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 ;)
Friday, April 24, 2009
"It's not the end of the world,
In fact it's not even the end of the summer,
But thank god the TV is on..."
Because I'd rather that than being with you.
I try. I do. And yet, it grows ever harder to mean what I say, when I say that.
[I love you.]
It was true, once. What happened?
And you know what, I could care less, but that's not to say that I care enough as it is. Is it worse to maintain this facade than to reveal the truth? I still care enough not to do that. For, honestly, I think the latter in this case is the more damaging course of action. And the "facade" is built with a mixture of lies, truth and half-felt emotions. Its a matter of selfishness also, and a nostalgia for the past.
I love you, like a worn out shirt that I can't quite throw out.
If I removed everything with association, you'd be third on the pile. But I think I'd steal you back at the very last second.
Half guilty, half gleeful. And keeping secrets was never such a thrill. Yet, it gets lonely when there's no one to confess them to. Silly secrets, big secrets, they all have their place. But I was never one to keep secrets, and it eats at me like it does at this blog. What happened to openness? What happened to honesty?
Can you recall naivety? Really recall?
I wonder if I've lost anything less than my soul, but then, perhaps I've lost everything less as well.
There are more questions than answers in this universe, and that's where faith comes in. Can one have faith without hope? I'd beg to differ. But no hope is better than false hope. I'll still justify my position, for without some form of hope I wouldn't be here, and until I can exchange mine for better, I'll stick with fake. A few hours of delusion never hurt; ask those who leave their sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. Deaden the pain that tells you something's wrong. Courage? What courage? I'll take my courage from a shot glass.
I use your words in placement of the blades I once dragged across my skin. You wouldn't want it but I'm all too eager to take them, for nothing is worse.
I've become the one you try to help, what you tried to warn me against, but only behind your back. I'm a disappointment enough as it is, yes? I take in much more than you'd think, but it's yet another case of '"I'm sorry" isn't enough'. I'd ask for forgiveness but I think that's more than I deserve, although you'd tell me otherwise. It's different in context, is it not? That bitterness keeps you up at night, although the parallels aren't as clear to you as they are to me. Is this a part of His plan? Because I know as well as you that only one other wanted this. All things work for the good of those... I'm not one of those, but you are. So where is the goodness here? I'm not doubting, but questioning. It is not my place, but what can I say? It is not so much your answers I want, but your comfort.
All I want is my own happy ending, and I don't even need a prince and castle.
Okay, my ramblings are over, for now. Take a guess as to what is addressed to whom, if you so wish. I can bet you won't guess correctly, or at least, not a hundred percent.
Night. xx
P.S. The anger and the hurt only stems from all this confusion, that "just tumbled from a washing machine" feeling.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I am so freaked out right now. I was looking at followers and was checking out the blog of one of my newest followers. Remember the best friends I used to write about a lot? (And trust me I still think about them so much) Well from reading her blog and seeing her followers in turn, this girl is the best friend of one of those; they'd been friends since primary school. I don't know if she found my blog through following those others of us from my school, or if its because we have some similar favourite movies and the like, or how, but I'm majorly freaked out at the moment, because my friend is following her blog, and if she finds mine...
Let's just say I don't really want that.
I would give anything to reconcile this shit. Hell, if I knew if there was anything I could do to fix this, I would. But I don't have any fucking idea and do you know how fucking long it has been now??? Almost seven months. Seven months in which I have thought of them every day, and known I couldn't talk to them. No, I talked to each of them in person once, just a few lines of exchange, on the last day of school last year.
But, I don't know what to do. I don't know if anything can fix it. I don't think they care, or miss me at all. Do you know how much that hurts???
I've been refraining about writing about this on here because its what makes up most of the content of the first three months of this blog, but everyday when I see them at school, when I think of the time I could be spending with them in the lessons and frees we have together, do you know what that does to me???
I think, I'm okay. Like I said, I'm getting better. But not so much that it doesn't hurt. I don't know why I'm freaking out so badly about this. But things are building up again. Someone I love more than anything is struggling with her urges to force herself to throw up, again. She was past that. Like I'm past cutting, right? She tried the other day though, but couldn't. She was "out of practice". Why the hell should anyone even be in practice for something like that??? It's breaking my heart, because I want to help her so much, but I have to stand by and try to convince her not to, but knowing that whatever I or anyone else says, it may not be enough. I can only hope that she gets past this, but I cannot do anything.
