Shoulder Shrug

I haven't been writing much. I feel like I should write more and about more things. It seems to me that the same thoughts run through my mind all the time. Unfortunately, I use the material I'm given by those around me, and the same theme recurs in conversation with anyone: why did you do it?

Ugh.

So I went to see my neurologist on Tuesday. He asked why I'm not on this anti-d business. He also seemed very surprised that I'm alive. And that I'm not on anti-depressants. Oh, did I already mention that? Of course, too, I got The Question: Why did you do it?

I always answer this question the same way: shoulder shrug. Sometimes I also add, "I don't know."

Truth? I know. There are no ambiguities in my reasoning. It wasn't a whim and it wasn't for attention or to hurt myself. So get it straight, chief.

Whew. Now that I've cleared that up, let's get back to this crazy little thing I like to call my blog.

My step-mom has been in town for the past few days. That's been interesting. We don't normally talk that much. I don't really talk much; I'm more of a thinker/listener. I think the silence makes her uncomfortable. This is secretly entertaining. I'm not sure why. It's always amusing to see people struggle to force conversation because they can't handle silence. A lot of people do this with me because I practically live in silence. If I talk your ear off, it means I'm looking for your approval. Usually this endless chatter of mine is accompanied by pointless stories and nonsensical ramblings. Keep your eyes out.

Oh yeah, and this stuff I'm on has me hallucinating. It's awesome. My dreams are amazing these days. I can't even begin to explain how blazed I was last night. I hope it lasts. Also, I'm in a perpetual state of hunger and grog (as in grogginess, as in I'm tired). This could be interesting.

Other news...

Old Faithful has left the building. The cheap hooker only got me $200. Sad day. And school is only a few short days away. And I'm re-evaluating my life. I'm about to blog about that. Stay put.

Doctors Are Fun

Yay for prescriptions!

I'm on one. Finally. Homeland Security just dropped my threat level from orange to yellow--high to elevated.

This stuff puts me right out, too, so maybe now I can sleep at night. And maybe I won't hallucinate. Maybe.

Oh yeah, and I hope this stops the migraines and allergies.

One In A Million?

I talked to my counselor today. I told him something he didn't want to hear. I told him what keeps me from hurting myself. Then he told me something I didn't want to hear: one in a million. That's the phrase he used. One. In. A. Million.

SUCK!

I take back what I wrote. Open it. Please. Now. Immediately. And let's talk about it.

These are the words of desperation.

Yeah, I Did It

So I always write about depressing stuff, and I feel like it's getting ridiculous. I know it's getting ridiculous. No matter what I write about or whatever spin I try to put on anything, it always comes out all emo and stuff.

I'm trying to change that. I'm trying hard.

And I don't ever have anything decent to write about. All anyone wants to hear about is how I'm doing, how the cutting is coming along, how high I'm getting, how drunk I'm getting, what kinds of girls and boys I like, how many pills I've taken recently.

Answers: I'm depressed, haven't cut in a while, only got high once, haven't had alcohol in a while, I like all kinds of people, and I haven't touched anything other than an ibuprofen since Last Tuesday (the hospital day, for those who don't know).

Oh yeah, and it's really surprising to me that so many people still don't know about that. I'll fill you Behind-on-the-times Bettys in right...NOW. Or not. Because that would mean talking about depressing stuff. Ok, long story short, I took me an entire bottle of some anti-depressants--575mg, or 23x the recommended dosage (dose? dosage?)--ON PURPOSE and had to go to the emergency room. Now I'm on suicide watch and am not allowed to take any kind of medication ever for a couple months. When I sprained my ankle, I cheated and took some Motrin for the pain. One a day for a week. That's it. No more overdoses.

But anyway, I'm super excited about heading back to my apartment this weekend. As soon as I get my refund check, I'm off to get another tattoo. I desperately need it. Well, that's what I tell myself.

