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about me |
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My name is Casey. I love forensics. I am compulsive about keeping busy
and being depended upon. I am trying to regain some sanity in this
incredibly fucked up life I am forced to call my own.
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High up on a deep depression | ||
| I'm only happy when it rains |
Medicate my fears. Make all this go away with a simple little
turquoise and cream pill. Make my reality normality. Blend me. I'm sick of
existing. Existance is futile. Medicate me and end this existance. I
don't need to feel or think. Just sleep. Just eat. Just be. I am finished
with this. Let the plastic emotions run through my veins. They tear me
apart slowly, wholly. I am not in existance. I am not real. These
emotions aren't being felt. These words aren't being spoken. This reality
isn't seen by you... tears confused with rain... blood confused with
paint... i see what you see. I know what you know. But i do not want what
you want! I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO SEND ME AWAY! Daddy, don't send me to a
place where I will be watched. Where I will be ostracized. I am not
sick. I AM NOT! I do not need help. I don't need to be watched. I don't
need that. I need life.
I don't want help, I want consolation. I am very scared right now...
as afraid as i will ever be. I don't want help, so stop thinking you
need to give it to me! I don't want help and I don't want answers I just
want a good cry and someone to talk to me until I fall asleep... which
is a lot to ask of my friends... you don't know what to do... i don't
know what to do... i am a heavy weight upon your shoulders that there
is just no way to balance. Jason you are too uncomfortable.. would
rather pretend it didn't exist.. Nicole you want to fix the whole problem,
not the moment, which is admirable but ineffective... Zack you get so
angry, and your rage doesn't make the pain go away. I know what
it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit in,
but can't. How you hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill that thing
on the inside. Have you ever confused a dream with life, or stolen
something when you had the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought your
train was moving while it was still sitting still? Maybe I'm just
crazy... or maybe I'm just a girl, interrupted. My thoughts, my life,
my escape has been interrupted by this apparent control that my form of
control has over me. Places I never thought I'd touch are now
forsaken... how? I am so afraid to stress myself out... or to relax... evil
busies idle hands... it's a nice little catch 22. and i used to be okay
with that.. what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.... but i have
come to realize that what I thought made me stronger, happier, can kill
me. It is a matter of life and death. Life and death are very close
family, a small leap, a great slash apart... odd that you can cross from
life to death, but never come back again. Of course there are pros to
that... no more thinking til your head hurts, no more screaming, no more
fights, no more burdens, no more lies, no more hurting others... only
one last hurting yourself. But I cannot let go... i'm not sure anymore
if it's more selfish for me to live or die...
I am not asking you for an answer. I am asking you for you. What we
have is not so simple as to come to an exact and perfect answer. We
must take it as it comes... We are trying so hard to solve these little
variables while ignoring the whole equation staring us right in the face.
Our equation is complex with a lot of variables to be solved... but we
need to step back and think about what we're doing to our relationship
for a bit. I'm straining and you're straining, and we're straining. I
know I love you... and I don't ever want to let you go, but at times
like yesterday I wonder if you+me can ever = 1... to be boolean... don't
let the equation fail.
A few things the people around me should read. Okay, then
isn't it just another way to describe a failed suicide
attempt? NO. People who inflict physical harm on themselves are often
doing it in an attempt to maintain psychological integrity -- it's a way
to keep from killing themselves. They release unbearable feelings and
pressures through self-harm, and that eases their urge toward suicide.
And although some people who self-injure do later attempt suicide, they
almost always use a method different from their preferred method of
self-harm. Self-injury is a maladaptive coping mechanism, a way to stay
alive. Unfortunately, some people don't understand this and think that
involuntary commitment is the only way to deal with a person who
self-harms. Hospitalization, especially forced, can do more harm than good.