I'm sick of not being able to do anything, or knowing what to do, to make things okay.
And I'd go back in time if I could, to that last day we spent together, although the ex best friend (who, by the way, has gone back to not talking to me at all; I don't fucking understand him) wasn't there and that in itself made me cry, just a little. It was a good day. And I still don't understand how I fucked the best thing in my life up so badly.
If I understood it, maybe that would make it better. Maybe not. But I don't know. I don't get it at all.
I didn't realise how good a job I'd done of suppressing this till now. Which is obviously how I've been able to keep going.
I need to go.
EDIT: [10.06PM] I'm slightly less agitated, watched my favourite TV show, and with that distraction and the passing of time, I may be able to sleep before 1AM. Fingers crossed. Although I need to do homework so actually, forget that. Let's go with 3AM and a truckload of coffee tomorrow in the morning. Damn I love the coffees at our local cafe. I swear, they get me through life.
In other news, I have this huge hickey on my neck that is kinda too far over to properly cover with my hair. I need to be really careful for the next week or so, especially around home. Chris came over this morning before our excursion and we just hung out (and made out) and I accidentally leaned on the part of the computer desk that slides out, on which the keyboard sits, while we were watching music videos on YouTube, and broke it. Said desk is only about two months old. The line on which it runs is mangled and I can't fix it. My dad, when he finds out, will kill me, because it doesn't move properly anymore. Needless to say though, it was quite funny. And typical of my accidental destruction of everything. You love it. And me too, of course. (And I still hope that won't change because I need you a lot more than you'll ever realise.)
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Marks of Madness,
Or perhaps, Signs of a Journey.
I've been considering my scars, again. The main ones run the length of my arm, on the pale flesh of my forearm, on the right side. In certain lights, at certain angles, the thinnest, thread-like scars, barely visible, further to the left than any of the others, can be seen.
I have burn scars on my shin, on both of my hands, and scars from cuts from my hips up over my stomach up to where my bra ends, as well as on my leg, but it is these scars on my arm that best represent, to me, the time of my self-harm.
I hate that term; "self-harm". It speaks nothing of the emotional intensity of the action, the convoluted depths of such a thing, but simplifies it to a point of such insignificance that I feel utterly ridiculous in saying that I once engaged in it. There's so much more.
I have approximately fifty-seven scars due to self-inflicted wounds. In those times, I'd been told that I would regret this later, this thing I was doing, if only for the scars that would be left. But even then, I knew this could not be so. They were a part of me, they were a sign of something. They symbolised something for me, a time, an emotion, a reflection of who I was at those moments. They told a sort of story, screamed something important and in need of remembrance, like any good tattoo. Scars have always fascinated me, on any person. They testify to something, and like as not, there are interesting stories attached; of childhood misadventure and impulsive attempts, of tragedy. These scars of mine are my sign of my self value and a time of darkness I went through, my "marks of madness", faded now, but still present, lingering. A madness that rears its head every so often, raging against its imprisonment, its abandonment in change for better things, a better way; beguiling and tempting, alluring. Desperate for a comeback.
My scars still itch and hurt occasionally, just a little. I take comfort from this, for this means that they are still healing; they will fade yet more in time, just as I am healing. It is a slow process, but I am learning my own value and it is an amazing, astounding thing. How do I explain just how I revel in this ongoing discovery that I am worth so much and have so much to give? It brings me to silence at times. I am loved and, more than that, I am loved for a reason. This love from others no longer bewilders me quite so much. There is a reason for my life; I am not just some sort of mistake on God's part, some mishap that defies my view of God's perfection, which struggles with my belief of every single person’s value. My friends are amazing and not somehow deluded, somehow believing a massive lie that I am actually worthy of their love. Are any of us worthy of love? Let’s face it; we’re all pretty fucked up, in some way. The wonder of it all is that in spite of this, we are loved. It is in being loved that we become worthy of it. On our own, I do not think that many of us are deserving of being loved. Really. But we are loved. And that makes us worthy of it, for it is so. What a confusing concept, but I believe it, and I love what it means.
I began to ramble, didn’t I? It was bound to happen.
I love how my scars signify the self hatred that was once there. For, in that they are scars, that they are not fresh injuries, not growing in number, they are a sign of my growing beyond that, to embracing something brighter, something, as I said, that is better. Far better. They are a sign that what was once all too present, overshadowing, is now in the past. It doesn’t attempt to hide what has been, but shows forth the reality that this thing, this time did exist. It acknowledges that, but points to something else. A new chapter.
