out any hair. I only hit my head a few time. I didn’t scratch or burn or bite, or anything else that I wanted so terribly to do. I didn’t even drink. I Disappeared for a little bit to calm down, also known as purposefully disassociating. then I slowly rose and took a klonopin. I had no reason to be alive, and even less reason to be awake. I actually had a say-so in the latter, so I worked towards a goal — Disappear until tomorrow.

as I swallowed the pill, a shot of memories ran past my mind as I recalled how what was previously such a wonderful day pushed me into this dark, hateful place….

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self-mutilation and suicidal ideations  while in your 30s

so, here I am. awake. despite the begiing and pleading and bargaining with Great Powers-That-Be.

and I forgot to make my SI pack to bring to work. erg.

what 30-year-old still struggles with self-injury and personal inadaquecies quite like this?  I mean, I know SI isn’t actually something that’s restricted to a particular age group or anything, and it can some in any forms for any persons.  but really. who in their thirties is still getting fresh scars…?  by now, there’s better coping skills and the like. how am I still using a blade to deal?

and though it’s mainly becoming cutting, it’s not and rarely was restricted to just that.  hair-pulling and hitting are actually my most common; they leave minimal marks and require no additional tools.
I think that aas I’ve gotten older, as I’ve become less religious and black-and-white, I’ve come to idealize suicide even more.  while ypunger and strong in my faith, religion said suicide was wrong, and thus out was.  then I got to a point wherein I believed that it should be discouraged, but still an option.  these days, as stated in a previous post, I’m almost confused as to why I haven’t really done it yet.  time changes your perspective, yes; but in what direction?

Control

Group last night was, I suppose … progressive? productive?  actually, let’s go with just “not a waste of time”.

we talked about our barriers to Recovery.  some people said friends or situations or family, some said reluctant to find and trust a sponsor, some (including myself) said a hesitant of reaching out to others when in need.  but my biggest barrier, the one I really discussed, was a lack of Control.

those who know me understand my need for Control.  not over you or a given situation, mind you.  fuck all that; I couldn’t care less.  but me, and my life.  I never went to rehab before because I thought I could do it on my own.  I value willpower, personal control, and independence.  but when it comes to my Addictions, I apparently have none of that.

but what I talked about yesterday was how I have no control, no say-so, in my life anymore.

I was an A student, member of a trillion clubs, volunteered for everything, the mediator in my family, the pillar for my friends, and the leader of all my groups.  I was always what others needed me to be.  not because I needed to please them or for them to like me; that’s no more of an issue for me than the average bloke.  rather, it’s because I always thought it was my duty.  I mean, that’s how I was raised.

Mum:  “how did X did on her test?”
moi:  “she got a C.”
Mum:  “a C?  why didn’t you help her study?”
because suddenly my friends’ grades are my responsibility.

I still remember one of the things that made me cut the most back in high school during The Incident: Mother expressed how I didn’t do a sufficient job during the Spring Fling fundraiser for a club of which I was the president.  I didn’t do a good enough job; I was insufficient; my efforts were unacceptable.

so having my own life was never really a thing I considered, never something I felt.  sure, I chose the clubs I was in.  but I always felt I was obligated to not only be in them, but to also lead them.

eventually, I become an adult.  often times I was working two jobs, helping different people along the way with whatever, and still dabbling as the family mediator, even though I was no longer living there.  over the years, I’ve let a lot of those responsibilities go, sure — and with great effort and some resistance.  but still, I’m the leader; I’m responsible.

and then comes alcohol.  around 8pm some nights, it’s my time.  I can drink.  I can forget my responsibilities, my duties, my obligations.  I can just be me.  if I’m sad, I can cry.  if I’m pissed, I can be angry.  I don’t have to front for anyone, because no one (except recently Brian) was even around during these periods.

drinking was mine.  I didn’t have to share it with anyone if I didn’t want to.

and now?  now I have nothing.  I spend my entire day at work five of seven days, and I have to go to Group for the whole evening.  once I finally get home, I barely have time to even workout for an hour before it’s bedtime.  and now my rehab center is telling me I have to go to at least two additional outside meetings on top of the five with them.  fucking when??  I have two goddamn jobs.  I go to church with my dad on Sundays.  I’m already going to an AA meeting Saturday night.  I have shit I have to do over the weekend — grade essays, create lesson plans, work on my car, cook, go grocery shopping, exercise, etc.  I’ve cancelled all my plans for the next two months, because I know I won’t have any fucking time to really see anyone.

