relapse is apart of recovery.

So I have been so busy with everything that has been going on in my life.

I have recently stopped writing for those blogs. With school and everything that has been going on in my life I just couldn't keep up. Plus, I realized I need to write for me.

I have felt so burnt out these last few months because I was writing so, so much for other people and nothing for myself, I realized I need to get back to writing for my own eyes and a smaller audience in order to get my head back in the right place.

In terms of my ED, things that got better during group treatment have slipped back into those nasty habits. I don't go for my new assessment until November 2nd and it's getting hard to wait. I feel like I'm losing grips on my life again and it's scary as hell. I've completely relapsed in anyway that I made progress and it's horrible.

My depression has been bad again and no medication seems to be helping me. I'm starting to not know what to do.

As far as my addiction goes I can at least say that things have been better. I haven't been craving as much and I feel like this is the only part of my life that is in control.

I've been going to and running my meetings but I feel like nothing seems to help my ED and depression. It's like nobody really understands and I don't know who to turn to.

So, I'm back here hoping you guys will get it. I've missed you all.

Much love, xx/

to just get high and let the blissful obliteration wash over my mind and body.

Seriously? Go fuck yourself. Like I have bad days too, I don't need people bitching at me because I have a simple fucking request. It's so annoying. I have more bad days than good lately and I don't take it out on other people. Maybe it's because I take it out on myself, but still, that's better than being a passive aggressive little fuck.

Ugh, now my day's turned shitty. I think I'm going to go smoke about 15 cigarettes then have a nap. Why does addiction and bulimia have to have such a strong grip on my life? It just makes me miserable. Do you know how much easier it would be to just give into it? To just get high and let the blissful obliteration wash over my mind and body?

Fuck....I just miss it so much. I feel like I lost a best friend or something. Or an husband. My addiction was my love and my life and being separated from it sometimes is just unbearable. I'm not going to relapse but I want to. I want to so so bad.

i think the most common cause of insomnia is simple, it's loneliness.

So the last week it has seemed almost impossible to fall asleep. And when I finally do, I end up waking up around six in the morning and then cannot fall back to sleep. It drives me crazy because by the end of the day I am absolutely exhausted, yet I can't seem to convince my mind to shut off and let me fall into that blissful state that is sleep. Sleep has always worsened my depression which is why I was prescribed sleeping pills and Xanax at such a young age.

But now since I'm sober, I don't have the option to take pills to just go into that wonderful land of dreams and nothingness. Well, I do have the option, but I have chosen not to take it because I know for a fact that it would completely ruin my sobriety and send me right back into the arms of my beloved Oxycontin. So every night it has been a struggle to get to that place where everything is perfect and calm and just is.

I don't know what to do. Not sleeping worsens every bad feeling I have. Every trigger, depressed though, craving, anxious thought, everything is exacerbated by my insomnia.

If I don't sleep soon, I think I'm going to lose my mind.

dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever.

Today is Father's Day.

Ever since my dad passed away in 2011, I have spent these days alone. My dad was never a big gift guy, but I know he appreciated knowing we loved him. I never told my dad that I loved him nearly enough. I regret that I didn't tell him every single day.  Because now I don't have the option of hugging his big belly and holding on forever.

I miss my dad so much it hurts. This is my first sober Father's Day, so maybe I'm feeling overly emotional because I don't have anything to numb the pain. I had the option of going to my cousins to have dinner with my aunt (his sister) and uncle, cousins and their kids. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Some of it was eating disorder related. I had such panic about eating in front of them now that they know I have bulimia. But I think a bigger part of it was I couldn't bear to watch them celebrate this day with smiles. My cousin is double my age and still has his father. I know that shouldn't bother me. But it does. It makes me so incredibly angry and jealous. Why should he get his dad when me and my younger brother lost ours so young? It's not fair. And I don't think I could have hidden my resentment today. So I didn't go.

Instead I'm sitting here alone wishing I could get high. It doesn't help that the only person I really have to talk to is drunk. It's not easy to be around people who are intoxicated when all you want is to obliterate your feelings and sink into that  magical place between reality and dreamland. I would spend all day hanging in the middle, suspended on a cozy web of bliss, peace, and safety. Stuck in the place where nothing matters but the drugs pumping through your veins with each beat of your slowed, relaxed heart. So I'm angry and not speaking to her now.

