A Month Medicated

The fuzziness has gone away. So has the good moods. Back to the way I was before the Prozac: miserable and suicidal.

Maybe I should start cutting again. Self-destruction sounds so fun.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God

“Look at what you’ve done AGAIN! You keep hurting Caitlin.”
“I didn’t want to, I swear.”
“Well, then, you could at least have said “bye” to her on MSN before you ditched her to cut yourself!”
“…”
“Got nothing to say for yourself?! You are the worst friend imaginable. Don’t talk to me!”
“How can I not? You’re a part of this body, this mind, no matter how much we both hate it.”
“…”
“NOW look who has nothing to say! And you! Why didn’t YOU do anything? You’re supposed to be the stronger side, the smarter one! You could have done something. But no, you’re just as much a coward as me.”

It Was A LONG Month

Where to start? The head-first dive into depression? Breaking edge? The broken promise? Sleepless nights? The spiders and all the beetles? My stupid, harpy of a stepmother? My bratty little half brother?

The beginning might be a good place. The drive down wasn’t that bad. Took us 3 and a half days.

We (me, dad, and Vern) got to our summer house late afternoon. It wasn’t more than 4 hours later my brothers Andy and Chris show up with Andy’s girlfriend Jen. They talked our ears off. Then Chris stayed the night. Me and Chris stayed up till 4am talking. We talked about our anxiety, my depression, cutting. He made me promise to stop cutting. Fuck him. He promised me he’d talk to dad about my anxiety and depression so dad would get me to a therapist and on medication. Fuck Chris because he never did a damn thing! Fuck Chris cuz he was so drunk he couldn’t remember a fucking thing. Why the fuck should I honour the promise I made to him if he didn’t honour the promises he made to me? There were other promises, but this one burns the most.

I felt like shit most of the month. I got so depressed at times I wanted to die, or something to distract me from my misery. I wanted to cut so bad, but I thought Chris would pull through with his promises so I didn’t. It was this depression that lead me to breaking edge.

I was invited to stay the night over at Chris’s apartment for the night. Yup. This is where I break edge. I was invited because I was miserable at the family reunion earlier that day. My aunt Sherrie thought it’d be a good idea. Sherrie, Chris, Andy, and my cousin Matt all live in the same area (actually Chris and Andy live in the same apartment building and Sherrie and Matt live in the apartment across from Chris and Andy). Plus, my cousin Amanda was visiting Sherrie (her mother) with her two kids. Amanda and Chris picked me up from North Tay, that’s where the summer house is, and then we went to Sherrie and Matt’s apartment. When we got there, Sherrie was already smashed. It was both sad and hilarious at the same time. We (me, Chris, Matt, Amanda and my cousin Andrew) watched her down a wine glass of gin and orange juice. We laughed as her words got so slurred and as she stumbled around. Then, Sherrie tried to tell me that I didn’t have to drink any beer and stuff like that. She was so far gone. After that, She went to the liquor store with Andy to get more booze. It was after she left that Chris offered me a beer and Matt handed it to me. I WAS going to refuse. For some reason, I couldn’t refuse. Maybe it was because I wanted to drink with them. May be it was my tiny crush on Matt that made me take the beer. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any fucking spine and I felt so much pressure. Anyways, it escalated from there. We went outside and drank more. Went to my cousin Kelly’s party. Drank more there. Nearly passed out on some boy’s bed. Disgusting, isn’t it? I’d love to blame this event on someone, but I know I’m the one at fault. I didn’t have to accept the beer. I could have said no. But I didn’t. SInce then I have been switching between self-pity and self-loathing.

I had lots of nights where I couldn’t sleep. A couple of them were energy drink-induced I know. The rest of them, however, I have no clue what cause was.

Stupid harpy bitch, aka my stepmother Mary Anne, was nothing but bitch bitch bitch, whine whine whine, kvetch kvetch kvetch when she arrived several days later.

And my little brother Vern was horrible. I can’t even express how he acted. The effort of finding the right words is folding my brain into an origami swan.

Lastly, the bugs that resided in that house. It’s like oh em gee! Look at all the spiders and beetles! I killed at least 20 bugs in all. Spiders: I hate them. Especially the one I nick-named Indianna Jones before killing it, as it decided swinging across my room was a novel idea. I didn’t actually mind Indy at first because he was pretty ninja. He managed to get across my room without me noticing and I was looking out for him like a hawk. But Then he had to swing over my bed like the real Indy in Raiders of the Lost Arc. It was lights out for him.

Help, I’m Drowning

Not literally, but figuratively in depression. Sometimes I wonder if my parents ever notice these moodswings. This morning I was pretty happy and now I’ve hit rock bottom. About half an hour ago I mutilated my leg again. I don’t bother to clean the razor blades anymore and you can see how the blood’s congealed into this brown, sticky substance. There’s blood on them from months ago which no one will ever see, nor care. Cut, cut, cut. It’s all I have going for me.

I’m a freak, an outcast with no place in any society.

What Do You Do?