Should self-injurious acts be considered botched or
manipulative suicide attempts? Favazza (1998) states, quite definitively,
that . . . self-mutilation is distinct from suicide. Major reviews have
upheld this distinction. . . A basic understanding is that a person who
truly attempts suicide seeks to end all feelings whereas a person who
self-mutilates seeks to feel better. p. 262. Although these behaviors
are sometimes referred to "parasuicide," most researchers recognize that
the self-injurer generally does not intend to die as a result of
his/her acts. "[S]uicide attempts are reported not to provide relief, to be
repeated less frequently, and to have less communicative value" (van der
Kolk et al., 1991). "Patients with the [proposed Deliberate Self-Harm
Syndrome] often suffer social ostracism and, in desperation, may attempt
suicide (Favazza et al, 1989) [emphasis added]. Thus, although
self-injurious behavior is not suicidal in intent, it can easily lead to
suicidal ideation or even, when a self-harmer goes too far, suicide itself.
Herpertz (1995) notes that self-injurers distinguish between
self-injurious acts and suicidal ones, and Solomon and Farrand (1996) say
"Although the [self-injurious and suicidal] acts themselves may blur, their
meaning does not. What does emerge, though, is a link between the two acts
in that one (self-injury) is an alternative to the other (suicide), and
is preferable." In a review of the literature on self-injury, Favazza
(1998) notes that only recently has it become generally recognized that
self-harm is a morbid form of coping, one which is often turned to when
suicide seems inescapable. He writes that "traditionally it has been
trivialized ([delicate] wrist cutting), misidentified (suicide attempt)
and regarding solely as a symptom [of borderline personality
disorder. Honestly! I am not trying to die. I promise. I don't know
exactly what i am trying to achieve.. but it most indefinitely has ties to
survival... thats the key thing here. as long as i'm still breathing..
my goal in life is survival... sad but true... just like me...
Visionaries lie to themselves. Liars only lie to other
people. We're visionaries, you and I. Keep telling yourself you can quit.
Necessity creates invention. "Some things hurt, and some things KILL YOU!"-
A quote from undoubtedly my favorite sophomore. This hurts, but it
can't kill me. You don't control death, or your afterlife. This is control,
to die would be the loss thereof... but you, you are different. Why
waste something as sweet as life? Count your blessings, please. Note all
that you have to live for. Some things hurt, and some things kill you.
Dont let the things that hurt kill you. Fire wipes away a trace of
anything there ever was... such a complete way to become nonexistant. But it
can't wipe away the memories without devouring those who hold them.
What devours me devours you. You jump, I jump. I hate to use this cheap,
inherently weak way of bargaining... how very pretentious of me to
assume I'm something worth living for... but it's the only thing I know. He
who thinks he knows everything has the most to learn. I started out the
year with so very much to learn... but hume's right. acknowledge your
ignorance, embrace it. realize you own weaknesses and defeat them. don't
let them defeat you. Red Cruel, penetrating, seeping
It doesn't hurt like it should.
Artist: Placebo Sucker love is
heaven sent My body's broken, yours is spent Carve your name into my arm
Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed Dissect it until it breathes no more. Take away the pain by
discussing its roots and reasons until they become words strung together,
embodying no emotion. Hide the fear of your future by planning every second.
Waste away your present in anticipation of a future you know will never
come. Examine your breathing until you forget its necessity, you forget
its importance... you forget how. Fear to my mind like oxygen to my
lungs- dizzying and dazzling, enough to make you tipsy and want to scream.
Pick apart your life and its processes until they have no worth, no
weight. Fight to find meaning in the meaningless, words in the silence,
worth in the worthless. Dissect me until I breathe no more. Pick apart my
life until it has no worth. Fight to find my meaning, my words, my
worth. I am inevitably, the meaningless, the silent, the worthless. I am
the afraid, the pained. My future will never come. Dissect me, for your
sake.