I wish I could say that I want to get over it and be happy. I wish I could say I think my dad would be proud of how far I've come. But I feel like those would be lies. Today I don't feel like changing my negative thoughts or trying to be positive person in recovery. Today I just feel like sitting alone wishing my dad was here. And there's nothing in the world that can change that.

I love you dad. I miss you like crazy. Happy Father's Day. You will always be my king, my heart, my dad.

you cannot hang out with negative people and expect a positive life.

I've been thinking about my last year using. Like really thinking about it. I think it has a lot to do with my continued depression and down days. Usually they only last a day or two and then I snap back into a positive mood. But for some reason, I've been stuck in this low for a long time now. Longer than normal. I don't know if thinking about it brought it on, or if thinking about it is what is keeping it on or what. All I know is I'm feeling down, sad, and like giving up and I can't stop thinking about the 'good old days'.

These memories come on when I'm talking, especially when talking about something drug related or back from that time period. They start when I'm craving, which ends up increasing the time and intensity of the craving, making it ten times worse. But mostly, I get vivid, powerful memories when I listen to music. Anything I listened to daily during last summer instantly brings me right back there. Some songs bring me back to bad things and I have to change it immediately. Others bring me back to the times when I had a blast. Although that overall time was a nightmare, there were also many times where me and my friends had an absolute riot. 

This brings me to my friends, just as my memories do every time. I met most of them through this idiot, Dan, I was seeing/was friends with. But he turned out to be a pathological liar and would often get arrested or show up places only to have his mother pick him up a few minutes later for 'sneaking out.' He was 28 years old, just to clarify why this was so pathetic and annoying. She would also call the police, which as you know, is never something you want when you're a needle using junkie. Anyways, there were about 6 or 7 key players at this time of my life. Let me introduce them.

1. Angus, 39: Dan's friend from rehab. He was an ex-con from a federal prison. He robbed a bank with a shot gun, among-st other things. He was the first guy to fix me up (which I think creates a strange bond between people because you trust them and then experience that first exquisite high together; it's almost intimate in a way). He became a good friend and often let me sleep there when I had no place to go. We stole together, got high together, were sick together, but never ever slept together. I didn't want to cross that line. He was cool shit, but would go into psychosis whenever using any ups. 
2. Krystle, 34: Angus's wife (sort-of?). I met her when she reappeared in his life out of nowhere. I was getting sick of him, as he was me since I had been there too long. She needed a ride home, so in return, she got me crystal (meth)/Xanax and let me sleep over. We somehow really bonded that night. She was tiny, tough, and very ill.
3. John A ?: Friend of Angus's from a different town. I met him when he got out of jail and stopped by looking to pick-up. He introduced us to his connect, who had a good supply of pills and meth. He also stopped by randomly high as a kite and was annoying as hell when he did meth. He was a nice guy though and meant well. He'd help me get drugs and money when I couldn't. The second person I let fix me up. He was also a kleptomaniac. So he'd often help us steal, but wasn't trustworthy otherwise. 
4. Rodney, 50: Rodney was John's connect. The second time I met him, I drove him 45 minutes away and back to pick up his supply of ice. He hooked us all up nicely for that. I did it again the next day, but alone. I told him I wanted pills, not crystal, since, it was my thing. This is how I met his girlfriend.
5. Kat, 32: Rodney's girl (which I didn't know until later). She was known as the 'pill girl'. She liked me instantly and gave me her number so I could call her directly. I did, often. She also sold ice. When her and Rodney set up shop together, I got really lucky. I'd drive them at least once per day to go get their 2 ounce supply and get a taste of it plus free pills, a place to stay, and often food. She was the only one I knew who actually had money. She reminded me of me back when I was dealing with my ex before I got caught up in the dope. She hustled hard and I respected her for it. They respected me. I was the only one who would find dope on the floor and give it back instead of stealing it. Plus, I had a car. And I knew how to inject other people. So she'd call me late at night, asking me to come fix her up. 'I'll pay you', she'd say.  I don't know why she took me in, but I'll be forever grateful to her for it. I think I reminded her of her too. Which is a scary though, her being exactly ten years older than me. It was like I was looking ahead into my dark future. 
6. Chris, 29: Lived below Angus. Was into me for a time, but hated me after I refused to sleep with him and chose to stay with Angus instead. I feel bad now. I was a bitch to him.
7. Trelaine, ?: Girl I met in detox before I met anyone else. She was a bit stuck up. But bought me Chinese food in there. Turned out, she knew Angus and started coming by near the end. She was a two-faced, lying, skank-bitch and I hate her.
8. Mike, Cutie, Romeo: Various dealers. 

