This has been a very trying week for me: Feeling anxiety, unappreciated, used, abused, and pity. So, what do I do? I promised that I would not go back to cutting, but is there another option to rise above the rut?
- Singing: I used to love to sing. I would pretend I was on stage and scream at the top of my lungs. It was an adrenaline rush. But singing did not always work, especially when my mother would tell me to turn the music down or to stop. (She never really paid attention to what was happening to me. I wonder: Does she know what I go through daily – most importantly – does she know the things I do not tell her?) When I stopped singing, I suffered bulimia nervosa.
- Bulimia Nervosa: The first time I went without eating, I read. A lot. I also drank lots of water to hide that I was not eating. When I was forced to, I would binge eat – everything. Then, surly enough I would be left alone, and I would vomit and take laxatives. (I would say I took laxatives 3 times per week.) No one noticed. My hair continued to grow-surprisingly-but my blood levels went down & I was always cold. Ironic. Not in the least. This was also the time in my life when I lied compulsively and started pretending I was an actress. No, I was not delusional. I just wanted companions.
- Cutting: I will always take laxatives and engulf on water binges, but I promised I would not cut again. The last time I cut myself, I wanted to die. I slit from my wrist to the middle of my forearm. Then, when I found myself alive, I purposely showed my scars. Why? I wanted to show the world. I wanted to be consoled and asked why (without fear of being yelled or cursed). I loved the way the blade sliced my fat. How it burst open to the white meat. It made me feel good.
- Trichotillomania: In high school I used to pull the hair out of my scalp. At first it started in gym class, but as my anxiety worsened, I just pulled from everywhere. Presently, I do not pull the hair from my scalp, but from other areas of my body. The pain of yanking hair out and the feeling of hair being released makes me forget my problems. I do this before falling asleep or when I am on the computer (like now).
- The Big Chop: Cutting off my hair was a choice I made, and I had been dwelling on it for years. I did it because I thought it would be like a new start for my life. It wasn’t.
In addition, I suffer from major migraines.
So, why did I write all of this? I wrote this because it helps. Even if no one reads this blog, writing it is therapy to me. I do not know what is going to happen when I close this page, when preparing to sleep or tomorrow. All I know is that I want my heart to be brave. I want to not be taken for granted. I want attention from my parents, especially my mother – who is more interested in her friends and thinks I am a well-adjusted adult.
To be completely honest, I am unhappy. I am so fucking miserable and unhappy. I feel like my life should be so much better than it is. I don’t get to do anything that young people do/have done. All I do is work (more than I can handle) and provide for a person who is completely capable of taking care of herself, but because she was screwed over by her soon-to-be-ex-husband, I have to be her provider. When does this end? When can I have my own life? Maybe that is the reason I fell for the guy-the-should-not-be-named. Maybe that is why I take pills to subdue stress and anxiety. Maybe that is why my weight constantly rises and falls. I am just lost in the world moving too fast, and I can’t catch up.
<insert crying audio here>
I mean my life could be so much worse, but I can’t help but to think that I went wrong somewhere. Like I messed everything up.
<insert crying audio>
Sometimes I think that I should have died when I was younger. That way I wouldn’t be a bother. I wouldn’t be complaining. I wouldn’t need the emotional support I am looking for. I just wouldn’t exist. But I’ve become so good at hiding my pain. I just smile and act silly, and people think I’m okay. WELL, ITS NOT! It is a mechanism for “I NEED HELP!”
<insert crying audio>
I just wish someone would come into my life and be that perfect person that is positive and has faith in God, that God sends to me to help me be a better person. But I know that is asking a lot.
On another note, my phone is ringing. Who is it? Students. Students sending me essays I asked for the beginning of the week. No one calls me. I shouldn’t even have a phone. In the end, who would care? Not. a. soul.
So what do I do now? I am done crying. I am numb.