I know you hate to tell me the bad news... you never quite tell me
the worst of things... and that bothers me. It bothers me that you are
willing to tell the whole world, or at least any random person who might
read your xanga, before you are willing to tell me. So here's how it's
going to go: I will not run. Ever. I am hear for you zack, and I don't
care what some quack psychiatrist says, i wont let you run either. And,
from now on, tell me everything. You're the only person I know who
thinks I am strong, please, treat me as such. I don't ever want it to be
worse than I think it is. There is a huge difference between
"irreversible damage" and "a chance I might die." I know it's a scary thing to tell
me... I know it's a big deal.. but we deserve to go through it
together. I would prefer not to find out on your journal. I get scared very
easily, Zack... the idea that maybe you aren't telling me everything is
the scariest thing I may ever face. It terrifies me more than the worst
news ever could, because it's always worse in my head. I'm asking you
selfishly, and I realize this, but please zack, trust me. please.
Ok, so I think I'm finished playing with my webpage... i hope
you all like it. Actually... wait. I don't give a fuck if you all like
it! This is my lil corner of webspace, so you can hate it if you
want.... cuz i fit in here. Which is a nice change of pace. I love how the
people you think you can trust, the ones you feel safe with, are always
the first to betray you. I'm not going to lie like some people and say I
don't do anything to deserve what comes back to me. I realize that this
is all my fault. Ths is my frame of mind, and no one could change that
if they tried. My blood is mine and no one elses, so please don't feel
as if it is on your hands. Don't take it upon yourself to save me. I
will not be somebodies charity project! i can't be my own worst enemy
with friends like you. Don't let me make you sad. I am not being wasted. I
am not some great bit of human potential being thrown away. I am alive,
and will continue to be so. Be happy. I'm breathing. I want to explain
to you guys exactly what an anorexic/bulimic highbred is. Here are the
explanations of each. One in bold, the other italics. Then I'll turn it
into a nice happy lil collage. Enjoy. Kids and teens with
anorexia tend to be perfectionistic and shy, as well as bright and high
achievers in school and athletics. Girls with anorexia usually do not
engage in sexual behavior because of their embarrassment about their
bodies. Kids and teens with bulimia tend to be more impulsive
and outgoing. Behavioral problems such as sexual promiscuity, crime
(often shoplifting), and drug and alcohol abuse are common in teens with
bulimia. When kids with bulimia are caught up in a binge eating and
purging cycle, they may become very impulsive. tend to be
perfectionistic as well as bright and high achievers in school and
athletics tend to be more impulsive and outgoing Behavioral problems
such as sexual promiscuity they may become very impulsive.
I changed my blog today... iono why. I get bored sometimes. I have
been searching for anything to keep me busy. I know there are things to
be done, I'm just not allowed to do them. Temptation is everywhere...
while I was looking at those sites on my links bar, I went to a bunch of
trigger pages. A trigger page is a page that makes you want to mutilate
or starve (i.e. thinsperation) and they did exactly what they said they
would.. triggered me to want what I know I shouldn't have. It doesn't
seem so wrong when it's my body. It doesn't seems so wrong when I now
he's far away. It doesn't seem so wrong when I want it so much.
It's almost a form of pressure to have all this pressure taken off
of me... like a soda can in a vacuum chamber, I colapse not because of
the pressure, but because of the lack thereof. Can someone please have
some expectations of me? I fear this sort of freedom. It's strange to go
straight home after school, to have no homework, to find that my
datebook is blank. Strange, strange strange. This is abnormal and I fear it
and I am suffocated by all this free time. Evil busies idle hands..
someone busy my hands with something productive.
I want to turn inside out. I want my scars to be on the inside, my
blood to be on the outside. I keep trying to figure out what my goal
was in all of this- control? yes, i thinks it's nice to control your
pain... but it just doesn't sound right. punishment? yes, i do repent for
my tresspasses. but no, that isn't as deep as my problems go. release?
yes, it is relieving to release the tension inside, but what else? there
is more. i know it. i wouldn't want it so baddly if that was all there
was. perhaps it is genetic. i am well aware that this sort of thing
runs in my family. maybe my needs are coursing through my blood, maybe it
wants to be spilled. maybe my stomache was made to reject food. maybe
this is who i'm meant to be. or maybe i'm just crazy.
I'm very tired. It's been a long day. I think Vy hates me. Fuck it.