So now that I've briefly introduced them (Which was extremely hard, since that time was chaotic and crazy and sort of interlaps each other. Plus, it's a bit fuzzy anyways),I'll get more to the point. Around that time these people were my life. They substituted my lost boyfriend, family, and friends. They knew who I was at that time and didn't mind. In fact they liked me. They were the first people to look right into the depths of my rotted soul and still want me around. It was the first time I felt accepted. We took care of each other, almost like a family, or gang. If we all couldn't get something, we'd all go without. We each had our skills and used them together in order to get money, drugs, smokes, gas, food, whatever (in that order). We laughed often, got sick often, and played often. We did horrible illegal things together and blamed the system for it. There was always so much drama and chaos and crazy, dangerous shit happening that I grew to thrive within all of it. I even trusted them with my life, having them shoot me up in my neck when I had no other veins. So now that it's gone and my life is simple and boring and sober, it's no wonder I often miss it. And them. They were friends, bonded together in our addictions.

 But the sad thing is, in active addiction, friend is such a loose term. When it comes down to it, we were all using each other to benefit ourselves. And when someone became a burden or was no longer useful, we threw them away like we threw away our old needles. Like we threw away our lives. We didn't care about our own lives, so why would we value others? So I guess in the end, we weren't useful to each other anymore. We had all exhausted our energy and resources. We had burnt out.

So at the very end, I was living with Angus and Krystle. It was a crazy mix because she often never took her medication for her bipolar disorder. It was exacerbated by the drugs and she would swing in and out of moods like it was nothing. One minute she'd love him, the next she hated us all. Then back again. It usually depended on what we had at that point. She also was an unpredictable thief. She'd often go in my purse and take my car keys. Or money. She even robbed Dan blind as he laid overdosing on the floor in her apartment. Then did all his drugs while I sat there sick and he was in the hospital. She wouldn't admit she'd done it. When I accused her, she told me to leave. I didn't and just backed down. She knew she had me and she knew I knew it too. 

Anyway, in early August she went to detox. She had to be rushed to the hospital because of withdrawal induced seizures. They told her that she'd have to get on Suboxone or methadone in order to get sober. So on August 11th, I drove her. She convinced me to get on the program too, at least so I wouldn't always be sick if we didn't have dope. I agreed. Angus got on it too. We all started talking about our happy, sober futures. We started to get hope, and hope can be a dangerous thing. The methadone helped me right away. I ended up sleeping for 95% of the day. I called my mom who I hadn't spoken to since May. I told her, I'm getting on the program and asked her to come to the appointments with me. She did. So on August 14th she gave me $20 for food and methadone. This was huge because I knew it meant she had hope to and was trusting that I would get sober. That day, we got into another stupid, pointless fight. But this time, Krystle declared to Angus that she'd had enough. It was his house, but his life was only happy when hers was. So he sort of agreed. She grabbed my keys and her Trelaine and Angus went to grab 'her stuff. When she came back in, I was in the bathroom. I came out and checked my purse. The money was gone. They told me to get out. I refused to. All I had was that money! I wasn't leaving until I got it back. So the two girls physically threw me out, smashed my head against the ground and left me there. I went to my car, hoping there was enough gas to get home. And hoping my mom would see my state and believe they had robbed me so that I could come back home. I knew they spent it on dope too. So much for our pact to get clean.

Thankfully my mom did let me in and I never used again after that point. I went to rehab, I forgave them. I moved on. I even went as far as apologizing for my part in it. I ended up seeing Krystle at the methadone clinic a month ago. She was in rough, rough shape. I was terrified when I saw her (having not apologized yet). I thought she'd steal my carries (bring home methadone for those who test clean) or kick my ass. Or both. Fear  and panic pumped through my body until she finally got up and said hi. She hugged me. I was stunned but I went along with it. I told her I had nine months clean and asked how she'd been. 'Starting over..' she said. 