Let’s start talking hypothetically here. Let’s say your best friend goes through this dramatic change in personality. They start cutting themselves and become very moody. Then they are sent to the hospital and are put on Prozzak. Three weeks later they come back with this cruddy attitude and say things like “fuck life”, “fuck society” ect. Then you become very pissed off after hearing that they decided to cut themselves in public and start ignoring them and avoiding them. What do you do next?

Dependance

–noun

1.	the state of relying on or needing someone or something for aid, support, or the like.

2.	reliance; confidence; trust: Her complete reliability earned her our dependence.

3.	an object of reliance or trust.

4.	the state of being conditional or contingent on something, as through a natural or logical sequence: the dependence of an effect upon a cause.

5.	the state of being psychologically or physiologically dependent on a drug after a prolonged period of use.

6.	subordination or subjection: the dependence of Martinique upon France.

My Goddess. I’m such a fucking hypocrite. I couldn’t see that I was pretty much breaking edge while I was cutting. One of the meanings of being straight-edge, to me, is not being dependant on things that are detrimental to oneself. Like alcohol and drugs. But it never really occurred to me that cutting oneself could be considered detrimental until a few days ago. I went through a kind of withdrawal.

I have gone a month without cutting. This is phenomenal, as I used to cut twice a month and the pain would carry me for about a week and a half. I did it on my shoulder where it went unseen. I’d make about 20 to 30 cuts at a time. It would bleed a little, but I didn’t do it for the blood.

But I found someone worth quitting for. An old friend of mine. I want to set an example for her. This sounds rather selfish. And it is. But isn’t everyone selfish to a certain degree?

As for the withdrawal. It came in the form of pain not unlike the pain from my cuts. My whole shoulder ached so horribly. I can still feel it faintly if I think about it. This withdrawal symptom is not unlike the itch in my arm that I suffered from in September. The night before school started, I tried to slit my wrists. I cut my arm so many times and in some places extremely deep. I still have some of the scars. There were a lot of scars. Bright pink and shiny, they stood out on my arm for the longest time. Then, mid-September, they started itching. Not a light itch that you can dismiss with a few swipes of your nails, I mean a deep-seated itch where I was scratching my arm to the point I nearly tore my scar tissue open. It was freaky. And between itches, the most peculiar feeling came over my arm; I could feel the cuts as if they were still there just without the pain. I could feel the cuts when they had already healed up. It was an uncomfortable feeling. An impossible feeling. I was horrified.

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Now playing: The Used – Cut Up Angels
via FoxyTunes

Time To Redefine The Day I Hurt Myself

In my conversation with Caitlin, I realised I don’t even remember when I started my self-injury. I think it was in New Brunswick. Was it the attempted hanging of myself? Or was it the week I kept reopening my scratch I got from my cat with a blunt safetypin and painted things in my own blood? Which came first? Or was it that time in kindergarten when I stabbed my thumb with an extremely sharp safetypin? I bled all over the place I remember.

Was it my morbidity that led me to this? I’ve always loved the way the light played upon the blades of knives. Asphyxiation is nice, too. I can’t remember the asphyxiation too well because I’ve tried to block those memories from back then out.

I do miss cutting. I’ve had moments where that mental itch would be so bad that I’ve used elastics to try to alleviate it. But elastics don’t give the same kind of pain as razorblades. Elastics only give ephemeral pain that passes within a few minutes. Razorblade cuts leave a pain that lasts a week or 2. They also bleed a fair amount. I love the sight of my own blood so much. It’s very much unhealthy.

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Now playing: The Used – Hospital
via FoxyTunes

What You Do Is Not An Accident

It’s no accident when one takes a blade to their skin. It is done on purpose and it is done to either release emotion or to feel emotion. It works both ways. But what you do is destructive to yourself. What will you do when you have scars later on in life after you’ve finished cutting? What will you do when a friend or lover notices them? Can you look them in the eye and tell them what you did to yourself? How would you live with yourself if your friends and family left you just for the fact that you never cared for yourself? You know there something wrong with your actions. Do something about it. There are so many ways to get help. So many ways to help yourself.

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Now playing: Three Days Grace – Take Me Under
via FoxyTunes

(EDIT)

(EDIT)

OH SHIT. I just missed my smithing course. Stupid school. I was just so tired that I fell asleep. And now I realize it’s 10 to 7. Nearly 2 hours after I was supposed to leave.

(EDIT)

So. School still sucks. Still swallows. Still gives a rim job afterwards. The only thing I look forward to is Crossley せんせい in Japanese. I just get so excited when I go to her classroom. She is the greatest teacher ever to put it in short. Or Crossley せんせい　は　すごい　ですよ. She really does care about her students. She apologized for making me redo the things I did last year. Not that I mind, though. Maybe I just idolize her too much. Or maybe she really is awesome.

Of Late Nights and Cutting Fetishes

Why am I always up so late? Why am I the only night owl in this family? Why is it that it can be 2:30am and I’ll be ready to dance around on my futon listening to my iPod Shuffle and everyone will be sleeping? Call me a vampiress. Minus the bloodsucking.

And cutting. Not right now, of course, but thoughts float around in this brain of mine. I can’t believe I actually thought the following: Hmm, The Art of Drowning or a set of razorblades; I can’t decide which. How fucked up is that? Very is your response.