I'm falling apart... I meant to put together that book of poetry as
a joke... to laugh at how crazy she thought I was... but I had to stand
in front of the class and read a few of my poems and explain them... I
read one about my childhood where I was accepted... the class went
quiet and my words were heard by everyone. Especially me. I finally heard
the reality of my own words I heard exactly how sick I have become. I
now know exactly how much of my life I have forsaken. I know how much I
have given up, and everything i will never get back. I am very sick,
aren't I? I thought it was a joke and it ended up being truthful. Why does
my humor torture me so? Why can't I for once make fun of the crazy kids
without being one of them? Why can't I be a sarcastic rude teenager, as
deep as a puddle and short tempered? Why can't I be normal? But no, I
have cursed myself by writing spells of disgust onto my flesh. My
teacher started to read the words I put on my journal.."Win. Win. Win. Win."
"Failure is death." "Repent." "Punish yourself before they get the
chance." Words meant to be the epitomy of a too-depressed overachiever,
sick in more ways than one can count... and those were my words. They made
sense to me. They fell out of my mouth naturally. I lie and pretend I'm
normal for a while, but i'm still abnormal, inadequate, sick. I'm still
what I was.
It's odd seeing your skin... reflections of pain... its not going to
be the same again, is it? the passion swept away by pensive
remembrance... happiness is inside your arms... but i can see your pain. i see it.
i really do. i promise i'm not looking past it. but i love you.. no
matter what... i just know its never going to be the same again.... which
is okay. things change. we grow and shift to adjust to eachothers needs
and pains... it's okay. just different.
I know that me getting medicated sounds like a very good idea to
all of you... but you fail to see the realitites of who it will make me.
There is a balance that I have to weigh out. I could take medication,
and be healthy. I wouldnt want to cut, but I wouldnt want to paint
either. I wouldnt want to write, or act, or run, or be awake at all. I could
take my medication and be nothing. Or, I could stay unmedicated. Yes,
sometimes I'm depressed... sometimes I'm destructive, but sometimes I'm
so alive that the whole world seems to bow to my productivity,
creativity, my living. Sometimes every moment of my day is so filled with
passion and intensity that my mind is swimming and racing and I pace so I
can think and I paint and I write and I live. I live for those days. I
live for them because that is when I am truly alive. Chemicals aren't exactly an option for me. I
really do like who I am... I like how I am. Have you ever heard of
Stockholm's syndrome? That's when you fall in love with your captor... I think
I have some weird form of that. I realize how what I do hurts me... but
sometimes I love it. Give me an up day, and it's all justified. All
that depression is worth it. If you could live my up days, and know the
intense happiness and excitement I feel, and you could know how long it
prolongs... you would understand. I really believe you would. Up days
feel like... I've been holding my breath for 2 weeks, and I finally
inhaled.
Fuck... fuck... fuck. How do you forget to eat? I was goin pretty
good all day. No slips in that whole being a good girl thing... Until
this morning when I realized I forgot to eat for the entirety of
yesterday. It annoys me that I can do something so stupid and be totally unaware
of it. I changed my mind... I don't apologize, because apparently this
is all my fault. Well oh fucking no, I'm depressed again and therefore
no fun to be around. I am depressed again, so shouldnt you be there for
me? Whatever. I see what kinds of friends I've made. I dont regret
anything except for apologizing about who I am. You can't change me. I
won't get drunk with you. And FYI, alcohol is a depressant. It would just
make me worse. But thanks for insisting that I needed a chemical to be
fun. Fuck it.
I am so worried about my friends. All this ditching and partying
compiled is very, very bad. I just want them to be okay again. I want to
talk to Jason.. it's been a while. I want to laugh and joke around and
go out at night without drinking. I want to get together for more than
just doing homework, forensics, and getting drunk. Why can't I ask that?
I know it's wrong. And of course, they have the right to drink. I just
really miss my friends. I feel excluded since they've found this new
niche. I just don't want to drink. I don't want to play mommy. I don't
want to be the only sober person. I don't want to ask so much of all of
you, and I don't expect you to give it up for me. I apologize....
