I'd like to take a rain check on life. Hit that pause button for me, will you? Maybe when we start spinning this record again I can stop it from skipping. Don't even know how to jump start a car, how the hell do I jump start my life? You might say my mother and the doctors did that for me over seventeen years ago, well then I'm still trying to learn how to drive. Cliché after cliché but then they say it as well as my own words more than half the time anyway. Basically I know I'm fucking up but it's like I'm in a tailspin and can't pull up, could you help me if I had a Mayday Parade? Seems like that's my life these days, incorporating lyrics, book, movie quotes and band names into everyday conversation, lines from advertisements when i "hate watching TV" and speaking like my boyfriend. Spent hours on the phone last night not really listening, picturing blood everywhere instead, smeared on the walls. Pictured cutting all up my body from above my ankles to the base of my neck, as much as possible, and in detail. When I finally stopped, began to talk, because he wouldn't leave - he knew there was something - I tried to explain with words that I missed the exhilaration, and the way that despite ourselves, we become competitive and how his talking about Rachel has got me wanting more more more, why didn't I do more? I couldn't now, not to myself nor to them but some times I wish I could go back to when I could reduce my world to blood and pain and the next cut, to how deep I could go and how much. These days I'd look for the same thing in a bottle, and some days I just wanna get trashed so bad, just so I can forget, for a while. Is it obvious I can't cope? I'm not quite ready to be independent and last night I wondered if I cut myself till I collapsed on the floor, if I was found by morning still alive, when I got out of hospital could mum then let me see her again, the counsellor who was amazing when I was so skeptical although ready for something like that. Don't even know what it means to get by on my own and I know that makes me pathetic. I have such hopes but I can't see them through, I can't put in what I need to and it hurts more than anything to see your disappointment, when we all know I could do so much better. I'm a mess and I can't stand it.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
One Year Today. :)
I must be strong; I've come so far, you know. Although at times it seems a good thing, I understand the destructiveness behind your deception. Your incredible power is so seductive, but then, you're well aware. You're enticing, addictive. And I've always had trouble saying no...
You work so cunningly, so slyly. Attacking with loneliness and the fear it brings me - a little low, don't you think? Not that I ever mistook you for being honourable. You'd use every weapon in your arsenal and more tricks beside to have me at your feet once more, in helpless, fawning, obeisance.
We've walked that road so many times.
I love the way that you toy with us, at times gentle, cloaking yourself in the guise of innocence. At other times tempting, playing on guilt, forceful. "Oh, it's not that bad. Not such a big deal." "You know you want to." "You can't keep away. You couldn't before." "You'll never be free of me." Then the blunt shot, wordless. The cravings.
So many methods to employ and so admirably determined. I particularly enjoy the way you leave and come back with a punch; unexpected desire so hard to ignore. Or when you return after enough time has elapsed that its difficult to remember your dark side, even if one recalls it with their mind. Such tactics.
But see, the things is, even though you are so powerful, this power is not all-encompassing. I can turn my back on you, I can look away. I can remain vigilant and fight you with everything I've got. And what have I learned? That you are not indestructible. This is a war I'll be fighting for a long time; perhaps the rest of my life, but I am taking this stance and I am not giving in. I will not fall to you no matter how you plead or scream. This is me saying "never again".
A year ago I was in darkness, slave to a blade and the desperate need to flee from myself, from reality. Blood and pain flowing freely in a darkened room, heart more lost and broken than alive. Today I am fighting and more sure of one thing than ever before, that "hope is not a myth".
It was never going to be easy. I've caved enough times before to know. And sometimes fighting takes more effort than I've got, causes more pain than I know how to bear. I try try try and sometimes that doesn't seem like enough. Sometimes it isn't enough. But today, its been a year since I last cut, last hurt myself on purpose, and I am so proud of how far I've come. I never thought that I could do this, so many times when all I could see was pain and hurt; inescapable cycle; and yet, I have reached the other side of this dark tunnel.
Hope is real.
I'm not going to lie; I will find myself in the dark with the want to escape many more times. And this time, each time, to you, addiction, monster that would have me trapped in your grip, I will say no. I do not belong to you. This is over.
I am free.
(I originally wrote this last night, right after the previous post, but it is fitting for today, no?)
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Depths of Loneliness
Alone in the dark, once again. Less alone or more alone? Think back one year exactly, fast forward twenty-four hours. Different room. Same house. And all I had for company blood, pain and a glint of silver in the black of the room. Less alone or more alone?
Think back, think back, when all I had for company was the pain and the blade and the blood. The fierce anger to go deeper, deeper, to unleash that torrent of red. Less alone or more alone?
Is it nights like these that bring it back, suppressed desires for blood? For the anger and bitterness and the loss of reason, loss of reality, loss of pain? More pain to lose that which was already there. Deeper, deeper. Wounds to match both inside and out, maskinglosingovertaking. Less alone or more alone?
Desperate need to lose myself forget myself, drag deeper. Flesh torn roughjaggedraw, the deeper to lose myself. Without escape now does that make me
less alone or more alone?
