Ugh, I miss it so, so, so, so, so much sometimes.
Addiction. It'll never lose its grip on you.
Sing Sing by Marianas Trench!
Listen to it, you know it's amazing.
Thursday 30 August 2012
Saturday 25 August 2012
after injury, a scar is what makes you whole.
The first few days after I cut myself, all I felt was guilt, shame, and burning. I was incredibly angry at myself for damaging my skin, which has no marks aside from a freckle here or there. I turned the one thing flawless on my body into something ugly, damaged. And what if they didn't heal properly, would I have to wear long sleeves every day for the rest of my life to hide my embarrassing scars, the ones that showed nothing but crazy and weakness?
My cuts have healed up pretty nicely since then, but are still visible. I'm hoping they do eventually totally fade, but taking care of them has helped make them less stark. And the crazy thing, is that I've almost grown to like them. The first time I went out without sleeves, this cashier looked right at them and gave me this awful look. It was a mix of disgust, and pity. It was like she thought I was gross, but still felt bad for me. At first it bothered me, I went back to wearing hoodies in 90 degree weather. But after a few days, it just made me angry. So, so, so fucking angry. Who was this girl to look at me with pity?
That was when I almost grew to like my scars, and what they mean. Imperfection is beauty. To me anyways. I see imperfections and marks in others to be stunning, but in myself I hate them. Why should I demand perfection of myself, but not in others? People who are damaged are more interesting. Stronger in a way, since anyone who has gone through something and survived, came out the other side with a new understanding. A new strength they gained through survival. And not only is there something beautiful about imperfections, tattoos, scars, anything, but what happens to wounds and scars? They heal. I kind of love my scars because they give me a new hope. I cut my skin, I put a knife deep into my flesh and created open injuries. Injuries not unlike my emotional ones, where there is pain, and blood and damage. But over time, my cuts healed, filling in my wounds with brand new skin. My skin was broken, damaged, un-whole, but my body healed and fixed me, making me whole again.
I used to think people with scars were damaged, unwhole. I used to think people with scars like mine were lost and pained. I had no hope for them. I thought once you were that low, that you would never be able to get back up. Your scars would always give you away. But now I'm seeing that it's the ones whose scars have healed, they're the ones more whole that anyone. Because they've allowed themselves to heal. They've found a way to overcome everything, move on, and let their wounds close over. And if you can overcome that and have the scars to prove it, why not show them off to the world?
This all just motivated me to heal my inner wounds like my outer ones so I can show off those battle scars too. So today I will go out without sleeves to hide who I am. And I dare anyone to look at me with pity, cause I sure as hell don't pity myself for having them. I'm probably even stronger than the person staring.
My cuts have healed up pretty nicely since then, but are still visible. I'm hoping they do eventually totally fade, but taking care of them has helped make them less stark. And the crazy thing, is that I've almost grown to like them. The first time I went out without sleeves, this cashier looked right at them and gave me this awful look. It was a mix of disgust, and pity. It was like she thought I was gross, but still felt bad for me. At first it bothered me, I went back to wearing hoodies in 90 degree weather. But after a few days, it just made me angry. So, so, so fucking angry. Who was this girl to look at me with pity?
That was when I almost grew to like my scars, and what they mean. Imperfection is beauty. To me anyways. I see imperfections and marks in others to be stunning, but in myself I hate them. Why should I demand perfection of myself, but not in others? People who are damaged are more interesting. Stronger in a way, since anyone who has gone through something and survived, came out the other side with a new understanding. A new strength they gained through survival. And not only is there something beautiful about imperfections, tattoos, scars, anything, but what happens to wounds and scars? They heal. I kind of love my scars because they give me a new hope. I cut my skin, I put a knife deep into my flesh and created open injuries. Injuries not unlike my emotional ones, where there is pain, and blood and damage. But over time, my cuts healed, filling in my wounds with brand new skin. My skin was broken, damaged, un-whole, but my body healed and fixed me, making me whole again.
