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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my mad world

all around me are familiar faces,
worn out places, worn out faces.
bright and early for the daily races
going nowhere, going nowhere.
their tears are filling up their glasses.
no expression; no expression.
hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow.
no tomorrow; no tomorrow.
sorry about cutting.  about saying how maybe I was done.  guess I didn’t actually say I was.  because I’m not.
have great night.
see you tomorrow.  just with more lacerations.
children waiting for the day they feel good.
happy birthday; happy birthday.
and to feel the way that every child should;
sit and listen, sit and listen.
but honestly, I will be here tomorrow. so please, don’t call the cops….
I have enough trouble lined up with them as is.

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…..