I am not what i appear to be. Please, don't assume you know me
anymore. Don't offer me suggestions on things you know nothing about. You
treat depression as this dirty secret meant to be hidden. Well,
depression is like a big pink elephant in the room. It may seem polite to ignore
it, but it's too stressing. Too tense. Just talk about it. Don't
criticize the way I express my emotions. I am so sick of being told to smile.
I don't care if "sulking doesn't suit (me)" My emotions are my
emotions. Let me be pensive and withdrawn. Having to concentrate on being
better for your benefit only makes it worse. Tomorrow... tomorrow is going
to be a good day. Nothing is a good distraction. Distract me.
my world seems to be purely fiction. what is reality when waves of
confusion wash over your every waking moment until you drown in your own
ignorance. reality is something lost when you decide to smile without
being happy. reality is something forfeited when bleeding is breathing.
reality is something stolen when starvation is the only way to prolong
your life. i gave up reality a very long time ago. I gave up strength,
sanity, and happiness with it. content is not something i will ever be.
i demand the truth from others, but how truthful am i? sometimes you
just have to give in to your desires. don't worry all of you over-nervous
friends of mine. my skin is unscathed and my lunch is safely in my
tummy. desire is subjective. believe it or not, my desires extend beyond
the need for control. my desires aren't always just perfection. sometimes
they're attention. sometimes they're satisfaction. sometimes they're
someone. thank you for looking past my scars. attention drawn could have
really killed the moment. moments die violent deaths in my life. I kill
them with sardonic words... with comic relief... with anything that can
stop that desperate intensity from building. i fear such an intensity.
I fear the connection felt when conversation gets too deep... when too
many secrets are being realized... i fear the intensity of staring into
your eyes before you kiss me. i rush the moment, but you don't seem to
mind. you didnt look into my eyes much either. are my eyes empty like
those girls in the picture? have i surrendered my depth to an illness?
have i traded in the control i so desire for that sparkle in my eye you
said all those pictures lacked? you don't have to answer anymore... i
already know you'll never see my body the same way. and i'll never see
yours either. always searching for tracks of something destructive...
for the marks that "happiness" and "calm" leave behind. my body will
never be flesh again to you. it will be scar tissue, and the rest just
blank canvas. my eyes dull orbs of steel blue. so it's all nothing. i'm not
afraid of the nothing between us. it doesnt matter to me. nothing is
sometimes very tangible. nothing can be held, and carressed, and touched.
nothing is a nice passtime, and nothing is a good connection. never too
intense. never weighed down with emotional baggage. nothing is what i
need sometimes. i know you can give me nothing. Who am I talking to? So
many different people who need to hear the truth and up to now I was
too tired or too disillusioned to see it.
I live day to day in a world where I have no scars I believe. In a
world where I am normal. I joke with my friends and laugh and fit it. I
talk to them about going swimming this summer, about going bikini
shopping together. I put up a facade of my normality for the sake of my own
state of being. Perhaps this is wrong, or unhealthy... but in my life,
what isn't? It's easter. I just got an offer over brunch from my aunt--
would you like a summer job helping out at my day care, I need you to
teach some kids how to swim? I'll pay you well, and it's only once a
week. Of course, I smiled and said "I really wish I could, but I'm
interning at a law office, and I have debate camp." Note that I do all the
competitive events in school where it isn't necessary to be seen in a
bathing suit or shorts. I'm a clever one. Forensics, mock trial, varsity
quiz, literary arts. "Just dress nicely. Where your business clothes.
Shorts are inappropriate. Lengthen that skirt, missy!" I flourish here. A
world where I can be normal outside of my own dysfunction. A world
where I can excel and compete and never have to bare my skin. Only one
person has seen. I'm sorry about that. Still breathing... still
breathing...
Okay, so here's the breakdown of my life right now; I'm in love with
a very special person. I am trying to get better. I am getting lectures
daily about things people know nothing about. I love talking to nicole.