I have no Control in my life.

———

except my eating.  my EDNOS has come back strong.  on my NerdFitness forum, I pretended to be … erm, disgruntled?…. with the fact that yesterday I ate less than 900kcal.  but honestly, I’m proud; I’m pleased; I did great.  you can take my alcohol, you can take my cutting, you can take my fucking evenings and weekend and money and license — but I’ll be damned if you’re going to take away my eating habits.

it’s not about being skinny (though that would be nice).  it’s about Control.  it’s about knowing that somewhere in these 28 years, my life is still at least somewhat mine.  it’s about knowing I can still exert self-control and willpower.  it’s about knowing that I’m strong and capable and independent.

———

I’m somewhat angry at those who want me to dry up.  because they’re taking simply another thing away from me, in a life where I already feel like I have so little to claim as my own.

I’d rather not even be alive.  yet still I wake every morning.  for them.  the least they could do is let me have my alcohol, let me have my skin and blades, let me have my own eating habits.

but no.  I have a feeling soon even my ED will be attacked.  and then I’ll have nothing.

and when I have nothing, I may Depart…..

just another day

yeah.  it’s a Tuesday.  at least it’s not Monday.  ugh, yesterday was rough.

though Tuesdays are my long days.  11-hours from start to finish; 7:30 am to 6:30pm.  blah.

 

I went by SpayNation today (that animal shelter for which I volunteer from time-to-time).  I hadn’t really given them any time for several months now.  too busy, too depressed.  but I talked to the manager about getting a new set of keys to the place so I can come by after work and on the weekends.  they’re only open when I’m at work, so that doesn’t work out well.

she’s game for that.  she wants to create a schedule.  maybe Tuesday nights after work I’ll swing by, and I’ll could take over her Saturday duties maybe every other weekend or something.  we’ll see.

Brian and I agree — I need to get more involved in volunteering.  it gave my life purpose — something I’m lacking right now.  :/

the last few months when I’d come by with old newspapers to donate, the manager always asked how I’m doing.  I hesitate, then give her minimal information.  today, she said she’s worried about me.  she said every time I come in, I’m getting worse.

my boss met with me yesterday.  she’s worried too, she said.

apparently that game Pretend — I’m not very good at it anymore.  the janitor at work has noticed I’m doing poorly.  I think my two office mates have noticed too, but are just being polite and aren’t saying anything.  the guy who works the bookstore has commented.  et cetera.  it’s seemingly apparent that I’m falling apart.

the manager at SpayNation suggested seeing a counselor or therapist.  I see my psychiatrist this Thursday.  I’ll ask him about it.  I just don’t think it’ll do me any good.  I already know most of the “tips’n’tricks” they’ll tell me about managing depression, anxiety, et cetera.  I’ve done all this before.  “write about it”; “talk about it”; “draw”; “take a nap”; “take a bath”; “deep breathes”; “read a book”; “draw on yourself instead of cutting”; “baby steps”; “use your support network”; “avoid triggering situations”; et cetera.  I heard it all.  I’ve been through all this before.

I can’t see me paying someone to talk about the things I write about here.  at least this way, it’s free.  moreover, maybe it’ll even help others who read it.  maybe they won’t feel alone, ya know?

tangentially, cutting.  I cut Monday morning.  just the typical light “FAIL” on my thigh.  I’m not gonna lie — it was kinda nice having that sharp pain every time my clothes rubbed against the open wound.  but I don’t want to over-romanticize it.  I can’t pick that habit back up again…..