Seeing her there and like that brought such a mix of emotions to me. I thought I had moved on but it was clear that moment that I hadn't. I felt sad for her. I pitied her. I missed her. I hated her. I wanted to help her. I wanted her to relapse. I didn't know how I felt. But I knew one thing, I was so, so grateful that she had literally thrown me out like that. If she hadn't I'd probably be in the exact same spot. Or worse. 

I have mixed feelings about all of them. They range from missing them, to hoping they get clean, to wanting them dead. But on days when I'm not happy in my recovery, I think about them the most. I often could cry thinking about them. Worrying about them. Wondering if they'd take me back. I miss the fun. The craziness. The danger. I miss our bonds.

But then I realize, we may have been bonded in addiction, but we obviously are not bonded in recovery. So I have to let it go and move on. All I can do now is wish them the best and take care of myself. Because as much as I miss them, I don't miss the sickness, the worry, the fear, the betrayals, the stealing (which I was always only the driver for), the pain, the fights, or the sleepless nights I sat up afraid to close my eyes. 

They will always be apart of me and my story in some way, but they can't be in the future chapters. 

Much love, xx.

before you can see the light, you have to deal with the darkness.

So the last little while I've been feeling great. Optimistic, hopeful, inspired, determined, etc. But the last two days something has changed. I can't seem to put my finger on it. I've been taking my anti-depressants as prescribed, doing what I usually do, so I don't know what has changed. 

But I guess since I have been sober I get days like these. Days where all I think about is getting obliterated and not feeling a thing. Sinking into that beautiful place between dreams and reality. Nodding in and out, in and out. And hovering blissfully in between. These days are the ones when I won't eat a thing. It's like I'm so depressed and craving that high that the only other thing as satisfying to me is starving. There's even this song lyric I've always loved (sick or not) that says, "I feel like a super model who just skipped a meal." The song's about feeling great and on top of the world, so he says that as a good thing. And to me, not eating sometimes gives me this rush, this pride and satisfaction. The hunger pains act as a reminder of how "good" I've done by starving. 

So today again, all I thought about was opiates. Or meth. Opiates and meth, opiates and meth. Over and over again I switched back between the two, imaging the feeling. Remembering those feelings. The ones like nothing else in the world. And the more I try and stop it, the more it spins around in my head. An endless cycle. 

 The only thing that can quiet Roxy (addiction identity's name) who is locked in her cage begging to be let out is by asking Jenna (bulimia identity) to come out and play. So just for a moment, the thoughts, conversations, arguments, are only with me and Jenna. Just us two, like it used to be before Roxy showed up in my head. In a sick way I miss those times. Just me and her. She my best friend. I always imagined her to be beautiful, sexy, alluring, charming, intelligent. Basically everything I think I'm not. She's the gorgeous best friend you hang out with because maybe her beauty will rub off on you. So although I know she's the evil girl who wants me dead so she can take my place, I miss her being my only company. It seemed so much easier before Roxy came along throwing addiction into the mess of all my other mental illnesses. 

As if I didn't have enough issues before. You have no idea what it's like to have two powerful voices in your head telling you what to do, constantly criticizing you, bickering back and forth all day. Sometimes I forget I'm even in there. I think these are the days when I feel down. It's like if my mood is down, my voice gets quiet, sad. So the other two start to fill the silence. And it becomes so overwhelming that my real identity,  the shy, weaker one, has hidden away afraid to have to face them. On my good days, it's me who is taking the reins, it's me who is speaking up. But every once and a while, those old habits call to you, and I let them take control for a while. Sometimes it's like I just need a break. Recovery is hard work. So perhaps I'm just taking a rest, letting them run on autopilot while I heal and can take back over. 

So I'm going to get some rest, read a good book, have a spa day and recuperate. That way I can take back over and silent the evil girls in my head and get back on track to a healthy, happy recovery. I think I'll share this in group too. We talked about the eating disorder voice/identity last week and had homework to think about ours. Weird timing, having felt this.

Anyway, I wonder if they will ever go away. I want them to, but then I'm also terrified to let them go. 

Much love, xx.

By the way, I do not have split personality disorder (now called dissociative-identity disorder) or have different "voices" in my head. I simply have given each of my disorders an identity and name, mostly for writing purposes. But it also helps me differentiate between what is me and what is my disorder. It's like three people in my inner monologue. Me, Jenna, and Roxy. 