It is worth remembering, where I was in contrast to where I have reached, and I can look back to that past self and tell her that she was right, that this was merely a storm which would pass, that she would get through it and emerge stronger for it, that that faint spark in the darkness was really a light shining, sunlight that she would reach.
My scars tell a story, that what I felt was real and true and it shouldn’t be played down; it was big and it mattered and it is something that will remain a part of me, but in a good way, for I’ve learned from it all. And I love that.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"The reason is you"
Postscript for my earlier ramblings today.
Quite simply, my sister is my reason as to why I won't cut. I will not allow myself to. If not for my sake, for hers.
She is my only, younger sister; and while she does not self-harm, she struggles with other things. How can I plead with her to refrain when I put forth such a bad example, whether she knows it or not?
When I long for her to not do this terrible thing, knowing that others feel the same way about me, how can that be justified, how can I expect her to listen? And even if she does, how I can I live with such double standards?
No. I am stronger than this. And I am definitely stronger for her. I cannot be selfish about this. I will not.
Life is worth more than this. My life is worth more than this. I'm going to bend, but I am not going to break.
This IS war.
And I'll be damned if I let you win.
"I will not let it in, I will not succumb 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."
Thank you for bearing through my time of weakness. But there is hope. It's here and it's real, and this is worth it. Life isn't easy. But we are stronger than we think, and we have each other. We have hope. And "hope is not a myth".
"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.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
"Well, she's not bleeding on the ballroom floor..."
"...just for the attention,
'Cause that's just ridiculous..."
For those of you who don't know, I saw a counsellor a few times after my overdose on painkillers. Maybe four, maybe five. And also for those of you who don't know, I was not trying to kill myself. But, I liked this counsellor. I felt guilty for having to see her, when it cost my parents so much. But they wanted me to get better. And I wanted to get better. And hopefully even fix things amongst our family somewhat. However, most of you will know, as well as I, that seeing a counsellor is not something you do just a couple of times. If you want a quick fix, it's better to go in for drugs, or hypnotherapy, or crazy altering-chemicals-in-your-body type stuff. If you want to see a counsellor and work through problems, it is a long term thing. It takes time, and patience. Four or five visits to a counsellor is just the start.
I'm not crazy and I'm not suicidal; I don't even necessarily have depression, but yes, I have seen a counsellor. And, it wasn't actually a waste of time. It was helpful. Not every counsellor will be helpful to you personally, and different people "click" better with others. But that's all rather irrelevant. I'm just trying to do my bit to beat down the stigma our society associates with counsellors etc. But more on that another time.
Sometimes, I don't feel up to taking that responsibility that seeing a counsellor engenders. It means having to actually take action, to stop relying on others. Because you have to put in effort.
And sometimes, I don't feel like I have that much within me. I don't think I can keep going. It feels too hard and I want to give up. When, like me, you are desperate to know that you are loved, you will sometimes go to shocking lengths to be assured of this. It didn't begin as this, but the ways in which I hurt myself physically ended up serving another cause, when those around me found out, seeing how they were upset told me that they cared. I already knew they cared about me. They expressed it enough. But for me, that wasn't quite enough.
When I say that my friends "found out", I mean, generally, that I would tell them. Or I would drop hints or not quite hide what I had done. I hated myself for it, for making them upset. It was yet another thing to prove I was a terrible person; that I would let them know. More ammunition to use against myself. I didn't want to be attention seeking, but honestly, that is what I was doing, in that aspect of my self harm, at least. I suppose you could say I was slightly manipulative as well. But I didn't have much control over it. Each time I determined that no one would know, and almost each time, I would let at least one person know. Sometimes not for weeks, months even. But I would eventually fold.
I don't suppose I could have hidden the guilt I felt for betraying them, which is what I did every time I self harmed, even if I had truly tried. I let myself give in and tell them because secretly, that was what a large part of me wanted. Even when I didn't realise it.
Anyway, it is this need to be assured of others' love for me that led me to being heavily reliant on them. I needed their reaction to my actions as motivation to stop self harming, I needed them to help distract me when I wanted to self harm but was trying not to. I used my friends as a crutch (no one please think of the other crutch! >.<) and let myself go on feeling sorry for myself. That's the truth.
