My mind is poured, as well as my heart on a tiny little keyboard that I just cant comprehend. I cant purge at a friend’s house. Those are rules.. rules are rules but its over when I get home..if I tell myself that repetitively. Today is simple. 103 days, sleep, wake up, purge, call sponsor, smoke and drink coffee. Dont forget to ignore the blades in your purse they’re a “no-no” but its a safety guide, just a small one. My stomach is disgusting but I lost three pounds so far so good. Tip: ignore my fridge its a death trap along with my house..but tonight, tonight I will binge and never stop..let my brains scatter..its what keeps the monsters away.
Little girl monsters are waiting
Dont go to sleep..they’ll suffocate you
Rape youof your innosence
The monsters sleep inside your mind
The guilt fills my stomach..the calculator is running numbers in my head…fat..calories.. the moods today. A panic attack.. the feeling of not breathing.
Today was rocky. Corrupted. Anxiety attack after anxiety attack, the short breaths..the gasping. I felt as if I was being choked to death..my mind was suffocating me, killing me softly. My head spun and spun, my heart screamed as my lungs cried for air. It reminded me of when I tried drowning myself.. my lungs..crying. My eyes closed only focused on the silence..my mind exploding, my body fighting..my body won though..and my attempt to take flight failed. Shaking my head wrecklessly Iam now trying to get that image out of my head..”pretend it was a dream..you woke up” my body says but my mind speaking loudly sings a song about death about me trying to escape reality. Oh how I long for a way out.
So this is life eyes open and mind corrupted no one said walking on a bridge while it was collapsing was easy. Then again living with Borderline Personality Disorder never came smoothly.
This morning, I casually sit at my friend’s little dining room table discussing hair and certain products. 3:30 this morning was spent drinking coffee in a Giant opened 24/7, and laughing outrageously, happiness was contagious in the midnight cool air. I remember certain parts within the night, us discussing my bulimia, the sexual abuse that occurred two times in my life, two was too many to begin with.I layed silently, eyes locked on the ceiling, what if things dont change? What if life shatters again? Will I truly pick up the pieces or will I leap from the nearest window, convincing myself I can fly?
I cant sleep, this shouldnt suprise me though. Sometimes I still think about getting lost with with vicodin or coke whichever satisfies me most, these are just thoughts though. Went to an a.a meeting tonight, its the best time to go, weekends. For its days like those I would find myself locked in a bathroom with a familiar bottle in my hand or cutting a line to snort..but meetings are rooms that bring me comfort..security. After the meeting my a.a friend and I decide that it’d be a good idea for me to crash at her place. The night was ours, driving around, meaningful conversations followed by laughter and too many cigarettes. Its moments like those where I’d be content if my life ended right there, happy and calming, but we dont usually get what we want. The house is now quiet, and dark. Everyone sleeps so peacefully, only me,a computer providing light and a hyper-active dog lay awake, watching the night come and go before we know it. Times like these are simple, easy and delightful. For, tonight I will fall into a deep sleep knowing Iam safe..its funny almost how staying at someone elses place feels more like a home to me then my actual house..for all they are is strangers..and me Iam just a intruder in their eyes.
Im a drug addict and alcoholic. After several od’s and a severe intervention..I sit here. Sober 88 days. A.A meetings 5 to 6 times a week. Going back means dying..thrown out. My family wont breathe around me and still..I feel like a stranger.
This is it. Another binge another purge. Cocaine, diet pills, sleeping pills, vicodin, and ecstasy…too much alcohol.. too much everything, I’v left behind. Picked up a ipod and thought about wednesday. 20 cuts. A pretty blade. From my shoulder to my chest another episode. Another talk in my head. Iam here. A new therapist for my BPD, hes cool and collective..do I tell him my pain..the dreams of relapses..some day. I sit here dizzy. After binging and purging, obsessive calorie counting I feel strong. My crave for perfection. My bulimia and constant self-injury is part of me, and my borderline is my other half, we run hand and hand. Russian Rulliet, she smiles when she wins
Reader’s Notice.