I think it's the silence and the dark and the way
That I could be alone in the world.
Still alive still around? Talk to me, I need to see that you're still around. Emptiness pressing and no way to forget; where am I left now, less alone or more alone?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
/keyyboard mash.
The sickly sweet taste of cheep alcohol drunk for social ease is lingering and I want it gone. Every single time I have ever been tipsy - drunk, something bad has happened. Why do I persist in this?
The first time I was drunk I cut myself. And it was crazy, those gashes and that spurting of blood, and my reaction was one of both exhiliration and fear. Then there was the time I upset my best friends. I cried for a week over that till I finally got off my ass and tried to talk to them. Did I learn from that? Hell no. Then there was how I lost my virginity. And all the stupid shit those other times. I saw him the other day... I went to smile at him, but then I saw the awkward look he gave me, and remembered and ended up with a wry smile of acknowledgement. Ridiculous. I'd still have wanted to be friends.
This time I pissed off Jimit. Just a little, and he's so forgiving. I keep realising that there is far more depth to him than I initially thought, and I love that. But ohmygod, I can barely keep myself away from /off him, even when I'm sober and trying. It wasn't that which made him angry, there was more to it. But ugh. He was already let down by one of his best friends not coming to his 18th, and then I, one of his good friends, went and got drunk at a no alcohol party due to his parents' strictness. I don't understand how I have such good and forgiving and caring and understanding friends, when time and time again I have shown I don't deserve that and don't do enough to change anything.
I am talking to him now in our customary nightly manner...
How can I ever tell him that I like him again? A lot?
You know the stupidest thing I ever did? It was this text message I sent once, to my best friends, telling them how many scars I had from self harming. To this day, I wonder why the fuck I did that. Why??? There are so many things I did wrong. Why can't we have the benfit of hindsight at the very time??? Why do I follow through with my stupid ideas?
I'm so tired.
Friday, May 8, 2009
I Think I'm Getting Dumber.
And you may think I'm secretly blonde once I have told you the story of why. My friend told me that I was dumber than Paris Hilton - I'm so ashamed. (There'll be a poll at the end, don't worry.)
And btw, my Google Reader is fucked at the moment, what with my following 207 blogs and all (yes, two hundred and freaking seven) so I'm desperately trying to catch up on everything and if I don't comment on some kick ass post, yeah sorry. I know you'll miss me. -_-
So today, I'm kind of disheartened because it seems like I'm turning into one of those people who break everything they touch to the point where it's just plain embarrassing rather than funny, and you kinda wonder whatthefuck their point on earth could possible be other than to make you feel like a person of more worth. Take, for instance, the character Frank of old BBC comedy "Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em", which my parents are currently watching on DVD.
Case in Point 1.
This morning, I was about to leave for school, when, with one last look in the mirror, I noticed a dark stain on my jumper. At first, I, somewhat confusedly, thought it was blood, possibly because at the same time I accidentally stabbed my finger on one of the open safety pins that were supposed to be holding the strap of my bag in place, although they do that barely. That broke again today, irrepairably. Or, you know, I came to that conclusion because I am quite simply, morbid as fuck. It was also a strange reversal of an incident that occurred many years ago when I was a child, when I cut my hand opening a tube of tennis balls (pulling off the foil covering under the lid) in the car in the dark and was bleeding all over the tennis balls but somehow thought it was ink or oil...
I soon realised it couldn't be, and was attempting to wash it off when I realised it was ink that must have leaked from a pen in the pocket of my jumper. In washing it out I left a huge wet mark on my jumper. I was already wearing my school bag and didn't want to waste time, so... I proceeded to try to iron the wet patch on my jumper... while still wearing it.
I always knew it was a stupid idea, although I guess I never really worked out why... I thought, it's my jumper, it's wet, so the heat won't penetrate to my skin. I AM INSANE.
Less than 5 seconds later, I yelped in pain. OHMYGOD. It was so hot.
Duh.
So I ended up ironing my jumper on the ironboard after removing it, leaving faint ink stains on the ironboard cover in the process.
As a friend pointed out to me, why the FUCK didn't I use the hairdryer on it?
It never even crossed my mind.
I fucking suck.
Case in Point 2.
Why is my school bag broken? Well, it all began when walking through the library doors, where they have the same sort of things on the side as at shops, to make sure no one just steals books. I caught my bag in one of these without realising, kept walking, and tore the strap off the bag at the bottom. I have been attempting to hold it together with a whole bunch of safety pins since the bag is plastic and I know that if I tried to sew it back, things would only worsen.
Safety pins really aren't doing it anymore.
Case in Point 3.
We had a Biology practical today which involved cutting up Agar into cubes. Agar is jelly-like, but firmer, and I amused myself by drawing on the leftovers with my pen that is not a ball-point and I can't work out what type it is. Said pen no longer works. At all.
It was new.
Case in Point 3.
Today we had Maths, since we don't have every lesson every weekday. I forgot my Maths workbook, textbook, and calculator. I'd say the only thing I had that was able to be used in that subject was my pen, but I had already destroyed that earlier, in Biology, and happened to have on hand a pen I have borrowed from somebody else, forgotten to return, and now cannot recall who owns it, and no one else seems to know.