Edgar makes me feel better. Jason makes me laugh a lot. Days are long,
nights are restless. I think about him, constantly. I'm gaining weight
I think.. I'd know if they hadn't taken my scale away. I don't think
they know that that only makes it worse. Then I only have my personal
opinions to go by. What is it now, 5 days? God. Seems like such a long
time. Song stuck in my head, Aerosmith, "Don't wanna miss a thing." I feel
like I've missed so much. I'm sorry. I look right past such obvious
things... in retrospect, i could have helped it earlier, but hey. We're
together on this one, now. I'm breathing. Don't ask for much more
today.
and the tables have, once again turned. why does it sseem so
different when it's not my skin? i can forsake my flesh, fine, but anyone else
tries it and it seems so... tragic... double standardsfor all! but no,
no double standrd here. we'll be strong together... still breathing,
but only for one person
Take that nosy bitches who sam gave my url to. Casey 1 Society
3,400,345,600,999 I'm gonna catch up one day. Closing in on 72 hours. No one
cares but me. Hahahaha.... i'm tired and sick and bored of everything
and i have work to do but i don't want to. kill me now. please?
dammit, i'm still breathing. proud of me yet?
i am barely breathing and i cant find the cure I got
one up on you, third eye blind... i know the cure, and i know the
disease.. the question is, which is which? when the bounds of pleasure and
pain begin to blur... thats where the trouble starts. i can't know
anymore. which is my savior and which condemns me? i refuse to not care. i
love that you are so laid back, but thats just not me. your double
standard just isnt cutting it. if you can free your mind, so can i. but i
wont i'm a good girl. going on 48 hours straight. here's my plan; count
the hours for motivation. just count until you lose track, and thats
where healthy is. it was easy at first, but i just went out to dinner for
the second night in a row. it couldnt be as difficult as i make it...
just breathe. i am barely breathing. still breathing, nonetheless.
long long long weekend... so much pain. i hate quiet almost as much
as i hate loud noises. don't pretend like i don't exist. I'm here and i
did something wrong and you know it. learn to face it. you worry me
when you turn away from my pain. you see nothing, but pretend to be there
for me. the one thing in months upon months of pain and hurting that
you see is my being in the wrong place. wow dad. you really are
perceptive. you haven't caught on to the fact that i just play with my food when
we go out to dinner.. that i bleach the shower after every time i use
it.. nothing except the fact that i slept over at jason's. 1 out of 3
aint bad. i'm proud of you dad. still breathing, no thanks to you.
I hate everyone. I'm sick. I'm going to be very grounded. My dad
will kill me. So much stress. My stomache hurts. Yuck. Still breathing.
For now.
Is it just my paranoia, or is that ad up there specifically directed
at certain people. I really am going crazy. i'm an emotional wreck.
run. we pretend issues are resolved but they never really are. i'm
still breathing. are you surprised?
I want to be touched... but I don't. I miss him. I love him. I want
his hands around me... but the idea scares me. I know what he'll find.
Dangerous. Maybe Sam's right. I am pushing Zack away. That's
bad. Very bad. I just need to calm down, step back, and let this
relationship work itself out. Not let my fatal flaw be a factor in our
relationship at all. I don't think I can have everyone knowing about it, talking
about it.. I'm not sure I can take that. So for those of you who are
reading this (I don't even know who that is anymore) it was all a lie.
It's easier to say that. Everything on this site is a great story of
fiction intertwined with my life. Don't believe it... and if you do, don't
read it. thanks. casey
I knew that the first time would be like opening up the floodgates.
I wrote my first ever sonnet. It scared my teacher. Found out that I
speak naturally in 10 syllable iambic pentameter. Crazy stuff. The
strength of love cannot defeat my pain Haha. I made my teacher cry and spent
5th period in the counsellors. They checked my arms. Ignorance at
work. Casey I fucking hate Mrs. Berselli. My mom has this great little image of
me. I am perfect. I am strong. I am a force to be reckoned with. All it
took was a few simple words from Mrs. Berselli and all that came
crumbling down. This is all too much. How dare we just pretend it never happened? We
are both hurting because of my stupidity. We are both in pain, we are
both marked with that pain. I knew I would do it... it started with
looking at the shadows of my scars, and then branched in to making new
ones. I had to punish myself. I failed. I just wish he wouldn't have gotten
hurt in all of this. I don't want to ever hurt him, and I did. It's so
awful. I am a really awful person for all of this. I promised Vy that I
would try to be different... I promised everyone. But I'm still the
same... I'll always be the same... some people never change. I'll never
change. I wish I could... for his sake. I wish I could be a better,
stronger person for him... but I can't. I don't know how.