Sometimes it feels too hopeless, too hard to go on. But I know I am stronger than I think. It is up to me to keep going, not to give in as I did when trying not to tell my friends about my self harm. Because if I had wanted, I could have not told them. And if I had truly wanted, I could have stopped myself from self harming, each time. But I was scared to take responsibility, because that meant that things could be my fault. I hate being wrong. It's not that I feel I am better than others, rather, that I want to please everyone, and if I make a mistake, I am letting others down. It's why I hate team sport so much, because I was always the one who would let everyone down (apart from in soccer, I love that game C:).
In those respects, I was (and still am, in other ways) a little child. I still sometimes want to be the vulnerable one who will be in a position where (hopefully) others will protect her, and she can know by this that they care, and she matters. But I am learning to tell myself just how ridiculous that is, and do some standing up for myself.
There are the times I feel so weak and I want to hand over my problems to someone else and tell them to fix them, but that is not possible, and if I'm honest, I know I can hold out, even if it won't be easy. It is up to me whether I stand firm or break.
With all of this, I sometimes wished I would just be given anti-depressants or something. Not that I'm saying they are the easy way out; sometimes they are necessary. But I'm not keen on drugs and things that alter the body's functions and I knew I could do it otherwise, although it would be harder, longer, and more frustrating. So I was glad to be seeing a counsellor. They do help, but only if you let them, if you take on board what they say and apply it. And I was ready for that. I was ready to move forward, no matter how hard it was. And sort out stuff that I hadn't been able to sort out in my own mind. We all know the saying about not seeing the wood for the trees. A distanced person could lend a valuable perspective and I wanted that.
I had thought about counselling long before, but I couldn't bring myself to ask my parents about it. That would involve first convincing them I had things I needed to work through, and then that it should be done professionally, etc. So I was, in a way, grateful at the chance my overdose gave me. I thought that even this stupid thing I had done could be the very thing that helped me. I had to have follow up counselling. I had to confront things, I couldn't avoid it, and I didn't even have to bring it up personally!
I hadn't seen my counsellor since before Christmas as she was going away on holidays, and said just to make an appointment when she got back, whenever. Well, she's been back for a long time. I wanted to see her again, but Mum didn't bring it up, and I was dead against bringing it up myself. I'm not good at broaching certain (most) remotely sensitive subjects with my parents, particularly my mother, and I really didn't want to do this. She had made it clear she thought I was better. That I only "caused all this trouble during school" and she thought that when school started again, "her and Dad would have to endure the nightmare again". "You've put us through hell... you've caused us so much heartache... you've caused your dad so much stress that with his high cholestrol he could have a heart attack... (or, rather more bluntly) you'll kill your father..." And so it goes. My mother is not the most... er, understanding or tactful soul... Yet, while I am an absolute sucker for guilt trips (I felt guilty for eating or attacking in any other way my friend in some Wii game we were playing at his house, even though it was part of what my character had to do in order to beat him - Super Smashed Bros Brawl, if you were wondering), I refuse to let my mum's work. Of course, some still slip in past my barriers.
I didn't exactly want to explain to my mother that no, not everything was alright, and no, it had a grand total of nothing to do with school vs. holidays, but it was an ongoing thing with many issues and this matter with my friends was only a very small part of it. I made half hearted attempts to counter her nightmare statements by saying "it's not anything to do with school", and her "you seem just fine now that it's the holidays" with "how would you know"s, but I would back out and run for the hills the moment she demanded what exactly I meant.
I finally asked her if she could make a counsellor's appointment, and she was very reluctant. I was a bit stunned as she asked me how many more times I could go see the counsellor. I know it's expensive but there is absolutely no point in going a few times, it is an ongoing process! She doesn't see anything really wrong with me, which also contributes to it, but I know that I need this. I can get by without it, but to truly fix things, it would be of great help. And I love the chance to have someone get to know so much about me; practically everything, and accept it. I've realised that it is something I long for, because it would be a true mark that I am worth it, that I am an okay person; valuable, and all that.
This was over two weeks ago, and I asked her yesterday if she had made an appointment because in the end she said something which sounded like a grudging acquiescence, and she told me that she hadn't.
I don't want to say this, I don't want to feel this; but I'm disappointed and it feels like a betrayal on my mother's part. She should want me to get better. I know it is just because she can't tell anything is wrong, if I was physically sick her and Dad would spend everything they had to help me become well; but this is different and it's not as simple or as obvious as physical illness. Not that I'd say I'm mentally unwell, but still.