Here are two new pictures of me! Just thought I'd share what I look like now. I feel huge in them (at least, that's what Jenna says), but I've been told I look pretty. 

living is easy with closed eyes.

And then she recovered.......: So you think you want an eating disorder?



So I've fallen in love with this blog since it was recommended to me in treatment. I think the author is beautifully honest, inside and out.



I especially love this post because so many ignorant people or people who want to diet think it's funny to jokingly want an eating disorder. Sorry, but it's not a fucking joke. It's serious. It's painful.  It's deadly.



Sometimes when people say something as outrageous as that I just laugh at their stupidity and ignorance on the subject of eating disorders. But most days I want to scream in their faces and curse them out until they wished they hadn't said a fucking word about it. But I hold myself back, because I know that it isn't the way to get my point across. It isn't the way to educate.



So that's why I think this post is so vital, so important and so starkly and stunningly written. It tells every bit of truth about the horrors we face with eating disorders.



Check it out. Pass it on. It's a must read.

nobody can go back and make a brand new start. however, anyone can start now to make a brand new ending.

There's such a weird mix of feelings that goes on within me every single day. 

I can start depressed, wanting to die, to feeling so elated that nothing can bring me down. Or I can feel both of those at the exact same time. 

I used to use so that I couldn't feel anything. So the hardest part about sobriety is learning to feel and cope with the new whirlwind of emotions inside my head. It's easier said than done. Imagine feeling sad, angry, relieved, hopeful, yet hopeless, frustrated, excited, and humored at the same time. Seems impossible, right? Well trust me, it's not. It is, however, extremely hard to deal with for the normal person. But for an addict in recovery, it's even worse. When you're so used to feeling nothing, feeling even one emotion is rough. So going through the full spectrum in a minute on any given day, it's not fun or easy. But it is life. And it's something I'm learning to deal with. Sort of. Don't get me wrong I still lash out, burst into tears, react too quickly, or laugh inappropriately, but at least I'm not running away and getting high every time. See? I'm making progress.

Anyway, I figured that since so many of these posts are about the negative emotions, I'd make this one just for all the positive I'm feeling.

You know that feeling when you meet someone new and just hearing from them makes your heart rush? Where all you want is to lay with them while they make you forget all your pain and past? That emotion right before love, where everything is new, fun, and gives you happy tingles. Well, I'm the luckiest girl to be experiencing this again, and being sober enough to be able to experience it. So I'm grateful for my sobriety and for Nicole for showing me what it's like to feel all warm and fuzzy inside again. 

And then there's relief, when you know that the people you care about are okay. 

And excited emotions when you know you're on the verge of a perfect poem, or story, or whatever. That nature rush you get as you start to share at a meeting, or introduce yourself in group. 

And how about the peaceful, calm feeling you get when you lay down at night knowing you don't have to worry about where you'll get money or where you'll get dope the next day. Knowing you won't be sick and that when you wake, everything will be okay. It's that confidence you have in knowing that you will rise with the sun and the day is yours to do anything with.

Of course, there's love, and compassion too. I find these in my family and pets. I don't think I'd be here with out the help and love and support from my mom. And I wouldn't be happy without the unconditional love from Charlie.

And lastly (for now), there's passion. That drive and need to complete something that gets your blood flowing and creativity soaring. That high you get from doing the thing you were made for and knowing that it is your calling. That sense of pride you get reading the final copy, or viewing the final piece of artwork, or getting that dressage move down pact. The feeling of just knowing, from the deepest part of your soul, that you're right where you're supposed to be.

So yes, I'll have bad feelings and bad days. Maybe more than I'd like. But when things get rough, I know that I at least have these amazing emotions. And more importantly, I have the special people in my life that can help me feel and see all these great things I have in my life. 

Ouu, there's another one. Gratitude. The ability to see the abundance of good things, good people, and good feelings I have every day. And the ability to give thanks for it every night.

So tonight, life is good. And I'm glad for that.

i'm standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.

I know I'm supposed to be recording all my food/liquid intake. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

I can't bring myself to eat either. I ate too much this week already. I'll be happy if I stay below 500 calories to make up for the last few days.

I know this isn't productive and that I'm supposed to be making changes. I just am so afraid. I don't want to get fat.

I guess I'll go start on my homework for next group. Maybe it'll jog me back into optimism and reality. I hope so, I can't do this much longer.