I could go on for hours but it's becoming a little too depressing and I'm going out soon so time is not on my side, although thank God, in this situation.
I'm angry at myself, because in our Biology practical, we used razor blades to cut the cubes, and everyone laughed over the brand of these blades being "Happiness". The irony here is obvious, but the thing is, I contributed by saying something about Emos, etc. It's not hard to work out the gist of any of those comments. But the thing is, I have been there, I know certain other people in the same area have cut themselves and I was completely insensitive and cruel about it. Talk about contributing to the stereotype. Because it isn't funny, and even though some people do it for attention, a lot of the time that is because they need help but can't express it in a normal way. I've thought that since before I ever did it, but as to why I did, there are so many different reasons. And I could never have stopped without one particular person.
The first person I told besides the ex ex best friend, and who stuck around for my relapse and getting through trying to quit again. I can't remember if I ever told her how grateful I was and am to her, specifically, although there were many general thank-you's to all of my friends who helped in some way, and I hope so much that I did, because I don't think I could ever have stopped without her. And she was right there in the room and I wondered if the conversation reminded her of me - what a terrible thing to connect with me. I see her more often than the others, and its excruciating because I think of how this time would be spent if things hadn't gone the way they had. And even when sometimes I think, fuck it, I'm going to leave my arms and stomach in shreds and pouring with blood, it's for her I don't, although I don't even know if it matters to her anymore, and I half hope it does and half that it doesn't, because, really, which is worse? I don't know anymore. Better for her, better for me; is anything best for the both of us??
And why I am I speaking about her now when I have tried so hard and so long to block her out? That sounds terrible, but if I didn't I don't know what I would do. In some ways, that's the hardest to deal with, because we were the ones who talked. I'd tell them all the same stuff but just, it was different, with her. We talked in depth about freaking everything. And it's talking about the really serious shit and just typical teen matters that I miss. Just, the way that we talked. Kathleen is great, but. It's not the same.
Nothing with other people could ever be the same.
And finally, for the answer to my question, I actually let myself read her blog [and the other's] tonight and then, well, then I obviously couldn't block it anymore. Now I'm more confused than ever. And there's only four days to go and I don't want it to get here, because one was bad enough. And even though the day before I'd done the stupidest thing I could have, that was barely on my mind.
[And, well, I guess that maybe you're reading this [?] and I wonder what you'll be thinking, but I have nowhere left to go, and I decided a long time ago that this was where I would write what I was thinking. I don't fucking know, I hide in every other way, I don't want to leave here too.
So maybe I won't write that letter. Because half the time I'm writing to all of you on here anyway.
You know, this post began and I was determined not to think about you, to make it to you or about you, all of you, for once. But what you said is running through my head and I'm trying to make sure I understand.
I hope you'll never think he was more important. He was just the one who was around the most, and from all that time together, to nothing. Fuck. I still don't know, I still don't think it was that way. But I wonder. "What's it like to kiss someone with a beard?" I remembered her asking that the other day, when I'd told both of you about hooking up with the exbestfriend, and how you both laughed as we walked our separate ways to different classes. That made me laugh.
But you know what? I realised, months ago, that I can deal with not being his friend. I always knew we wouldn't be "best friends forever". But I truly thought that about you two, and I guess, I guess that we all thought that but, I dunno. Semester One exam week, last year, sitting at the shops; do you remember the old lady who had the hair like the scary woman from Spirited Away? And how after we laughed at her, we talked about how we had to still be friends when we were old and had grey hair?
It's things like that I wish I could forget.]
In other news, guys, I may be getting back with Jimit. We were talking about it, and I dunno. I do like him but a friend says it would be a bad idea for me to get into a relationship with anyone at the moment, and I know that's probably true, but I just disagree. I can't really think of a reason why not to, so enlighten me, as I'm sure I'm just too fucking blonde to realise.
Anyway, after the longest-ass and most rambly post I have written in fifty years, here is your poll. What is your opinion on my level of blondeness? Dumber than Paris Hilton, secretly blonde, dropped on my head as a child, my mother drank while pregnant with me, or what? All conclusions welcome ;)
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"But, you see, I'd kick the bucket
sixty times before I'd kick the habit."
I was all set. I had my blog post planned out, title and everything. "Back in the game". And the body would simply be a picture. The cleaned up post-shot, not the one taken as blood streamed, unchecked. Startlingly, vibrantly red, forming lines that merged into one another and flowed, something unspeakably, inexplicably beautiful and peaceful in its deliberate, premeditated violence.
I had the area in mind. It would be simple and clean, just one. Or option two; a crazy release, but carefully controlled. But preferably the first option, just one cut, down the back of my leg. Inconspicuous. Excuse - Scraped against a tree.
I don't know what triggered it today. It was worse for that, and to be honest, it holds me in its grip as I write.