Sighh.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Interview
That Damn Expat kindly put together an interview for me (ages ago, sorry for just getting around to it). If I were you and hadn't already done so, I'd check out her blog ^_^
So anyway, here are the interview rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Interview begins here (:
1. I've only been reading your blog for a few days. Introduce yourself in five sentences or less.
I'm sixteen years old and I find myself wanting to please others even more than sometimes doing what I know is right, which leads to a lot of mistakes made on my part, but I am learning to (hopefully) be a better person. I believe in God but I am a little bit confused on more of the specifics, I don't want to buy into Christianity because of my parents, but I want my own, personal faith; and the whole beliefs thing does affect quite a large portion of my life. I am very open about my emotions and events in my life, and perhaps don't always know when to keep my mouth shut. I am a very contradictory person, and although I'll always apologise first, I do hate to admit I'm wrong. I also attach sentimental value to everything, meaning I find it very hard when it comes to getting rid of things; but I like the physicality it lends to memories. I'm never quite the same today as I was yesterday, but I'm sure there are some things about me that will never change.
2. You have had some problems that you openly blog about. What is the one thing you learned about yourself through this ordeal?
I have slowly been learning to stop basing my self value on others' opinions of me, and rely more on myself. I am listening less and less to that voice that tells me I am insignificant and merely a burden to others; and I have learned that hope is always there, although sometimes we can't see it. Life is worth living and I do not plan on giving that up anytime soon.
I have also learned that I am stronger than I thought; for those of you who haven't been reading my blog for very long, I used to self harm, which is a very technical term that doesn't, I feel, really encompass all the issues behind it. I had tried to stop a few times before, but it was only when I decided to stop because I deserved better and I knew that I was worth more, even when I didn't truly believe that; when I decided to stop for my own sake, that I could do it. And I truly knew I could do it. Although there have been times when I have almost given in, I have held out. I'm not saying that I have stopped for good, there may be a time when I do give in. But I know I have the strength to keep going, and everytime I fall, there will be a chance for me to get up and move on. I have, in the past, relied on others as my motivation to keep going, but I understand that that was a way of shirking responsibility; quite simply, I was being lazy.
I'm much happier with myself these days and I feel I can be a better friend because I think I'm a decent person.
I make a lot of mistakes and screw up a lot, but there is still hope, and that's what I will always cling to. (:
That was probably a bit over the top lol
3. Who is the one person/author that had the biggest influence on your writing?
I'm not entirely sure, since I was 6 I have absolutely loved reading and writing, up until the age of 12 I used to read near constantly, I'd read anything I could get my hands on. I'd go through over 50 books in less than a week, children and teenage fiction, but I started reading adult fiction at 13. I used to (and still do) adore Enid Blyton books, the adventures that happened at the lands atop the Faraway Tree and in the places the Wishing Chair would take Molly and Peter were some of my favourites, and her school stories are the reason I really wish I went to boarding school. As for my parents, they've always encouraged me to write, and my dad used to proof read my stories and suggest improvements, which was great (:
I can't really think of any one person who influenced my writing specifically, but along with Enid Blyton I devoured Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys novels on a regular basis,
4. If you could do anything you want after high school, what would it be?
I would love to work with To Write Love On Her Arms to be able to spread their message of hope and community in such an amazing way, they truly are life changing and have had a massive impact on my life and many others. But, I would really like to have a career where I can help people in whatever way is best. I am considering a University course in Nursing, or perhaps Occupational Therapy, although I need to look into that more.
I definitely want to go to Uni, but first I need to get through Year 12!
Other than education and career wise, I'm not really sure. Travelling would be nice but I would need the money first and I want someone really fun to do it with. Road trips are part of the plan but a major international trip, even just to New Zealand, would be fabulous, perhaps with my best friend from primary school (:
I do eventually want a family, but I'm not really sure when. I don't feel the need to stringently plan out my future, but I do know that I don't ever want to be alone; which means not moving out of my parents' home till I have friends who I can live with, and since my parents aren't keen for me to move out too early, that shan't be happening for ages, which I am fine with.
5. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?
I'm not sure, I have thought about this before, but truthfully, I haven't seen that much of the world, there are so many possibilties out there that I still haven't explored. Adelaide is wonderful for growing up in, but I don't want to live in one city for my entire life; there are so many places to go and they're all so different. I love Australia, it is my home, but I'm not ruling out living in another country for some time...