P.S. I could really go for some dope. Any kind of dope. Meth, crack, pills, junk. Just something to make me forget that I'm so fucked up and too afraid to do anything about it.

selling my soul would be a lot easier if i could find it.

I woke up in a great mood. I spent hours last night chatting with my ex. He is/was the love of my life. I can't even fathom trying to find anyone else. I'd rather spend the rest of my sober days alone than with anyone who isn't him. We laughed, we joked, we made fun of his girlfriend. We shared past memories, future goals, and shared our love without actually saying it. We wished each other goodnight, both saying how it was lovely to talk. I went to bed with this happy energy I haven't felt in years.

The thing is, I owe him quite a large amount of money. I left him high and dry when I was in the depths of my addiction. I am trying to make this right with regular payments, but he never seems to actually want to meet up and collect.  I suspected it was because he was scared he'd get caught up in me all over again. Having said he hasn't loved since me. But I was wrong. I think he only said that to spare my feelings. Or maybe he said it drunk.  Either way, he's chosen her over my money, so he has chosen her over me and repairing anything we had left.

We hadn't talked in months, in 9 to be exact, since I got sober. So I sort of came to terms with him seeing other girls. I had in no way gotten over him,  but I at least sort of admitted it was over.  But now, we're speaking again and it has stirred up all these old emotions. Both of pain and love. So everytime he chooses her over me my heart breaks all over again.

And everytime it breaks, I want to numb myself into death with dope. Every single time he turns me down I want to pick up the phone to pick up. Drugs, drugs, drugs. It's all I want. I want that rush of pleasure followed by blissful numbness. I remember that feeling and wish I had it. I didn't give a fuck about anything in that moment. As soon as the shot hit my veins I was in paradise where nothing mattered but feeling the feeling of pure ecstasy.

How do I keep doing this? It's almost like I have to choose, my life and sobriety, or love. It's a choice I never want to make. It will throw me off the edge.

drugs don't really fix anything, except for everything

so it's been several months since I've posted anything. my boyfriend found my blog and didn't know about the addiction he basically caused. but I can't blame him, it was me who snorted that sweet delicious oxy up my nose. it was me who decided smoking it was even better. now all I crave is a fat line and some tin foil, a lighter and an 80.

I know it's not 'right' to be an addict, but fuck it. I've been through so fucking much the past few years I deserve to get high and let the pain killers numb my sorrow.

want a recap? first my grandma died, then my dog of 8 years, then my dad. I thought that I had my fair share of death in one year. remember my post about "bring it on 2012'? but nope. then my sweet bulldog Callie died, followed by my two older brother's dad. and suddenly out of no where my own other bulldog who  was sweet, amazing, and so, so cute passed away suddenly from heart disease. my little man was the only good fucking thing left in my life.

what the fuck have I done to be filled with so much death?

a three year old bulldog who did nothing but bring light into everyone's life didn't deserve to go. nobody I loved did. thank god I've never believed in god, because if there was one he wouldn't make someone hurt so much.

so fuck it, I guess I'm meant to suffer.

the only time I get some release is when I'm high, purging or drunk. so much for recovery.

I'm wasted now and all I want is some sort of release.

I'd be better off dead...at least I'd see my little man Bam again. And my dad and everyone else life has taken from me.

always recovering, but never recovered, with the constant possibility of relapse.

Addiction is a lifelong disease, which makes recovery a lifelong process.

I know this because everyone says it. My mom about alcoholism, Nic Sheff (Tweak) about meth/heroin addiction, and me, about mine. No matter how many years you stay sober, the addiction is always apart of you, waiting to climb back into your body and take over. They say it about eating disorders too. No matter how hard you work, how long you stay out of it, there's always that chance you give into it one day.

And you see, for someone struggling as much as me, a lifetime seems way too long to be dealing with something. Why can't it just go away now? Leave me the fuck alone for, like, an hour. For once, I'd like it to just be me inside my head. I'm tired of hearing from my addiction, I'm tired of hearing from my ED alter ego, Jenna. Just go away, I don't want you here anymore.

And this is why people relapse.

There's all these voices in your head, from all your different problems, telling you what to do.

And sometimes it just gets too overwhelming and you give in. At least it keeps them quiet for awhile.

you just need me to be stable, but i won't be able.

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.

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.

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.

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.

