Updates: Media (lyrics) has a new layout. I could never figure out how to lay it out, but it's easier to navigate now. I'm still working on a better duplicate Mamblog mod. I'm trying to make submittions easier but the poetry form died for some reason. Quizzes are also on their way from the old site. Joomla content isn't very code friendly so I'm having to rewrite old code. You can still click on News > AH v21 > Screen if you wish to use the quizzes.
July 8, 2002-3 (7:11pm) maybe a group where everyone has been through severe trauma is my last great hope, a place where i can really talk rather just imply. right now i'm all alone in this, besides the little bit i tell my therapist. it's hard keeping this secret alone. i feel like i'm gonna cry but if i do that means i'm being effected by this. granted most of my emotional issues are based on my keeping this secret, no one knows that but me, and i'd like to keep it that way. right now those close to me think it's just from bad body image and stress. if only it were that easy. nightmares every night and flashbacks more than i care to admit, i'm tired. i think i've waited all i can to start taking care of this, i don't think i can let it go on ruining me much longer.
July 8, 2002-2 (3:33pm) there's this sudden sense of impending doom i can't seem to chake. i feel this earge to rush down to the girl's restroom and throw up but there's nothing inside me. somehow i don't think this feeling's gonna go away and it's like the gobie desert in here for all the bodies. and open window might help me breathe easier. all the freshman blame the professor for their inability to take notes. stress is gonna get to me before the work does. even though i talked last week about what was wrong, my weekend went well, and school wasn't bad, i still feel as though i'm dying inside from keeping too many secrets in. i can't decide if people here really care or if they're "just doing their job" because that's the impression i get from the social workers here. i haven't spoken to my therapist in a week, she doesn't know what's going on and i'm afraid to tell her. i have this fear she won't understand how bad i feel and react like i'm just whining. 80% of the time i feel like i'm gonna break down and start crying. i never feel like crying and now i can't get it to go away. there isn't an inch of me that wants to eat today or ever. i've had enough of all these mixed reactions. why do i have to look the part to be believed? what happened to the saying "looks can be deceiving?" the truth of the matter is the test results are in: i'm profoundly and irreversibly screwed up.
July 8, 2002 (6:38am) School's suddenly back, yelling at me to straighten up, to pull it together or go down hard. only one week to decide if I'll survive this torture or I'm forced to be in for the long haul. even planning fall courses i find i get a little excited but it's hard to stay that way when you're hyperventilating, gasping for restricted breaths from small brown crinckling paper lunch bags that used to mean peanut butter sandwiches and brownies, when life was simpler and all I had to fear was my chocolate milk getting warm before the lunch bell rang. quadruple knotted safety ropes fray, i fear this weight-full body i'm forced to tote around is too much for it to carry. wanting to wear weather appropriate short sleeve skater t's if not for bright red blood filled lascerations i'd prefer not to be my trademark so early in the program. although they're suttle reminders of how hard things have been, they're also bright red screams of agony and defeat to those who don't understand the craft. it seemed I wanted this once, this attention to detail required to notice something's wrong. in days of caffeine induced tremors and super long golden wavey locks the scars on the outside are only an inconvenience. something reminding me I'm ill, and after all they tell me about people and society, my worst fears come true. looking over my shoulder every once in a while no longer seems paranoid but rather necessary to sustain life. and although I haven't cared to sustain any sort of rational existence in the past, it seems almost necessary these days to keep on fighting. even when wellness seems a distant memory, there's more to life than suffering endlessly, I just can't seem to find the perks of leading this faltered and vulnerable existance, possibly my one great enemy when attempting to reach for one that was rightfully mine.
July 5, 2002 (9:31pm) There's part of me, a very small part, that wants the desire to have children. For as long as I can remember, my reasons for not wanting kids were that in all the work I've done with them--summer camp counselor, babysitter, tutor, assistant to a children's photographer, volunteer at a children's hospital, relative, and friend--I have yet to figure out what to do with them, I don't want my child to turn out like me, my experience growing up was so traumatic I think I'd suffocate them with worry just to make sure they didn't have to go through what I did. If I had a child it would tie me to my family almost permanently, the physical aspects such as gaining weight I'd inevitably fail to lose, the apparent truth that some husbands find their wives less desireable after having children like suddenly that's all they're good for, and many many others. All this in addition to these freakishly irrational, hopefully fleeting, physically impossible but nonetheless terrifying fears that if centered in reality would turn any ordinary person deathly afraid of and permanently disgusted by their own body. The first of these and possibly the most unbelievably nightmarish, is that if I did try to get pregnant, some of what he left inside me which since that day remained dormant, would end up becoming the cause for me getting pregnant rather than the intended, if you know what I mean. Another irrational fear, though based more in reality, is that I haven't suffered from this long enough, that I don't deserve to be loved, that I'll always be a traumatized, disordered, mentally ill, depressed, lonely person who's ability to function is slowly wearing away. The fact that I can't seem to convince myself that everyone isn't out to hurt me and that it's time I lived my life without fear, leads me to believe I never will. And I think because of all this, because of all these thoughts I can't find the strength to push away, I have ended up scarring not just myself, but those closest to me as well.
July 3, 2002-2 (7:34am) I'm wondering now if caffeine induced tremors can be passed off as an exhausted adrenaline high and nothing more. Going to group intoxicated from over the counter medication seems a likely reason to get bumped from the program. It's not like I'm taking fifty doses of valium or codine each day, I'm just taking two or three caffeine pills one day to ensure that I'm alert enough to benefit from processing on certain days. Seems harmless, right? "Just a little anxious" is what I'll say. It's not like it hasn't happened before to every other patient, thoughts racing and ready to crash. Adrenaline has to kick in or I'm out for the count. This probably isn't the best way to prepare for group but seen as I'm even more alert on them, I don't see the benefit of being...too tired to participate. Besides, at some point I need to process my other issues, sharing that I'm having flashbacks again and would rather pass today, seems redundant at this point. Maybe putting it in the back of my mind, not letting it control me, will make them go away. I need to work on their stressors. I want to get opinions on what happened on my mother's birthday, her puting her arms around me so unlike a hug that it felt even worse if that's at all possible, after I explicitly asked her not to. I didn't say anything a month ago but it's knawing at me, and I know next time she or anyone else does it I'm going to make a scene. Not because I want to but because I can't just self distruct anymore and that's what will happen if I don't say anything. I don't know how I'm gonna get through family get togethers without everyone finding out something's wrong. Now how that would be a bad thing, I'm not really sure, I'm sick of keeping secrets but I know I cannot in a million years control their reactions and that scares me more than almost anything else.
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