I try not to worry too much about the future (:
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I really need to get the hang of this blogging thing
I wouldn't say I'm doing toooo badly, considering my 26 followers (and 15 on my other blog!), however there is vast room for improvement. My posts are either too short, too long, without enough background information, whiny, sad, repetitive, confused... And to top it off, it's the 7th of January, and I've only posted three times thus far this month!? Usually it's more along the lines of three times a day...
Admittedly I have been away in Melbourne, and out as well a lot, but what I have posted lately anyway has been bland, uninteresting or merely quotes or stories from others... Poor form, poor form.
So, for the new year, I need a new name. For my blog. For the characters in my life on this blog ^_^. And to replace Tovoia ja Elaman!! >.< Something that will represent who I am, without revealing my identity. Then I can go back and alter all posts with his name in it, with anyone else's who could expose who I am lol. Although, reading my posts, after a while you could guess anyway, if you do know me.
I want your help for this, I have requested this before but this time I want ideas! So please, rack your brains and come up with something as I thus far have been unable to do...
I just sent a long email to Michael trying to explain just what my former best friend means to me and what our friendship was like, why I find it so hard to let go.
[Just an aside, my iTunes won't open /grits teeth nervously, stabs keyboard {My iTunes is precious to me, I have it at well over 4000 songs, due to careful nurturing and much Limewire and Torrent downloading; and as for my play counts... /holds protectively]
You know what? This iTunes matter is remotely urgent (of course that makes sense), and I think I'm going to have to restart. But no! I am downloading my iTunes update so I can't even do that for another 30 or so minutes... Sigh. [My somewhat excessive downloading may or may not have lowered our broadband connection to dial up speed... again.]
I just recalled that I have Maths tuition homework I really should be doing rather than blogging. But it has been a long time since I have truly posted, I can't stop myself now... So I'll switch to Windows Media Player temporarily to continue listening to Bloodhound Gang (Ain't My Job on repeat, specifically; it amuses me), and console myself in regards to lost play counts with the thought that at least it will scrobble to Last.fm... And continue to ramble until Kathleen gets here.
Really, rambling is what I do best. I could write / talk for hours on a completely nonsensical topic and not run out of words. Which is a little unfortunate for any readers/listeners. Ah well.
I finally got my hair cut on the 30th, I like it (: It's all choppy from the layers, just past my shoulders. I have black hair for those of you who don't know, and although I do now have to straighten it every day, it looks good ^_^ I might put a picture up when I have a good one, albeit temporarily. I also sometimes add a bright blue hair extension to my hair, that you can see under my layers, I won't try to explain as you may get a terrifying image in your minds, but again, a picture can assist. Temporarily.
Got my Learner's license today; the actual card. I don't look aaas bad as I thought I would, considering I thought the picture had already been taken and started to move, and my hair's kinda weird looking there (pre-haircut).
So, anyway, back to my email to Michael. Trying to describe my friend, I find myself lost in memories of him, of us. Can I ever really explain to anyone else what he was like, everything necessary to have a full idea of him? Would anyone ever be able to see him in the same way I do? I wanted to portray everything that could explain who he is, and what our friendship was.
He started talking to me now, and we had a brief conversation about Does It Offend You, Yeah? (band). Now, as it seems doomed to always be, our conversation is dead. I can't think of anything to say. Does he even want us to be as good friends as we were before? That is what I want to know more than anything, apart from "did / does he miss me at all???"
My self esteem is still better than ever before, to stop cutting myself, for me (!), what an incredible thing. I am still amazed at the thought of it, and yet, I did it, and continue to do so. It is hard. I come very close to breaking sometimes. But I'm still doing it. I'm pretty proud of myself for that. /embarrassed smile
But. Of course there was a 'but' coming. ;P With three of my best friends gone from my life, that leaves me with a lot of questions. I have already asked some of you these, but for the rest of you, "Did you miss me, at all??? Was it that easy to remove me from your lives, to replace me with each other, with others?? Am I that replaceable, that unneeded, that unnecessary??? Do you not even want me? Am I that expendable?" My head tells me no, even my heart kinda tells me no, but there's still that doubt. I feel like a child who is hurt and confused and yeah...
Anyway, Kathleen is here.