And for those who want to know about what I did the other day: Yes, I really did do that. No, it's not what you think. And no, I'm not going to tell you what was in the envelope (unless your name starts with a B or a J or maybe a K, or if you have two middle names)

Cutting With Markers

I hurt. All the time. Does anyone else hurt like this?
I can't sleep. I can't eat. I feel so empty. I feel so broken. I want more than anything in the world to be fixed. That's all I want. Maybe that's too much to ask for.

I'm trying a new thing with my counselor where I cut with a marker (he's trying to prevent as much bloodshed as possible). Every time I get the urge to cut, I'm supposed to grab a marker and run it down my arm like I would a sharp object. I tried it for the first time tonight. Surprisingly, it helped. I kinda don't want to cut anymore. Well, I never want to cut, but now I don't even have a craving. If only everything were this easy.

I haven't actually run a blade across my arm in over a week. That doesn't sound like a long time, but it really is. It's like a smoker saying they haven't lit up in a few days. It's a big deal. I've actually stopped trying to hurt myself since I made a promise to two people. I promised one that I'd never, never, EVER try to kill myself again. I made a promise to the other that I would keep sharp objects away from my left arm. So far, so good. I've been a week without the latter and almost a month without the former. I feel good. I also promised a certain gentleman I'd get better. I intend to make good on that promise.

But I wonder, does anyone else feel this way? My counselor says that I'm behaving exactly the way I should, based on what's happened in my life. Hmmm....molestation, rape, depression, abusive relationships, chronic illness, family drug abuse and alcoholism. That list is kinda long. Too long. I don't like it. I don't like to look at it. It sucks. This sounds selfish, but why the heck couldn't it just be one or two things? Why, God, why does it have to be all of these? Mr. Counselor Man says it's a recipe for depression, cutting, suicide, self-hate. I'm pretty much a textbook case and am behaving in all the ways a person in my position is expected to behave, with one exception: I'm getting help. And I'm making stellar progress.

I don't know why I'm writing about this right now. I guess I just need to vent. I need an outlet. I have a million things in my heart I'd like to say, but I never say them. I don't know why. I still haven't published the note that's been written and completed for several weeks. I'm still afraid. That's the biggest problem: I'm afraid. I'm always afraid. I'm so tired of being afraid.

And I'm tired of hurting. My stupid ankle sprained itself last night. Sucks. I can barely move around, and walks with Sweetie are hell. Poor dog. I feel bad for her. Her owner is either put up because of a sprained ankle, migraines, allergies, or [fill-in-the-illness]. Mah body est no good. Oh well. That's life, correct?

Now you may not believe this, but I'm actually feeling more positive about everything. Maybe it's because I have a crush...or not. I really feel like I'm almost through this. I know for sure I'm ready to be well. That's the first step, right? Damn straight. The good days certainly outweigh the bad, and I'm smiling a lot more. I know I'll be ok. But until then...oh boy.

Counseling Hurts

I always hate the way I feel after counseling. The sessions get me down. Instead of talking about good things or happy things, we talk about the stuff that hurts. That sucks.

I know this is normal, but I can't help but feel that counseling isn't working. I feel like I'm not accomplishing the main goal: to get better; to stop being depressed.

Current achievements:

• The cutting and suicide attempts have stopped
• I told all my Dirty Secrets (and no one went to jail)
• It's easier for me to talk about myself and my...condition
• I cry all the time
• I've been retraumatized

Things I've learned about myself:

• My depression is triggered (hard) by illness/injury
• I'm depressed because I feel powerless, whether to help myself or others
• I have Major Depressive Disorder
• I miss Tubbykins
• I've been depressed for years (it runs in the family)
• I have no real friends but one or two, and my family sucks ass (already knew the latter)
• My pitcher of Kool-Aid has overflowed
  
• I'm still traumatized by things that happened a decade ago
• I have no hope and feel worthless (which is why I want to kill meself)
• I love and forgive those I shouldn't because it's easier than acknowledging how they've hurt me
• I'm weak
  
• For the past several years, I've been punishing myself for things that people have done to me
• I'm still afraid

Lemonade is overrated.