Where do I begin, the fact that the computer is ruined thanks to a little puppy who thinks its okay to chew up everything in place, after several weeks I think I’ve lost it, with no assess to the computer means no way to wordpress which has become a positive outlet for me. So here I sit casually in front of a computer at the library simply corrupting them with my obnoxious typing and loud tapping, poor them. So if my posts come from here and there or are longingly late. I do apologize.
Where To Start.. My head is a collision. From nights of snorting Vicodin to days of laying numbly followed by withdrawls and binge drinking. Maybe its myself that sickens me or is it the fact of knowing nothing. I keep holding A.A off and I truly can’t tell you why, every time I enter a N.A meeting I receive another friendly surrender tag, for now on I will simply just briefly hand over my surrender and ask for a tag not having to deal with facing everyone. I can not stay clean for long, but now Iam four days clean, with a migraine and a hope for no teeth chattering. Purging often has been hitting, lonely nights of binging in a house full of strangers is difficult to avoid. Confronting a mother that denial needs to end, that I can no longer control my alcohol or drug-intake was only half the trouble. My mother suggests only going to once a week N.A and once a week A.A. my therapist however says to go as many times as I can, Im caught between a mother who’s barely mother who’s sick with denial and a therapist who is trying to hand me a lifeline, I try my hardest to listen to a man who’s watching me drown then my own mother who refuses to see me for who I became. A Monster. Its not easy for a parent to deal with someone who has B.P.D its not easy on anyone in that household to see a simple family member turn into a wreck less soul. Its painful to see but, perhaps its time to uncover your eyes and finally look at the person and see their attempt to save themselves..maybe its time to accept the facts. She is a broken heart that only few can fix.
My dear I fear you are poisoned
Choking on this life we’ve called real
(Arent I scary)
(Arent I dreadful)
Watch me call the thunder and dance with the lightening.
Watch me destroy what I hate.
What are you so afraid of?
Are you asleep or just laying awake hopelessly
Listen to her sobs
Her fists that slam into walls
The poison she is
Venom she spits
A mother who only prays for light
A daughter that screams in the dark
Beg for her to hold you
Hope for her to love
To uncover her eyes would be a sin
To see who she created is deep horror within.
(This world has me spinning again, but where do I fall? Does it hit with John when it ended or is it with the Vicodin that has a sweet smile. Too many cigarettes its like a car crash..but Im the addict letting the wheel spin to give my passengers the rush. For I am the deadliest sin)
Where to start or where to begin? I find myself in another Narcotic Anonymous meeting in a search for hope after a Friday night of a score of Vicodin and snorting it in the mall’s bathroom. I use to be better then this, at least I thought I was. Things change though, always change. I sit uncomfortably in a metal cushioned chair, as I listen to the voices that fill the room, some bold and some broken but all have been affected by a addict’s eyes, by the sick cycle. Going in there, your pride is thrown from you and you are left with vulnerability and humbleness. I hug my sponsor and a NA friend tightly, this is how I say goodbye at the end, teary eyed and almost choked up I remember everyone’s words. A woman sitting at the table a quote of hers “anxious people think about the future, depressed people think about the past” this hit me, for parts of me live in the past, other parts stuck elsewhere. I listened to a 18 year old boy talk about how he ruined everything with his mother, how he broke her..I felt this ache his pain.. as this 19 or 20 yr old girl talks about her worry, her breathing in the past..I feel like home here, as a middle-aged man says “I was scared, I was lonely as hell” I feel this.. Iam welcomed home..to a place that has answers and opened doors.