Ramblings can continue later (:
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Hello world, this is me
For those of you who have recently started following my blog or would just like to know more about me, this is a little info on who I am and an indication of some of the matters I have and will continue to blog about. (:
One more thing before I begin, thank you very much for following and leaving comments, it's a great encouragement (:
I laugh a little too loud at my own jokes, I love a little too recklessly, and accidentally push away those I care about far too often...
I'm a little idealistic, I want to believe the best of everyone. At the same time, I'm that tiny bit cynical.
I want attention but hate it when I get it; I'm incredibly optimistic for a negative person, and I'm just as much of a contradiction as I'm sure you are.
To say I'm over-dramatic is something of an understatement; I overreact to each small incident as though it's World War III...
I love using quotes and song lyrics to explain how I feel and what I believe in.
I wish on stars and 11.11, although I don't believe in it. Just in case. Maybe you'll come back. I'm waiting. Hoping. With no idea what else I can do anymore.
I use faces a lot while typing to express the tone in which I'm saying something, sorry if it's irritating but I'm using age as my excuse. The main ones you'll see me use are :) ;) :( (: >=( >=| ;P :P :@[angry] :$ which are mainly derived from MSN. Then, there are these, which rather than being 90degrees off, are to be looking at full on - >.< which is a glare and >.> a sideways glare. I'm not assuming you're stupid or anything; I didn't understand what they were without an explanation.
Hey, at least I don't text type! Incorrect grammar is something I hate. Remember, I'm Australian, so it's not a spelling error when I write things like "realised" rather than "realized" or "centre" instead of "center"; we measure our temperature in degrees Celsius, weight in mg/g/kg, length in cm/m/km, etc. Sorry if that sounded at all pompous, it wasn't meant to be.
I'm really easily peer pressured, it's probably a good thing that on the important matters I have friends I want to please equally who have opposite views, and I tend to side with the safer ones, at least for now.
Call me old fashioned but I believe that marriage is something that should last forever, while divorce is understandable in some cases, a lot of the times, problems can be worked out if that's what both parties really want. I want to marry someone who I know without a doubt I want to spend the rest of my life with, who will feel the same about me.
People are the most important thing, above popularity, wealth, success, above anything else; I strongly believe that every person is equal. This does not mean that everyone is equal in skill levels etc., but rather that as a human being, they have feelings, hopes, beliefs, and different things they can contribute to our global society, and as humans they are worth no more or no less than any other, whether royalty or homeless person.
Money and possessions don't guarantee happiness.
The movement "To Write Love On Her Arms" is something incredibly meaningful to me, I can't quite put into words just how much it means; for something that has helped me gain the courage to live life, to take a stand for myself against the very worst of me, to believe in hope and to keep going, how can I explain that? Renee Yohe, who is the reason the movement began, is someone I look up to greatly. Read her story here
I believe in the need for community, that we all need each other. We are made to interact and live with one another. We are meant to support and depend on each other as necessary. It is the best way to live, sharing each others' burdens.
I believe that "Global is not a nice idea. Global is reality", that we as humans need to put aside what society tells us is important - putting self before everyone else. For my blog on that, click here.
Jamie Tworkowski's [of To Write Love On Her Arms] blog on the subject is here.
I believe in God but I am not a Christian, although I believe in everything it is about and was brought up in Christian home.
I believe that everyone deserves forgiveness and a second chance. Perhaps even a third or fourth, perhaps even more. Whether a person is capable of forgiving someone harmful actions that many times is another matter. But people do change. And if we don't give everyone another chance when they request one, how will we ever know if they are one of those who deserve this chance, who will change? Maybe I'm a little too forgiving...
I used to self harm and while I have stopped now [since the 2nd of July, 2008], and I strongly believe for good, it is something which has overreaching consequences and I still struggle with the urges to. I had attempted to stop in previous years, but relapsed a couple of times, but I think I am strong enough and have the right motives for wanting to stop this time. This used to take the form of cutting, burning, hitting my head, overdosing on painkillers, etc. It is something I feel is not talked about enough and many people write it off as something done by someone seeking attention, or "emos" or those who are suicidal. This is not the case and I think it is important to raise awareness about the realities of this issue.
I am 16 years old and in 2009 will be starting my final year of high school. With my interests being literature and society and environment, I will be doing English Studies, Classical Studies, German and Biology/preferably Modern History. After high school I want to go to Uni. I think I would like to be a nurse so this is what I am planning to study, however I love writing and dream of being a published author someday as well. My reasons for wanting to be a nurse are mainly that I passionately want to do something to help people, although I am fairly open and flexible as to where this may take me.