I used to think people with scars were damaged, unwhole. I used to think people with scars like mine were lost and pained. I had no hope for them. I thought once you were that low, that you would never be able to get back up. Your scars would always give you away. But now I'm seeing that it's the ones whose scars have healed, they're the ones more whole that anyone. Because they've allowed themselves to heal. They've found a way to overcome everything, move on, and let their wounds close over. And if you can overcome that and have the scars to prove it, why not show them off to the world?
This all just motivated me to heal my inner wounds like my outer ones so I can show off those battle scars too. So today I will go out without sleeves to hide who I am. And I dare anyone to look at me with pity, cause I sure as hell don't pity myself for having them. I'm probably even stronger than the person staring.
Monday 20 August 2012
confession is always weakness; the grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.
My blog's looking pretty empty these days, and I've been putting off updating this again.
The whole thing with Ryan had finally blown over. Well, until he found my blog, clever of me to use the same username for everything. Stupid google, ugh. He found it, saw the post that mentions the guy that broke us up and assumed I was still talking him. Obviously I'm not, as soon as I knew I had a chance to fix things, I broke all contact with him. I not only had to, I wanted to. I mean, save a two year relationship with the guy I love, or keep talking to a 'friend'? Choice is easy.
So anyways, he flipped. I kept telling him the post is old, that I don't talk to the guy, but why trust a lying, cheating whore, right? Too bad I'm not a cheater, or a whore. Sure I lie, but I wasn't this time.
Finally I kind of convinced him. We're back together and I'm so, so, so glad. I missed him so much. But this is at the price of losing my blog, kind of. I reverted all my posts back to drafts so I wouldn't totally lose them. What I write on here is mine, and mine alone. I share it with the people who read it. People who are usually in the same boat or have some empathy/understanding, otherwise, why would they be reading stuff like this anyways? I share it because this is the one place where people come to read, relate, and understand, not to judge. I don't share it with my family, friends, or boyfriend. There's a lot they don't know about me, wouldn't want to know about me. And if they did, things between us would never be the same. I choose to keep this shit, this pain and suffering and problems to myself. The relationships I have right now are good, why change that just to share embarrassing, important secrets? I mean, maybe I should, maybe it would help me get better. Help me feel better. But I've made it this far on my own, I think I can keep my secrets hidden and be just fine.
Anyways, these secrets are why I had to make my posts disappear for now. He said he only read the one, and who knows if that's the truth, but I couldn't risk him reading what was on the others, should he break his promise and read them all (he insisted he wouldn't read anything from here ever). What I have written doesn't need to be between us. It's not like I'm confessing to murder or cheating in them. They're secrets that don't need to be told, so I'm keeping them. Hiding them, tucking them away from everyone for now. Hopefully one day soon I can share them with anyone reading again.
The whole thing with Ryan had finally blown over. Well, until he found my blog, clever of me to use the same username for everything. Stupid google, ugh. He found it, saw the post that mentions the guy that broke us up and assumed I was still talking him. Obviously I'm not, as soon as I knew I had a chance to fix things, I broke all contact with him. I not only had to, I wanted to. I mean, save a two year relationship with the guy I love, or keep talking to a 'friend'? Choice is easy.
So anyways, he flipped. I kept telling him the post is old, that I don't talk to the guy, but why trust a lying, cheating whore, right? Too bad I'm not a cheater, or a whore. Sure I lie, but I wasn't this time.
Finally I kind of convinced him. We're back together and I'm so, so, so glad. I missed him so much. But this is at the price of losing my blog, kind of. I reverted all my posts back to drafts so I wouldn't totally lose them. What I write on here is mine, and mine alone. I share it with the people who read it. People who are usually in the same boat or have some empathy/understanding, otherwise, why would they be reading stuff like this anyways? I share it because this is the one place where people come to read, relate, and understand, not to judge. I don't share it with my family, friends, or boyfriend. There's a lot they don't know about me, wouldn't want to know about me. And if they did, things between us would never be the same. I choose to keep this shit, this pain and suffering and problems to myself. The relationships I have right now are good, why change that just to share embarrassing, important secrets? I mean, maybe I should, maybe it would help me get better. Help me feel better. But I've made it this far on my own, I think I can keep my secrets hidden and be just fine.
