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.
loneliness for ills engulf friendly shrills. harmful rays of hope let down a shower dark with fear that you will drain of shameful good intention. less that you won't want me near but more that weakening vulnerability you fear. I'm sick of shame you wrought upon your self. my ill contempt for all things doctor-patient overwhelms. my life survived by doctors wishing well, patient with my fainting spells. friends betrayed by hunger pain addictions, spent of health from pain no longer used, as harm alarms or bodily abuse. friendships fall away by friction. laughing free from dignified obligation with painful eyes express my true emotions.
Today I had a glimpse of what it's like to feel whole. Part of me wants it to happen again, but the other part of me is satisfied knowing it's possible. And that's good enough for me.
My perfectionist qualities are getting out of hand. There's no one here to be my buffer. It's like 80 degrees outside and I'm wearing a sweatshirt to hide any imperfections I might possess. My hair's getting that ridiculously long where if I sit down and NOT lean back I have to constantly pull my hair out of the way. I think I have enough people telling me not to cut it to be convinced it's not TOO long so I'll keep it for a while. Deep down I do love it though. Shorty man asked who was sitting next to me and when I said who, he retreated to the other side of the room. Poor little ill tempered man. "Why didn't you call me, we were supposed to go out remember?" "Well, I don't have your number...how can I call you if I don't have your number?" yada yada. Suddenly the topic of the room's conversation is my horse and college and annoyingly my car. Ana girl's asking me 20 questions. What a way to ruin an already bad day. Claudia just weighed me. Damn her *grumble grumble* While compulsively pacing, shorty man asked if he gave me his number would I call him. I finally tired of trying to convince him I would and offered that he call me. Seemed adequately satisfying for him...I guess. That bumps the number up to five tries on his part to ask me out. Persistent little runt. I walk in and his phone numbers and address have magically appeared on my chair, so mine magically appeared in his hand...after I asked him for paper and took my sweet time writing it out that is.
Today's feeling like one of those days where it would be really beneficial if I could numb myself of all feeling. Where if I could starve myself invincible I wouldn't hesitate. I talked in the processing group this morning, technically. I told them there were things I couldn't say but how hurt I was feeling in retrospect. I conveyed to them my fear of looking foolish and this one nice, clean cut guy told me you don't get into Occidental by being dumb, in his dry sort of humor, everyone agreed. I felt sheepish and found solace in examining my shoe laces. After group I was assured that I wasn't burdening everyone with my little voice by the facilitator and a couple members. But now I sit alone within a blanket of trees masking my silent breath by rustling in a soft breeze. They enjoy my company and sit with me void of complaint. Suddenly I don't feel adequately present for the company of others. Surely the seldom passers by are annoyed by my silent existence in this big chaotic world. Oh how simple their lives would be were I not part of a fraction of a millisecond of their boring, eventless day. My muted expressionless face jams a knife in their side, a thorn prick on the rose of their beautiful day. Why must they be burdened with my presence? Losing every bit of their essence to my violent black hole of an imagination.
So much violence withheld, overflowing from a bottomless well I cannot hold much more. However long it takes to spill it seems like no reprieve. Help me please, remove the hate I hide so deep inside. Using all my strength not to cry. Finally I can think but I can't follow the world around. Stupid people get me down. They think I want their prying minds provoking me to fake my pride. Causing me to hide my crying eyes. Get away with those rainbow tainted eyes that never lie. Friendly words taunt my hateful prose. No one knows how deep the hole really goes. Fall in line aching heart of mine.
Pain. It should mean "stop" shouldn't it? To me it means push harder, you have control, now keep it. I wonder sometimes about how I got this way, what made my mind react this way. There used to be an element of..."my outsides are starting to look the way I feel inside" and had little to do with anything else. But now, and only recently I've noticed this, the fact that it hurts and that I know just how to make it hurt for as long as I want really does it for me. I find myself hiding it less, worrying about scars a little bit less because I'm just not thinking about the look. I don't think about them much at all except how much pain I was in when I did it, whatever I did that time. I can always remember the pain, exactly how intense it was. I mean even the shade of the red my skin (or lack thereof) is, almost directly corresponds to the pain I felt. And an added bonus if it hurts after the fact. Sometimes I love the way my twisted little mind works, and other times...I wish I could trade it in for another.
hearing my whole pathetic existence summed up in a few sentences today was a little...well, let's just say it wasn't encouraging. My therapist wanted me to do it, in my own words but I guess I look at the obvious, "biological" rather than the mental (e.g. depression, si, ed vs. trust issues, social phobia, etc.). Besides, I wasn't willing to say it, I've never said it out loud. I'm so pathetic, I've barely even typed it or written it. I hardly even think it, it's safer that way.
At lunch today the only guy close to my age (about 28 at the least and 4'8" tall at the most) asked me "what if I got your number and I called you sometime and maybe we went to a movie or something is that something that would be difficult for you?" Then about an hour later "so when are we going out?" and I "I don't know, when are we goin'?" said in a tauntingly pathetic kinda way. And Friday when he put his hand on my arm while he was talking to me, I believe repulsed accurately describes how I was feeling. Not because it was him but just because he was...a person and he was touching me. The thought of almost anyone touching me repulses me.
My therapist wants me to tell my parents _what happened_...I can't even say it. We'd definitely need some crisis management afterwards though. Because my parents would either pull away from me completely or smother me. I think I'd prefer the former. I think even now they're getting too close, not just because the closer they get, the closer they are to finding out but because they can't...comfort me anymore. I've kept this from them for over five and a half years and although it's hurting me so much to keep it a secret, my therapist wants me to tell them. She even said that although she normally wouldn't ask someone to, she says it's hurting me to keep the secret. And although I agree more completely than I've ever agreed with anyone, I can't tell my parents. At least not in the near future. Everyone keeps asking me though, why I have depression. I can't tell them the truth but I can't find anything else to tell them either. Which poses a problem seen as I spend three days a week, five hours a day in partial, supposedly working on this stuff. It sorta doesn't help if I can't even tell them what's wrong. I can't really work on trust issues by telling people, it's just something I have to do. Things I tell them about are the "biological," things they can see and control and moderate the intensities of with medication. In other words, things that keep me from working on...the mental: trusting others and myself (something I didn't think about until today but definitely applies), isolative tendencies, control issues, perfectionist qualities, etc. I think there's a lot more there than I care to admit. It's easier to say "wipe out my depression, anorexia, ptsd, self injurious behaviors, etc. and my problems will be solved." I mean it's hard enough to say that, but add on all the mental issues I have such as difficulties with general act of living, socializing, forming relationships, and it seems like the battle will never quiet down, much less cease. I think just the fact that I'm 20 and the period in my life where I was supposed to develop all those things has just ended, is a bit discouraging. I spent five of those years with my nose in a book trying to escape my life. These days, I seem to escape my past by focusing on how difficult the present is and trying to make it seem worse than it needs to be.
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