'the monster likes to talk; he jumps into your head and opens your mouth, making it spout your deepest darkest deceptions. making you say all the things you'd rather not say, at least not in mixed company.'

I'm just waking up fully now. When I first opened my eyes this afternoon, everything was hazy. I felt really confused. My head was pounding, my body shaking, and my eyes refused to focus. So I closed them and tried to drift off again.

It wasn't until I woke up again later that I felt the burning pain on my arm. It scared me, all the red inflamed gashes on my arm. I touched them, they were scalding hot and the touch sent pain shooting through my body. I almost passed out, needles and cuts bother me. When did I do this to myself?

Everything is still so hazy, almost like it was a distant childhood dream, that you can't remember if it's real or not. But it was, the whole thing was terrifyingly real. I don't remember much of it either. The last clear memory is from last week or so. I went to the doctors, he put my on another antidepressant to help with my anxiety and recommended a psychologist. Next couple of days I spent in bed, trying to accept the fact that my relationship is over. I thought everything was going to be okay, and then I felt it. This overwhelming urge to die. As depressed as I've ever been, I have never felt anything like this. It was horrifying and I tried to keep calm, but I couldn't. I couldn't feel like this. And then I started drinking and smoking pills. That's the last thing that's clear.

It was like my bulimic alter ego Jenna and my unnamed addiction joined forces and became this horrible monster in my mind that led me through days of hell. I was drowned out as they took over my mind. But eventually they couldn't even take it, and that's when I guess I finally crashed. I can still feel them, whispering in the back of my mind. It's almost exactly like Ellen Hopkin's book Crank. I can;t let their voices get louder than mine again. I need to go back to sleep, crashing's a bitch.

Guess I will be seeing that psychologist after all.

imagine trying to live without air, now imagine something worse.

it's funny, one moment your on your road to recovery, the next your staring death in the eyes, hoping he wins the stare-down.

have you ever watched blood trickle down your arm? the stinging pain is almost as good as snorting 10 pain killers. i never want to feel again. every time i let myself feel, i end up hurt. fuck, i miss oxys. i miss the mind and body numbing feeling. i miss the rush that lulls you into a sleep. hell, i even miss the pain of withdrawal, creeping up my spine, stealing every ounce of strength and happiness from my soul. i'd do anything for even just one.

it's been a week and a day since he left me. it only took a week for me to fall so low, i think this is what they mean by rock bottom. except, i want to dig six feet deeper. i haven't eaten in days, i don't even know how many. it feels amazing. too bad it's the slowest death i could choose.

but of course, i wanted to feel better. to feel nothing. why did Purdue have to do this to me? to decide that oxys are a problem now, and to replace them with garbage? you couldn't have given me a couple more months? an easy out?

looks like I'm settling for percs again. but snorting them isn't going to do the trick, neither will eating them. god forbid i binge and puke up a perfectly good high. tin foil, a straw, a lighter, and crushed pills. that'll do. it's weird, it's worse than any oxy addiction. once the first hit of chemical smoke hit my lungs, i couldn't stop. it was a constant cycle of crying, drinking, smoking and then snorting sleeping pills to knock me out. i used up 2 lighters, and have burns and blisters all over my thumbs. if i don't have smoke in my lungs, i can't function. i haven't stopped shaking in days. i tell myself it's because i haven't taken a hit in a while, so i do. the shaking doesn't stop.

the thing is, when you've been up high for days, completely out of your mind high, your mind starts to play tricks on you. first, it told me how good the burns feel. how that's all i could feel. then it told me if it was worse, i wouldn't feel a thing. i held them over an open flame. then it told me that wasn't enough. it made me so preoccupied with death for days. i listened to suicide music, fell in love with Kurt Cobain, thought about my empty eyes when i died, and how nobody would care. how i wouldn't hurt anymore.

but how? i didn't know how i could do it, how i could go through with it. so i grabbed the sharpest knife i could find. i just wanted to see how it'd feel. it's the weirdest thing, it hurts so badly that you can't feel it. now i have 8 perfect gashes on my arms.

if i wasn't so fucking high when i did it i would have done it somewhere nobody could see.

i need some help, i have to talk to someone.

deposit happiness into your day, instead of withdrawing sadness.

I don't know what happened, but sometime between my last post and today, I realized I wasn't a total wreck anymore. Maybe it's because I've been busy, or because things with me and Ryan have been  going really well. I don't know. Either way, I feel...okay. which may seem bad in comparison to happy, but for me, okay is good. It's a first step at least.