Anyways, these secrets are why I had to make my posts disappear for now. He said he only read the one, and who knows if that's the truth, but I couldn't risk him reading what was on the others, should he break his promise and read them all (he insisted he wouldn't read anything from here ever). What I have written doesn't need to be between us. It's not like I'm confessing to murder or cheating in them. They're secrets that don't need to be told, so I'm keeping them. Hiding them, tucking them away from everyone for now. Hopefully one day soon I can share them with anyone reading again.
Wednesday 8 August 2012
feeling so easy, make me sking and bones, i'm always on my knees for you.
Didn't feel up to writing a post about myself, but I thought I'd share some amaaaaazing lyrics. Anyone with bulimia, or any eating disorder really, can relate to this song. It's by Mariana's Trench and is called "Skin and Bones. Josh Ramsay the lead singer (and the love of my life) is a recovering? bulimic and heroin addict. So most of their songs can help relate to addicts and those with eating disorders. Check them out, they help me, maybe they'll help you. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VrFjnVLMcb0 . Try "Push", "Feeling Small", and "Fix Me" to name a few.
I lock the door, turn all the water on,
and bury that sound, so no one hears anything anymore.
Mirror lie to me, tell me you can see,
maybe you won't be able to recognize me now.
I know you can feel all the things you steal,
and you're taking it, and you're taking it.
Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones.
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like it's even, when you're leaving.
Thin, where the hell have you been?
Well sometimes it burns, maybe I'll wash it out.
It all looks so big, nevermind, I don't feel anything.
It only hurt a bit and I still feel like shit.
And I think you won't be able to recognize me now.
It's easier to quit, it's harder to admit.
And you're pushing me, you're fucking pushing me!
Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones.
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like it's even, when you're leaving.
Thin, where the hell have you been?
Cause you always win,
and you always win, yeaaah.
Laughin' like it works, bleeding like it don't hurt.
and bury that sound, so no one hears anything anymore.
Mirror lie to me, tell me you can see,
maybe you won't be able to recognize me now.
I know you can feel all the things you steal,
and you're taking it, and you're taking it.
Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones.
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like it's even, when you're leaving.
Thin, where the hell have you been?
Well sometimes it burns, maybe I'll wash it out.
It all looks so big, nevermind, I don't feel anything.
It only hurt a bit and I still feel like shit.
And I think you won't be able to recognize me now.
It's easier to quit, it's harder to admit.
And you're pushing me, you're fucking pushing me!
Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones.
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like it's even, when you're leaving.
Thin, where the hell have you been?
Cause you always win,
and you always win, yeaaah.
Laughin' like it works, bleeding like it don't hurt.
Knock you off your feet, even if you need me.
Tear you apart and I hate how I need you.
Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones.
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like it's even, when you're leaving.
It's too fucking easy, make me skin and bones
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like me it's even, when you're leaving it
Thin, where the hell have you been?
'Cause you always win, and you always win, you always win.
I will burn all this [x9]
Tear you apart and I hate how I need you.
Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones.
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like it's even, when you're leaving.
It's too fucking easy, make me skin and bones
I'm always on my knees for you.
Break like me it's even, when you're leaving it
Thin, where the hell have you been?
'Cause you always win, and you always win, you always win.
I will burn all this [x9]
Tuesday 7 August 2012
it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.
*I am in no way endorsing dog fights with this title, they're horrible. Just a good quote.