A day of purging and depression hits mood swerves and loud music, later in the night I talked to a old friend who’ve I been exclusively talking to non-stop for a few weeks perhaps. We’ve known each other for almost a little more then a year, we’ve tried dating before but miss communication took its tole feelings never died though, as I thought of him through every relationship, he stayed in the back of my mind. The best thing, the healthiest thing stayed in the back of my mind. Always. Talking to him and hearing his laugh brought back old memories, happy ones. Our conversation gets deeper as I talk to him about my Borderline Personality Disorder, about my flashbacks and past experiences with sexual abuse, my damage..everything. He sits there and absorbs everything like always he is quiet, and listening. We are almost alike, actually both of us known this for a long time..how close we truly were. He provides me with knowing words, like a best friend I feel comfort from, the night ended peacefully for me. After tears from parents, dizziness..everything I go to Russell who knows me, whose known I liked him since we met, whose a junior in high school but knows way beyond his years, a old flame sparks, maybe its never left as I slowly grow use to Russell’s voice once again.
(I dont imagine this easy, for this is me trying to understand what the eyes of the beholder sees, how the person has grown to live with a troubled teenager who has borderline personality disorder, I myself am trying to wear his shoes to understand his emotions, reasons and how being a brother to a so called “sister” who is more monster then human can be like a hurricane without warning. This part of the passage will be about discovering and being aware about a brother trying to live under the same roof with a emotionally disturbed younger sister. This passage is the sister (Me) trying to piece together a puzzle of what the eyes of the beholder has seen and helplessly became a victim of a person with BPD (my brother). This is about sibling love and hatred all in a nutshell as I try to explain his mixed-emotions and the horrific events hes dealt with. Though this is a 1st person narration it is helping me begin to see a person’s pain and understand what they have seen in my own mind.)
I dont know where to begin or end. Nor do I know the things he has heard behind his shut door that has become more of a safe haven then a bedroom for him. Whether its him watching men come in and out of my room or the ruby red lipstick a young sister wears to favor them. Or is it him walking in on a man spreading his sibling’s legs who she has only known for 2 weeks and learning how to turn the other cheek. To be convinced that a boyfriend isnt abusive and to see empty wine bottles under her bed. To see blood shot eyes and a drugged up sense of humor or to step on one of her snorting straws. Maybe it is to find her passed out with arms and legs covered in dried blood with a fresh blade at her side, your own blade that was used for a fresh shave just in the morning. To hear screaming coming from a mother and father, to know she was arrested and finding things shes stolen. Or celebrating your birthday alone as your parents visit her in a psychiatric hospital on New Year’s Eve due to her stupidity of alcohol poisoning. To seeing cops come to your house and even understanding your sister has failed at killing herself for the 6th time. Her narcotic breakdowns with holes in the walls has you stunned as you watch your father speed out of the driveway to get away from a monster. A so called “daughter” Finding condoms, diet pills and pregnancy tests in her drawer and not knowing what to do. Seeing her go from detox to detox, to explaining to your friend that she is now in N.A. Her screams. Her rage and sharp tongue followed by frequently random severe mood changes. Her personality changing before your eyes. This is life, roll another joint, smoke another bowl, you got a fucking nut-job to go home to “Skank” “Easy” words you’ve told her. Explaining to your girlfriend that your sister “isnt feeling well” when you walk in on her purging and say “..Your better then this” you want to hold her but shes too old to look at like a infant anymore..her innocence left and she avoids eye contact with you. Again you go un-noticed as you see your mother and father obsessively worry. Shes doing this to her fucking self..shes hurting everyone…she ignored your hand that you reached out to her. A slap..a hit in the face..was your thankyou. Living with her and seeing her..hearing the bathroom fan turn on and knowing shes purging, waking up to food missing in the house from her night of “binging” she hoards that food. Her fresh deep cuts. Those self-brand marks..Those fucking bite marks..and her hair pulling problems.. we both came from a mother womb but she is the devil Lucifer in the flesh. And Im sitting at the table with her.
I dont imagine much. Today is sore arms and too many diet pills. I walk into school with a lonely face and a empty expression, people stare and glance all I do is walk numbly, I think of John and his kisses,but pain knowing hes too far away, I walk home to a empty place with food and ending with fingers down my sore throat, I dont think much. Standing in the road crying wondering where life went has me here waiting to sleep. And I wont, because these dreams are far away.