The other day, in Biology, I got cravings. But that was understandable, you know? We were doing a practical that involved slicing up liver of some animal. I was the one cutting it up. The scalpel blade and leftover headache from the morning, as well as feelings of dizziness, lead to my high susceptibility to cravings. Holding that blade, imagining it all clearly. I had to leave for a few minutes to clear my head.
Here, there was nothing. No trigger. Today is my mum's birthday and all that caused me to determine is to make dead sure she didn't find out. That wasn't enough to stop me. Haven't I caused her enough pain?
It was a wild tumble of emotions; missing my best friends, fond remembrances of times with them, upset at how much other people's opinions influenced my actions, at how my "brother (who isn't by blood but we count each other as siblings" obviously disapproves of my being with Chris; terrified that Chris will decide to join the army full time within a few weeks, and not next year, and if full time, would be gone for 18 months; and missing everyone I hadn't spent much time with lately. Tired and unable to stand against the turbulence of all this, I just wanted to do it. I half tried to believe "just once", just one more; because the last time wasn't much of a send off, although the depth of the scar would beg to differ. It would be nice to do it properly, end that part of my life well.
It was a lie, I knew that. If I did it "this once", it would be my chance to return to it. And I had been nine months and two days (longer than "pregnant time"). At the time though, it didn't matter much.
The faster we're falling,
We're stopping and stalling.
We're running in circles again...
Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep,
Up above in my head, instead of going under."
I'm okay and I can make this, but only if I want. And sometimes I just want to cut.
And,
sometimes it wouldn't feel like giving in. It would feel like satisfaction. Like what I want. "And you might say it's self-indulgent
And you might say it's self-destructive
But, you see, it's more productive
Than if i were to be happy"
It's a lie, I know. It's the need and the addiction clothed in something else, disguised as something better. Not done to stop the other pain, to release. But underneath the reasons are still there, still the same.
I'm clinging to this;
"I am not a pretty picture.
I am not a project or something for you to fix. I am a beautiful mistake, I am a mess, I am tragedy I am fairytales. I am a story, as are you, and with every line across my wrist I was screaming and with every tear that I shed I am praying for me and you and "them" and us. We are not alone we are in this together and I am on my face tonight. And darkness screams behind the door, it is begging, fighting to get in.
THIS IS WAR.
And I will not let it in, I will not sucuumb to your sweetness. I will not be betrayed by the kiss of a blade by the liquid that gives to take and I, I will not swallow those lies that sit on my plate. Brake. Shatter. Collide and fall. Pretty poison. I used to think I should come with a warning lable, I thought I destroyed everything that I touched and now, now I see, now I know it was not me it was the Hole it was the monster that came in and wrecked everything I know...and love...and love and hope would not let me go. And love and hope grew arms to reach me when I was running and wrap me snug in a hug that my heart had longed for oh so long. And love and hope in stars and hearts on my back on my arms and in my heart as mine, for me to give to you and that is what the pain was for. And that was worth it all, and more."
but I'm inclined to let go and jump back into the abyss. And do so gladly. Not falling, screaming, hating myself for this weak lapse. But with delight, like meeting an old friend again after a long time apart.
Bring me to my senses.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
I still struggle with the urge to hurt myself. It hasn't come on particularly strong in ages, which I am grateful for, but the other day I was a bit disturbed when the thought passed through my mind that I should, for no conceivable reason apart from that I wanted to.
[WARNING: this is a description of my past self harm and quite likely highly disturbing for a lot of you]
I've mentioned this before, I do get some sort of perverse pleasure from it, and am in some strange way slightly gratified by the spilling of my own blood. But then sometimes I want to do it for the sheer violence, to be able to take out my frustration and confusion and anger on something, to hack and destroy. Do you know what a sausage looks like when it has been overcooked and the skin spits, with the inside being peeled towards the outside, ripped and exposed? Sometimes I want to grab a blade and do that to myself.
And now I sound like a psychopath.
But truth be told, I could never do that anyway.
I could never strike in violence and without premeditation; a lot of the time I had to wait till the family were safely in bed before I could unleash my hurt, and as such, I planned everything. I would imagine where I would cut, and I would do it slowly, drawing out the pain, and then reworking it, going over it to make the cut deeper, the pain worse, the blood flow stronger. Of course, there were times where I would slash; some of the faint scars on my stomach are from that, but the brief sting of that was never enough for me.
The times of panic were most scary, I never thought I'd bleed to death, but I was scared that it would be bad enough that my parents would have to know, or that I would pass out, or something. And their finding out was what I dreaded most.
Things like this never really leave you, I think. They stay with you and resurface when you are not on guard. I don't want to give in but sometimes it's tempting. I can't explain the adrenalin rush it brings.
Satisfaction? Not so much. I would try to convince myself that it did something, but for me it grew to be less about the pain. I found the satisfaction in the blood pouring from me, flowing, sticky, staining; faster than I could mop it up. I loved that and I can't tell you why, but it made me feel better. It felt uncontrolled and somewhat wild, out of my hands. I found it fascinating, and it bore no room for other thought in my mind.
A distraction of the best kind.