I'm still sober in terms of pills. Although not entirely sober if you count weed. Okay and maybe coke one time. But it was only one time, and I have absolutely no urge to do either again. I know it sounds like a cop out, but if that will keep me oxy free, then I'll take it. Also, I've been in such a good mood that my weight hasn't yo-yo'd and I haven't been binging or purging nearly as much as I was.
It's funny, one day you're basically a depressed, anxious, crack whore (not exactly, just making a point), bulimic going through withdrawal and getting clean all while feeling so bad you want to give up on life all together, and then without even realizing it, you somehow transition into just okay. I don't know when or where it happened, but I'm glad it did.

I still miss drugs, it's hard not to. It's like everything was enhanced and now I'm back to normal life, which will obviously seem boring in comparison. But in comparison to directly after they were out of my life, and in comparison with before, I'm doing much better. And if I stay clean, it's only up from here. Right?

Maybe all this time I was just to busy focusing on the sad parts of my life to really realize the happy parts.

a father should be his son's first hero, and his daughter's first love.

Today was Father's Day. Well technically yesterday, but until I fall asleep (if I do at all), it's still today.

My younger brother and I went to brunch with my dad's side of the family. My mom was still out of town visiting one of my older brothers. Everyone around kept saying happy father's day to us in general and to the dads there specifically. I found it hurtful and insulting that they kept throwing this around so lightly with no regard to me and my brother.

Because "'Happy' Father's Day" is only happy when you still have your dad.

It's our first Father's Day without him, and I miss him more than anything in the world. It just makes me sad to think about how disappointed he'd be in me if he could see how my life has gone downhill since he passed away. And I'm in no way blaming my problems on him dying. It was my personal decision and weakness at a time of vulnerability that led me down this path. At least he would be somewhat glad that I'm off them, but he'd still be ashamed of me for starting in the first place.

Anyway, so along with people not seeming to know me and my brother might be a bit sad, I was also having major anxiety. Obviously because of the fact that any food setting is automatically a trigger for me (especially when there's no vegetarian options, except for waffles with sugary fruit and whipped cream), and my social anxiety seemed to be extremely high (probably because I wasn't high in a social setting for the first time since my dad died). My heart felt like it would explode, my breathing was rapid and shallow, and I couldn't stop shaking. Nobody even seemed to notice. I finally couldn't take it anymore, so I did the only thing I could do-grabbed my ipod and blasted some Mariana's Trench (Josh Ramsay is the love of my life), which is super close to my heart because of the drug/ED based songs. Funny though, how as soon as I had one of their songs on, my aunt decides to scold me like I was a five year old, telling me to "Take those out of your ears and get over here." Lovely.

Moving on, as soon as we got home later, there was a voicemail on our phone. Someone letting us know they are thinking about us today and hoping we're okay. My heart rate spiked, along with my anger and sadness. Music wasn't going to be enough this time, my belly felt too full, I felt like I was 600lbs, and I couldn't deal with it anymore. After I purged my soul away, I sat down and cried, wishing I had oxy, or Xanax, or something . Anything to numb what I was feeling- depressed, lonely, angry, disgusted, to name a few.

Now I know it seems like I've contradicted myself, saying I was mad nobody said anything about my dad at brunch, and then being mad when someone did. The thing is, there is no right way to handle this. Anything said or done will bring back the sadness and memories and it will hurt either way. Plus I've been on edge the last week and a bit. I managed to get a bit of sleep, but only after my boyfriend and I got into an argument. I was overtired and bitchy, he was drunk, and Jenna (my ED/addict alter ego) was jealous that he was under some form of intoxication and I had nothing. I felt emotionally drained and finally crashed for a few hours, only to wake up and have to deal with all this bullshit.

The only real upside to all of this is that my body finally stopped totally hating me. I finally felt little to no pain today. Even using I still felt pains (if I crashed or went without oxy for more than a few hours I'd wake/end up dope sick). I'm hoping that since I can finally sit still without pain and if I can stay relaxed and calm I'll be able to get some sleep tonight. And more that four hours.

Well, I've rambled on about nothing for long enough. Time to shut my eyes and hope for escape.

Oh, and Dad, I miss you and love you. Happy Father's Day.