I don't want to hurt Zack, but the mental balance between his pain
and my pain, his happiness and my compulsion fell through. 21 slashes on
the inside of my thighs, crimson red on perfect, pearly white tile.
Hate, anger, anxiety, stress, disgust, fear, and pain, all left ina
puddle. It's so easy. There's no way for me to not hurt him. I know
that no matter what I say, I'll hurt him. I told him... I told him going
into this that I could only hurt him. Here are my options; There is no right way
to do this.
Jason almost saw my legs. It doesn't really bother me.. they arent
really scars anymore.. just shadows. What used to be. Memories. But
that's all my scars are in the first place.. memories of mistakes, of
failures, of pain. Memories of release and pennance. I have repayed my debts
up to one month and 6 days ago. I have taken back what I have put into
the world up to then. I hurt them, so I hurt me. Karma must be assisted
sometimes. You must control your own life, your own fate. Karma is too
random, too unsure. You must choose to pay back your bad deeds. It is a
decision. A noble one at that. Few people are willing to accept full
responsibility for their trespasses. I am one of them... or at least I
used to be...
Flesh is petty. The need for youth and beautiful young skin is
appalling. My body means nothing to me.. it is simply the shell of my mind.
A worthless cover to be used as necessary. My body means nothing to me,
my mind is everything. I will do anything to preserve my state of
mind.. but here's the problem- What best preserves my state of mind hurts
the reason for my mind so much. Blood makes things easier. Love makes
easier things worth living. I want to have both. What if I cut myself and
he found it? How much would I disgust him? How little would he trust
me? I have to keep this in mind every second of every day.. have to
remove the ability from myself to pick up that blade. I have to remember
what I would lose if I cut myself.. and it's a lot more than blood.
Cold metal feels almost ethereal against warm skin. It's strange how
you can be so close and yet so far from comfort.. from happiness.. from
freedom. And the lines of what is pain and what is comfort blur so
often. I can't tell anymore which is a gift and which is hell.. which sets
me free and which enslaves me. I want so baddly to want to be healthy,
but I cannot. I don't know what healthy is. I don't know what normal
is. I don't know what freedom is. I cannot fly with chains on my feet,
but what holds the key to those locks?
Okay, don't expect much from this site. Just honesty and pain. More
honesty than pain hopefully. This is the diary of my dysfunction. This
is where I write down my needs and pains before they become a reality.
There is a time and place for everything, and this is the place for
pain. I am a self-mutillator That was both honesty and pain.
Pain is good when it comes right down to it. It pays a pennance. I
promised Zack that I wouldn't repent. That I wouldn't escape.. sometimes I
really wish I hadn't... the feeling of warm blood on cool skin is so
very satisfying... deep crimson on too-white tiles is somehow comforting.
I love to be the way i am.. but I love him, so I sacrifice it. I
am anorexic/bulimic highbred I don't like to eat.. but I like the
way it feels to purge. I like the way it feels to cleanse my body of
the awful things I put into it. I love the control i get. I love to be
the way I am.. but I love him, so I sacrifice it. I sat today, for
hours, tracing fingers over shadows of scars. I miss my scars. I traced
back and force where once cold steel had pressed and for brief moments
been inside of me. Where all my anger and frustration was released in
one cathartic slash. I miss that feeling. But I love him, so I sacrifice
it. He doesn't ask me to give it up... I promised him. I will
keep that promise. My lack of strength is not an issue here. I'll be
strong as long as he needs me to.
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