The pain was part of it too, the pain that was better than feeling the hurt inside me, the harsh words or my own loneliness; that brewed and swelled and threatened to explode, but, vengefully, viciously, never did. This was my release.
There are approximately three reasons why self harm occurs, if you look at the research. They are true. To have a sense of control, as a cry for help, a way of expressing internal pain, and one other I forget. A cry for help and expressing internal pain are usually intertwined. I identify with all of these reasons.
The thing is, if you know others who self harm, it can become a competition; as to who can do the worst damage. When you see that another has done so much worse, you feel pressured because i seems like your pain is less than theirs, but it's as bad; this pain is so terrible. And so you feel like you need to go further, to prove this. It's largely subconscious, this; underlying.
And sometimes, inexplicably, I want back in.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Sometimes I prefer older people than those my age
Seriously, half the time, at this community service week (it finishes at 6PM rather than 9PM both tonight and tomorrow), I would prefer to spend time with Justin and my other leaders than people my age. I love other teens, don't get me wrong. Like my new friend Monika, who turns 15 tomorrow. She's 14. That seems insanely young... And then there are Amber and her boyfriend Luke (who is sooo cute /dies), who are 15. Cale, who is in year 10 this year at my school (although I've never seen him around before although he's seen me lol), so he's 2 years below me in school, is 15 and a half. He constantly sounds like he has a sore throat, and he has really long dark hair that should probably be cut, which he is getting done on Saturday (and I hate when guys get their hair cut coz it rarely looks good), and braces and a tiny bit of acne; but like I said he's really nice. And a little bit of a flirt...
I hate being friends with guys who are flirts, even without meaning to be, because I think I start flirting with them back, without realising. Although, apparently I flirt with guys heaps, but I've never noticed that I do. Yet, so my friends tell me. And I think I do, looking back, but I really don't mean to. It's just kinda how I am with guys near my age, unless I am completely un-attracted to them or they are my friend's boyfriend or something. Although I guess I still act the same way around them anyway.
But. Justin. I'd pick him anytime. And my other leader, Kristen, is amazing too, although she's just 19. Most of the leaders are awesome. James Bowden is also fantastic, so mature for his age (21).
Today, my friend's younger sister told me that I was really pretty. I was like, uhm. Because her (and her twin) are both absolutely gorgeous. Haha that was a whoa moment for me.
For those of you who don't know, Justin was my small group leader when my friend and I did Big Week Out two years ago. We adored him and spent most of the week with him. He is now 28. When we first met him he was already married to a chaplain, and he was a youth worker. He is really smart, caring, fun, nice; basically everything good. I look up to him so much. I have told him almost everything; not the recent friends thing, but about my self harm since even before it became serious, my issues with myself and my mother, with God. He has been a great help, and there for me in those two years whenever I have reached out to him. He's offered to teach me to learn to drive in a manual, although I'm not sure how serious he was. But how cool would that be? Especially if it means I would get to see him after Big Week Out! He is the most amazing person, and if I could spend all of BWO with him, I would. He's pretty busy with organising things for it though. He was my event leader today (we did an afternoon today and painted over graffiti), and after our event, back at the base, Cale and I were sitting together in one chair (a tiny bit squashed, but he was warm and so I was comfy), and Justin was sitting next to us talking. I haven't really talked to Justin much this BWO, which I'm so disappointed about. Hopefully I will.
He noticed that I wasn't eating lunch today, and he knows about my hating to eat and all the reasons why; but I walked away from him so he couldn't make me eat something. But I love that he cares about me.
Tomorrow I am donating blood, which I am really excited about. Not having eaten much, it may be a problem but we'll see. Since Tuesday I've eaten two chocolate bars and a handful of shredded cheese (I was hungry when I got home today), and we shall see how it goes tomorrow. I hate eating during school time anyway, and really, I have put on so much weight.
I know, it's not a good idea, it doesn't work, and all that. People have been telling me that for far longer than I've known Justin. But... I just don't know.
So anyway, Cale. I have noticed that I have a problem in which, when practically any guy starts to show interest in me, I consider the potential for something more than friendship. I don't want a relationship. But you know what I'm like in desperately needed to feel like I'm good enough, and if a guy likes me, that makes me feel like I'm pretty enough and am acceptable as a person; although I also partly think that they are somewhat deluded... usually, I will end up liking them in return, at least for a while. I also don't have very many guy friends. So when I do, I kinda want them to like me, even if I don't like them. Because like I said, it makes me feel good enough. Even though I'm still scared I'll never fall in and stay in love with someone who will love me back the same way.