A week ago, since I posted last. Things just got increasingly worse. Before I get into that, I think there's a background story that needs to be interluded here:
Me and my boyfriend have been together and madly in love for two years. We live together, we're always together and we're happy. But we fight a lot. We 'break-up' a lot and then everything is fine by the net day. We make up and are back to normal. We love hard, and fight hard. But this time I really screwed up. He just left me and that was that. I don't think we can bounce back from this. Maybe this is the time he never comes back. He really hurt me and broke my heart. So this is where my week of drug binge and drinking drinking started. That's also the week I cut myself. And the week my Cymbalta or situation made me want to die.
Continuing on, my last post, I was crashing. I slept forever, and woke up feeling horrible. Depressed. Hopeless. Anxious. Shaking. Ryan still didn't want me, my other friend has a new girlfriend, and my best friend doesn't know I'm a drug addict wreck. I have nobody. So I rush to the LCBO, buy this HUGE bottle of vodka, get some more sleeping pills, and whatever else I can get my hands on. And so, my drug and alcohol binge continues, my non eating continues. And despite how heartbroken and sad I am, when I'm fucked up, I don't care. My drugs and whatnot is all I need.
Ryan ended up messaging me, and we talked for a long time. We decided we were going to work on things. Take it slow, do the whole best friend thing until everything's okay. Yet for some reason, as completely happy I am that we have the chance to fix something that should have never been broke, I couldn't stop myself from thinking what about the things that are already broken and always have been broken. Like me, I'm broken, always have been. And my idea of fixing myself, is a fix...of drugs, purging, starving, whatever. So I keep breaking myself more. Will I ever be fixed? Do I even deserve to be fixed? I'm afraid he's going to come back expecting the girl he loved, the one he met, the one who was sober before all this. And what if we try, and he changes his mind, and I have to go through all this heartbreak again. I cannot handle that.
So I spent my nights talking till him until he went to bed, then I'd begin my nighttime drug routine. I kept getting worse, and it wasn't until I drank and drugged myself do death that I realized I'm becoming an alcoholic too. My mom found me, puking my guts up, incoherent, eyes rolling back in my head. When I did finally wake up, I was still drunk. I couldn't remember anything, my whole night was a black hole. I decided I couldn't drink anymore. My mom was furious, pointing out what I never even knew, you aren't supposed to drink while on antidepressants...I'm on two. I felt like shit for a few days recovering from that night.
Things with Ryan are getting much better, I think we're going to be okay. We've been hanging out, getting intimate and I'm so glad. He also helped me realize I've been misjudging weed the whole time. I personally think it's therapeutic. It gets rid of my anxiety, I can relax, it helps me sleep, and I don't even need all the other drugs. I still will have all the other drugs for now, I'm not ready to give them up, but maybe it'll help me slowly get off them. It's a lot better than drinking, sleeping pills, xanax, percs, coke, you name it that I'd do.
I'm not giving up. It seems like I've relapsed again and want to stay an addict. I don't I just need to get my life a bit more in order, build up the strength deep down in me. It's me against a monster, I need to build the fight in me before I can fight something that size. But I will do it. I've gotten clean before on a lot worse, I can do it again. Just give me time.
A week ago, since I posted last. Things just got increasingly worse. Before I get into that, I think there's a background story that needs to be interluded here:
Me and my boyfriend have been together and madly in love for two years. We live together, we're always together and we're happy. But we fight a lot. We 'break-up' a lot and then everything is fine by the net day. We make up and are back to normal. We love hard, and fight hard. But this time I really screwed up. He just left me and that was that. I don't think we can bounce back from this. Maybe this is the time he never comes back. He really hurt me and broke my heart. So this is where my week of drug binge and drinking drinking started. That's also the week I cut myself. And the week my Cymbalta or situation made me want to die.