Writing is something I have done for years now, and it is something I have always seemed to be fairly good at, as others have told me. I am not so confident in my own skills, but would love to accept this. I'm told my writing seems far more mature than that of a sixteen year old, I'm happy with that. I find writing to be helpful when I am upset, confused, etc. I have rarely felt as helpless as when I was not able to express my emotions. I love writing narratives as well, as you can see in my other blog, however I am working on doing so with more regularity.
My family consists of my parents and my one younger sister, younger by 364 days ^_^
I don't get along with my mum at all, my dad somewhat, but my sister and I are fairly close these days (: I am very protective of her. And regardless, I love my family. My parents are Indian but both I and my sister were born here in Adelaide, South Australia and I consider myself Australian. In 1998 and 1999, my family lived in Auckland, New Zealand, and although it was great, we ultimately moved back here to Adelaide, which I have to say is even better, although many people hate it since it's so quiet and there isn't a lot to do...
This year has been a turbulent one for me. I became even closer with my two girl best friends and became best friends with the guy who lives across the road from me and also goes to the same school in the same year level. Three months ago within one and a half weeks, lost them all permanently, or so I thought. Miserable because of this, I resorted to overdosing on painkillers at school in an attempt to stop thinking just for a while. The last time I had done this was the 12th of November, 2007. My other friends who realised what I had done told our homegroup teacher; an ambulance was called, and I had to spend that night and the next day in hospital attached to a drip.
Lots of things have changed since then, I now see a counsellor regularly =/ but she's actually great. I think you'll find I am actually a very positive and hopeful person. I am still hoping to fix things with my friends, and just two days ago, my guy friend who I had completely given up on having him as a friend again began to talk to me. Things are still awkward but hope is pulsing through my veins so strongly that I am getting swept away. My friends mean a lot to me, but I overreact a lot.
During the self harm, I had been told that it was something I would later regret; however I cannot bring myself to regret any of it. There is no point in ruing the past, when we cannot change it. We can change the future and that is what we should focus on. Any bad experience can be made good of if we choose to, and often these things that we live through can be used to help other people. That is what I hope to do, to be able to help others who are struggling with the same things by understanding what they have gone through and using my knowledge to benefit them in some way, as Renee of TWLOHA has done for me and so many others. In her words, "that is what the pain was for, and that is worth it all, and more."
I will add to this later and any help from any of my friends who read this would be great ;P But that's all for now. (:
Saturday, December 13, 2008
My Apologies Were Never Quite Enough
I just wanted to apologise for the banality of my posts lately, nothing very interesting at all, or if so, merely copy pasted, while acknowledging that.
I haven't written in a while, though my tremendously long posts leave something to be desired anyway; perhaps brevity? ^_^
I do tend to go off on tangents far too much. And I'm not too sure that all that many people enjoy my detailed insight on the mind of a reformed and hopefully staying reformed self harmer who still thinks about it a lot...
But, topics I am intending to write about soon:
- Why I hate Christmas
- Why I faintly want to be a part of the scene
- My thoughts on the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer
-The food thing these days
And so on and so forth.
I'll try to keep my three ex (?) best friends out of the picture, I think it's enough of the missing them in text for everyone to read, it must get old. Needless to say, it hasn't gotten old to me, I still miss them.
That's all for now, it's 12.53AM.
I'll be fixing up my iTunes for a couple of hours now (:
xx
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
A little something for Sam
You may find this image somewhat more hopeful, and pretty... You know Renee, the girl that TWLOHA was started for?
Well she made the cuts, she bled, but she came through. And these are her reminders that what got her through is real:
You can still see the scars, but they have healed over. And brighter than those faded images of pain and hurt are love and hope, as words, but symbols of the reality of those things (:
I want a tattoo on my left wrist, not quite like this although I think it's nice, maybe "Hope is not a myth" at an angle on the right side of my wrist, in small letters.. just something that will be an everyday reminder (:
I hope this is rather more pleasant and uplifting than the last image..
owwwwwh
:(
rah my head hurts so much,
it's my fault but ehh
yesterday - hitting head repeatedly,
in several places
thus there is now a major bump to the left side of my head, my forehead feels bruised but not enough to be visible and the back of my head, who even knows
lol rahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh >.<
not cool
positive - tomorrow i can go out!!!!
who shall i go out with and where?????????
(:
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.
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