Completely off topic - You know what, I almost feel ready to listen to "Rise Above This" again. It is my all time favourite song (thus far), seconded by "The Way She Feels" by Between the Trees. Rise Above This by Seether is the song that gives me hope and courage to live, no matter what happens. It's a song I haven't listened to in over five months, since things fucked up went to hell with my three best friends. (I didn't want to want to keep going. It also reminded me of one of them, the one I post about the most, since he also liked it.) If you're interested, take a look at the official music video on YouTube, it's amazing; about a boy considering killing himself. Or, here are the lyrics (Yes, they are pretty elementary, but still) -
"Take the light, and darken everything around me
call the clouds and listen closely, I'm lost without you
Call your name every day when i feel so helpless
I'm fallin' down but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Hate the mind, regrets are better left unspoken
For all we know, this void will grow and
Everything's in vain, distressing you though it leaves me open
Feels so right, but I'll end this all before it gets me
Call your name every day, when i feel so helpless
I'm fallin' down, but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Call your name every day, when i seem so helpless
I'm fallin' down, but I'll rise above this, rise above this doubt
I'll mend myself before it gets me
(I'll mend myself before it gets me)
I'll mend myself before it gets me
(I'll mend myself before it gets me)
Call your name every day, when i feel so helpless
I'm fallin' down, but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Call your name every day, when i seem so helpless
I'm fallin' down, but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Forty eight ways to say that I'm feelin' helpless
Fallin' down, fallin down', but I'll rise above this, rise above this"
Apologies for any typos or errors, it's a mere copy paste.
As for specifics on Big Week Out, tomorrow. It's been great so far (:
Monday, January 19, 2009
It's heaps good
I may not be posting much till the end of this week (yes, I know you're all devastated). It shall be a busy and rewarding week, I'm really excited at the thought of making new friends, seeing old ones again, learning, helping others, and all that jazz.
I finally get to donate blood! I'm really excited since last time I was given the opportunity I wasn't 16, which is the minimum age for donating blood here in Australia. Procedures like that fascinate me, I love getting blood tests and the like. For those of you who don't know, I have a bit of a weird obsession with blood (I'd post a link here to a previous post but I'm on my dad's phone), and also it can help save three people's lives so I'm even more enthused! I also have a motivation never to take drugs (injecting ones anyway), because if you ever have you can't donate blood. Not that I should need a reason but I'm something of a pushover, sucker for peer pressure, etc. Anyhow I definitely want to be able to donate blood, which I can do till I'm 70 hurrah (:
But blood donating is just a small part of what this week shall be about... It is a week where teenagers participate in events that service the community, but not necessarily community service in the traditional sense. There is a bit of painting over grafitti but visiting nursing home residents, clowning, free public barbecues, fixing people's gardens are some of the other events we've got planned.
It's basically organised by a bunch of churches around Adelaide, and I last participated in the eventt two years ago. There are several bases and ours has about 70 teens, plus leaders and organisers. Apart from the events, we will hear talks and participate in group discussions where will we consider the importance of community (which is also important to me and To Write Love On Her Arms) and God and how he can work in our lives, and those kinds of things. Some really important and thought provoking ideas are raised during the course of the week, and I am definitely looking forward to it.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Oh. My. God.
/breathes
okay so this is not me. i stress that. and this is probably highly disturbing. but these cuts are so pretty...
Warning: You may find this image highly disturbing.
^_^
I liked mine on my leg, unfortunately I accidentally deleted the picture I had of it.. It was pretty, glistening with blood...
Agh okay stop. :$
EDIT : okay revision. so this is highly disturbing thing. i still stand by that it's kindah pretty, but i can't really stand to look at it too long, it's so violent
mine were better ^_^
sdfhdgjfkljglkfd it's so just, so violent and vicious, yeeeah.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
tonight [updated]
I am closer than before to fixing things with Bec and Sach, and I have never in all this time wanted more to absolutely rip my arms to shreds. Hah I have had different ways of wanting to cut, or places, but this, so badly, just to tear up my entire forearms, both of them, like i have ripped up a piece of cloth, so viciously and roughly. The most appropriate word that comes to mind is mauling. The urges come suddenly.
Hah that would be appropriate, spreading the love Toivoa, then coming home and cutting yourself.
I'm SO CLOSE to fixing this.
And so close to losing this game of self preservation.
"A stitch away from making it and a scar away from falling apart."
Or I suppose I could carve Love into my arm hahhhhh
Like I was gonna write their names, / first letter of their names. haha but i realised how creepy and stalker like. ehh.
I miss Jake.
oh p.s. don't worry, i won't do anything
in addition coz i don't want to keep adding random paragraph long blogs every half an hour or so like, last night or whatever. anyhow. i just want to say. i absolutely hate. how. sacha said, in the latest thing of this email. that I seem fine without them. !!! Obviously I do a better job of covering up around them then I thought. I mean, I try to act normally, but for the most part, I tend to completely forget what I'm saying / doing when they are around, my mind loses any coherency. And I think about them a million times a day, I don't sleep because I miss them too much and they are in all my dreams >=| I just wish they knew how much I actually do miss them and need them and am not just "fine" without them. But like, I can't tell them. I don't want to do that, it comes across insincere and like I'm looking to make them feel bad and guilt them back into being friends. And I don't want that. But I do wish they knew how much I am not fine without them... they should know they mean more to me than that..
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Cravings.
And I think, I'm just a little addicted to you...
No, I'm not talking about Jake, although I suppose I quite easily could be.