Continuing on, my last post, I was crashing. I slept forever, and woke up feeling horrible. Depressed. Hopeless. Anxious. Shaking. Ryan still didn't want me, my other friend has a new girlfriend, and my best friend doesn't know I'm a drug addict wreck. I have nobody. So I rush to the LCBO, buy this HUGE bottle of vodka, get some more sleeping pills, and whatever else I can get my hands on. And so, my drug and alcohol binge continues, my non eating continues. And despite how heartbroken and sad I am, when I'm fucked up, I don't care. My drugs and whatnot is all I need.
Ryan ended up messaging me, and we talked for a long time. We decided we were going to work on things. Take it slow, do the whole best friend thing until everything's okay. Yet for some reason, as completely happy I am that we have the chance to fix something that should have never been broke, I couldn't stop myself from thinking what about the things that are already broken and always have been broken. Like me, I'm broken, always have been. And my idea of fixing myself, is a fix...of drugs, purging, starving, whatever. So I keep breaking myself more. Will I ever be fixed? Do I even deserve to be fixed? I'm afraid he's going to come back expecting the girl he loved, the one he met, the one who was sober before all this. And what if we try, and he changes his mind, and I have to go through all this heartbreak again. I cannot handle that.
So I spent my nights talking till him until he went to bed, then I'd begin my nighttime drug routine. I kept getting worse, and it wasn't until I drank and drugged myself do death that I realized I'm becoming an alcoholic too. My mom found me, puking my guts up, incoherent, eyes rolling back in my head. When I did finally wake up, I was still drunk. I couldn't remember anything, my whole night was a black hole. I decided I couldn't drink anymore. My mom was furious, pointing out what I never even knew, you aren't supposed to drink while on antidepressants...I'm on two. I felt like shit for a few days recovering from that night.
Things with Ryan are getting much better, I think we're going to be okay. We've been hanging out, getting intimate and I'm so glad. He also helped me realize I've been misjudging weed the whole time. I personally think it's therapeutic. It gets rid of my anxiety, I can relax, it helps me sleep, and I don't even need all the other drugs. I still will have all the other drugs for now, I'm not ready to give them up, but maybe it'll help me slowly get off them. It's a lot better than drinking, sleeping pills, xanax, percs, coke, you name it that I'd do.
I'm not giving up. It seems like I've relapsed again and want to stay an addict. I don't I just need to get my life a bit more in order, build up the strength deep down in me. It's me against a monster, I need to build the fight in me before I can fight something that size. But I will do it. I've gotten clean before on a lot worse, I can do it again. Just give me time.
Wednesday 1 August 2012
'i feel like a super model who just skipped a meal.'
So I don't know if it's the Cymbalta that's making me so fucked in the head, or if it's this stupid break up or what. But everything I've read on the package says it's a possibility, and not to stop taking them until I see a doctor. I won't be able to see him until the 25th. Until then, at least I've got my mom watching me like a hawk...I could fucking punch her.
On the bright side of all this, I can't bring myself to eat anything. It's been days since I've had anything but drugs and booze (to the point of black out), and I've managed to get down to 138. I feel so shaky though, I thought I'd try to eat something, but my appetite is gone, I had a bite of this delicious pasta salad, and couldn't bring myself to eat anymore. Such a weird feeling, considering one bite usually results in a disgusting pig out. But I fucking love it. I'll take the suicidal bullshit to be thin any day of the week. It feels fucking fantastic.
Dying to be thin, how ironic. At least it's not false advertising.
Boys fucking suck, but at least one good thing came from it.
On the bright side of all this, I can't bring myself to eat anything. It's been days since I've had anything but drugs and booze (to the point of black out), and I've managed to get down to 138. I feel so shaky though, I thought I'd try to eat something, but my appetite is gone, I had a bite of this delicious pasta salad, and couldn't bring myself to eat anymore. Such a weird feeling, considering one bite usually results in a disgusting pig out. But I fucking love it. I'll take the suicidal bullshit to be thin any day of the week. It feels fucking fantastic.
Dying to be thin, how ironic. At least it's not false advertising.
Boys fucking suck, but at least one good thing came from it.
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