“I Fear its been a life time, too many days spent in my lonely bed waiting for you.”
The dog is barking, but all I hear is empty words. John called me claiming he was thrown out of his house in loud sobs, my heart ached for him, his father took his phone back..he called on his friend’s cell phone hes currently living with. My head has been spinning with images..I feel a lonely sickness..a sharp pain. It was just yesterday he spent holding me as I dealt with flashbacks from sexual abuse..h became somewhat as a safe-haven. Now I dont know when I’ll see him or how he is..this is nothing. Like life, its nothing Several times this week I spent walking from room to room numbly, pulling my hair out, drinking too much, hangovers, binging and purging, too many blades and too many breakdowns. My emotions spin and spin as this loneliness creeps up on me and I wish everything away.
(Unmotivated for a few days, this life has me spinning I fear for the worse) Im mostly going to do some of Wednesday and half of today as in Thursday.
Wednesday’s Pain.
The day was spent simple. With John, Dana and her boyfriend and their friend, too many cigarettes. And at one point me in a break down hiding in the bathroom cutting, I dont know what led me to it, with BPD everything is like a roller-coaster of pain, of everything possible and the random moments where everything slams into a complete stop and you dont know how to react, or even how to breathe. This was one of those moments. John forcing me to show what the blade has done, me staring into the night wondering how lost have I been, how far gone was I when I met him. Even though our relationship is held secret from the school he graduated which is now the place I attend and the people in it, from certain family members and eyes we dont want to know for our age of me being 16 and him being 20 in April (I think I talked about this in previous entries) we are still very open around people we trust, areas we are in that just pass us by like a slow parade, friendly eyes and most importantly ourselves, this doesnt bother me as much, both being private people this is something sweet. The cold air can sing a sweet melody about life’s disasters and the world’s cries but also the sweet hum of birds and the soft collision when the waves hit the sand, that moment perhaps I was more alive then ever. And maybe that is were this should end.
Today is slow like daytime drama or a steady beat drum. I slept pain away, the mixture of screaming in the house and complete chaos. I awoke at 5:30pm from my dark like head to celebrate some fucked up Thanks Giving. Holidays nor staying around were never truly my type of thing. I spend the night listening to Armor For Sleep, thinking about self-injury and the taste of red-wine in my mouth. It never came, as I smoked and purged the night away. I walk in from the random time of strange happiness then that disgust feeling mixed with rage, emptiness and this devouring darkness and find myself taking the medication I was suppose to take earlier..that moment of knowing I can not be sane without them sometimes drowns me in something deep for I know this..I have tried. I want to spend the rest of this night downloading music and with too many cigarettes I want to spend whatever is left of the sweet darkness in peace with myself.
Where to start or where to begin? I find myself in another Narcotic Anonymous meeting in a search for hope after a Friday night of a score of Vicodin and snorting it in the mall’s bathroom. I use to be better then this, at least I thought I was. Things change though, always change. I sit uncomfortably in a metal cushioned chair, as I listen to the voices that fill the room, some bold and some broken but all have been affected by a addict’s eyes, by the sick cycle. Going in there, your pride is thrown from you and you are left with vulnerability and humbleness. I hug my sponsor and a NA friend tightly, this is how I say goodbye at the end, teary eyed and almost choked up I remember everyone’s words. A woman sitting at the table a quote of hers “anxious people think about the future, depressed people think about the past” this hit me, for parts of me live in the past, other parts stuck elsewhere. I listened to a 18 year old boy talk about how he ruined everything with his mother, how he broke her..I felt this ache his pain.. as this 19 or 20 yr old girl talks about her worry, her breathing in the past..I feel like home here, as a middle-aged man says “I was scared, I was lonely as hell” I feel this.. Iam welcomed home..to a place that has answers and opened doors.