I have something of an anger problem. It tends to stay directed at members of my family so none of you would ever see it. None of you would ever see the nearly uncontrollable rage I sometimes get into. Where I literally have next to no control of myself and I am consumed by anger. I'm glad I can't remember it properly afterwards, I am sure the feeling is a horrible one. I remember what happened, but the way I was feeling is fuzzy.
Not at Deborah anymore. We get along really well these days. But my relationship with my dad is deteriorating. And also before, when we got into fights, I was always fairly calm but on the rare occasions when my dad made me angry, I have tried to bite him and hit him etc. Mum and I used to fight a lot, this is from year 7 onwards, and I'd get angry at her all the time, but not as fiercely as the rare occasions with Dad. I'd get like this with mum sometimes too, but ehh still very very rarely.
Practically the only control I have over myself then is stopping myself from swearing, and that is only just. I usually have to say it under my breath, or something. Or scream something else that tends to be completely incoherent.
Mmm anyway so I was up till 4 30 the other night attempting to download Spirited Away onto the computer. My parents realised I was still up and came in and were yelling at me, but like, in whispers. Because they know how little I've been sleeping, but I won't tell them why. So they keep going on about how it's coz I'm not exercising enough.
Anyhow, so this was all like rahhhhhhhhhh. And I was so angry coz Dad switched off the computer and downloading was taking ages and it had just reached about 75%. So I was hell dev'd aha.
But they were ranting and I lost it. Mum was saying how I was going back to the stage I was before the holidays, meaning when I'd overdosed, and I was screaming "No, I'm not, I'm fine except for what you make wrong" because I am fine as I can get. And so she was like "then why are you sleeping so little, you don't eat right, you don't sleep right, you are killing yourself!" My response, "no I'm not I AM FINE", and dad was saying this stuff too and then mum was saying that I was stressing them both out and not letting them sleep and that i was ruining our whole family
And I seriously have been okay, but it's her saying stuff like that that fucks me up, I can't stand people telling me how I think, mum and dad both tend to do that, and I'm like no, you've got me all wrong, I am NOT like that. And her essentially telling me that I'm messed up, at that stage it makes me incredibly upset.
Ehhhh anyway. So I got real angry. I was about to hit my mum in the face with my drink bottle but I restrained myself enough to hit her as light as possible so it couldn't really hurt like on her arm. Because if I didn't do something I would have exploded. And I didn't want to do even that >=(
Mmm so anyway. Afterwards. I craved, so badly, to cut. (You may want to stop reading. Specifically you Kate >.<) Because, it is comforting. It wasn't even for the pain that I wanted it. The sheer violence of it, but calm; disguised violence. The blood. It is amazingly pretty. I have something of a fascination with my blood. And like, those gothic pictures? With the people and sometimes there is blood, it is gorgeous. >.< It's just, blood is so amazing. It is the thing that gives us life, well one of the things. And watching it drip, it's special. Eeeep now I sound psycho. This I really should keep just for my diary.
But I just still had that rage, simmered down and bottled but not quite subsided yet. Although I was very calm, after that. Not in that cold white way that rage sometimes goes to. Just calm. Okay. And I could picture getting a blade, holding it to my arm, pressing it, feeling the slight pressure. Then going deeper. I barely cut like that. Cutting slow was always the hardest. And to keep going. It takes a lot of nerve, or a lot of pain or being upset, or anger. But it's better. And to watch the blood slowly well up in beads, staying there for a point along a fine red line, until the surface tension breaks and it spills out, coursing in rivers along my skin. >.<
It slightly, vaguely worries me that I would take out my anger on myself. Or want to. I haven't. And I don't plan on it. But it's beyond hurting myself. It's good. It's addictive. Sometimes I want to do it merely for the sake of the blood. However, usually, I go with the quick strokes as fast as possible, it's easier. ohmygod I am so sick in the head lol. So now you know one of the most fucked up things about me. I have very dark blood by the way. And my blood is an amazing colour ^_^ I love it. It's dark and deep and rich maroon, a royal shade of red...
Blood from your arms and legs is thinner, more watery. Bleeds a lot. Stomach is rather more disappointing, the blood is thicker and does not flow...
Agh. Okay. Biology.
I should have kept that to myself.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Living in the here and now
^^^ That is what I have decided to try to do, to an extent. Focus on things close at hand rather than the past, I'm terrible for looking back and wishing to change things; and looking forward too far and thus freaking out, but ah well.
Random point, last night when I said that I'm empathetic. At the same time, I tend to forget that not everyone thinks the same as me. Most people will interpret the same message and looks differently to how I will, will take wrong meanings when I or others meant something completely different, they will have perspectives on the same subject that seem as obviously right to them as my own, different view will seem to me. I keep using "different" in this paragraph, I apologise, I'd come up with a different word but, I can't be bothered.
I am far too idealistic, I know that. I like to think the best, I like to think that people overall are good and generous and loving, I like to think that we can solve major world problems. Don't disillusion me too much... I'd like to hang onto a little innocence, deluded or not. Another word for this, of course, is naivety, but maybe being slightly naive is not always a bad thing. I like to dream, I make huge plans for things not likely to happen but I half believe we can do it. I just don't really have the motivation to follow through with it I guess.
I have decided on a strategy of Toivoa well-being (:
Today I didn't have time for breakfast but, since mum stopped buying it, bought some Choc Up & Go from the canteen this morning mmmm um num num (: Hah. And took my tablets, made sure to moisturise my scars with that stuff to help get rid of them, the ones on my leg, to be honest I love my scars, I love those scars, I only want them gone so I can wear shorts to school. I'm heaps devastated I lost my pictures of when I made them, and they were glistening with blood. >.>
Forgive me, if you are reading this, take note that I have an unhealthy fascination with blood that goes way beyond any kind of normalcy, and also scars, I have in fact had a scar that took me a couple of weeks to make, that I just wanted to have a scar in the shape of a heart, I didn't do it for any particular self harm reasons, I would not even define it as self harm. I wanted that scar. It didn't turn out so well. But yeah it was not about the pain, it was a little about the pleasure of bleeding (and trust me, that does not mean I like having my period, ewwww), I am slightly morbid at times, although a fascination with blood does not necessarily mean fascination with death, in fact death repels me rather a lot... So morbid is not, perhaps, the right word. However, I do think about dying a lot. Not even in a vaguely suicidal way. Okay okay, there are occasions. But those thoughts are beyond my control, leaving me panicked and struggling to breathe...
But yes, I accidentally deleted those of my phone before uploading them, apart from a couple, just of my leg covered in blood, and the one of my hand with blood on it, mmm. Sorry, it does give me a peverse sense of happiness. I, yeah, I am an odd one. Forgive me. I feel guilty for that, it is something that is not... right, I feel. It is not something I would readily admit to either. Mmm Jake and I have discussed this, I have talked over so much stuff with him, strange considering how closed off he is. And I know he always felt bad about not being able to say anything to make me feel better when I was upset, but his support, knowing that he cared, that was enough! I wish I had managed to make him believe this, I wish I had been able to do more for him. Since some of you know him, I don't have the freedom to talk about him all that much, some things are not really for me to share. Mm.
But anyhow, I have decided that I need to take a stand for myself, take the initiative to being happy, doing what I know is best. Letting, as Amanda says, the strong Toivoa take over. I wouldn't define her as the strong Toivoa, the right but weaker Toivoa. God definitely brought me into contact with Amanda for a reason. She is so similar to me, has had a lot of the same thoughts, experiences as me; understands the way I think. And I am so lucky I trusted her.
Wow, I go off on as massive tangents as Mr Clark haha. I should attempt to structure this; but eh. Later, other blogs. I'm nervous nervous nervous, first conversation with Bec and Sacha in ages, through emails, it's scary and it's filling me with the small flame of hope, hope I do not yet want to feel. I'm more scared of getting hurt than I realised, I'm not sure if things can be worked out, and I don't want to hope in vain. But still I cannot smother the burning. I'm hoping and hoping so painfully, I don't know if I can take it. I'm on the edge of my seat, hoping, hoping, if it hadn't been so long and I hadn't grown so distant from these things, I would be praying, so so edgy.
My blogs are really too long, but I have so much to ramble on about. I have got to try what Amanda said, to realise thoughts and emotions can come into my mind which aren't mine, from tv, etc, and I have to learn to recognise these bad ones that come in and shouldn't be there, and let them go. I will keep my blogs shorter from now on, I promise.
Now the email.
Thus far. So scared. No reason to hope, and yet I am. Hope is not a myth. Thank God for that. But in this situation, I am not ready to hope.
But, for the past three hours, I have had the "post comment" page open on Shazz's blog, and I don't know what to say. Words can't make it better. I have contributed to her pain. I know that. I want to make it better. I don't want her to feel alone. But I don't know how to communicate everything I feel. That has been one of my biggest problems lately.
I have been combing through old TWLOHA blogs, trying to find the "Hope is not a myth" one to hyperlink where I wrote it before, I just read some of the ones where Jamie and Trisha etc went to India. This stood out. "People were made to be free." In this context, it is talking about literal slavery, but people should be free, from feeling alone, from the mental trap we set ourselves. Free from that broken part of us, that failing of the human condition. We deserve to be free of self doubt, and self hatred, etc. I can't express what I mean adequately.
I love how Jamie, and everyone in TWLOHA, acknowledges the very real pain and tragedy all across the world in all its different forms, and yet they do not simply accept it as a fact, like many people. They present the fact that hope is real, they bring hope to the hopeless; they work to change that. I love how it shows so clearly, that one person can change the world. One voice can make a difference.
Hope is still so real in this dark and corrupted world. That fills me with something I can't explain, having that assurance. I guess, it's hope, in something strangely ironic. The idea of hope fills me with hope. But apt, I suppose.
Mmm, I need to do homework. And comment on Shazz's blog.
One small thing.
"Open the eyes of my heart, Lord, I want to see you."
p.s. last night i let myself fall asleep by 12, i had 3 dreams, two with jake and other random people, in the library hah. and one with sacha and bec. not good. kept waking up. i'm gonna keep myself up again later tonight. sigh.
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