"It's time to grow up and do things on my own. It's time to be independent. It's time to get the help I really need. It's time to let go."

It's been just under 10 months since I last planned an attempt on my life, and tomorrow will have been 180 days since the last time I cut. I've started cognitive therapy, finally kicked denial in the head and got officially diagnosed with PTSD, and I'm on propranolol now. It helps a lot with the panic attacks. I'm doing well for what I've been through, if I do say so myself.

I'm beyond caring what goes on in a certain apartment in Atlanta, and won't really care if he forgets I exist. I'm the happiest I have ever been with Matt, and they have the right to be just as happy. After so many broken promises, one more doesn't even phase me. I hope that they are happy with the life they have created together, and I wish them the best of luck with the rest of their lives. It's kind of stupid that she blocked me on facebook, but that's a choice that they made and I'm ok with it, if it's what makes them happy.

What makes me happy is really more important to me in the end. I've got that, and nothing will take that deepest joy in the bottom of my soul away from me. The nightmares and the panic attacks and the flashbacks can't take it away. Stupid selfish people can't take it away. Stress from school can't take it away. This is my happiness, and it is here to stay.

I started out with yellow cake batter, added orange zest and fresh orange juice. When I tasted the batter, it was AMAZING. Unfortunately, I mixed it for too long, and the cupcakes are pretty dry now. :( The baking gods have frowned upon me for my lack of judgment. Sigh. So much for the best cupcakes ever.

The icing is still really good, but the lettering is screwy because I left it out on the counter in my freezing cold kitchen and it got kinda hard before I put it in the decorating bag thingy. They look bad, they're dry, and they are squeezed into a container that is too small for them.

I think the reason they were so unsuccessful is because they contained no release in them. No tears went into this batch of cupcakes. (I'm not being literal, fyi. I don't actually cry into the mixing bowl. That is gross.) But I think the fact that I was all cheery and happy and hopeful and even expectant while making these cupcakes made me go wrong somewhere, causing the cupcakes to taste like crap. 

I've come to understand that there are good, wholesome, and uplifting alternatives to playing with razorblades. Baking appears to be an effective outlet, letting me create something that brings joy to people, instead of creating something that I am ashamed of. No, I'm not ashamed of these cupcakes - they're ugly, dry, and squished, but they are so much of an improvement from the crumbly disaster cupcakes I made with Hal that I am amazed when I think that I made both batches. 

I have to keep going. One bad batch of cupcakes shouldn't slow me down, just like I shouldn't take bad days so hard. Yes, I look like I tried to kill myself because of the burns and scratches on my wrists that I got when fishing a cardboard box out form under a register, and yes, Zach was hospitalized for a wrestling injury, but everyone is okay, and there are no self-inflicted wounds that came out of that day. In fact, something good came out of that day - a batch of strawberry cupcakes. 

I don't know why, but making cupcakes takes my mind off of everything bad and lets me just focus on an endless present. Making cupcakes gives me the same feeling that Zach's hugs do, and that is a feeling that I never want to forget. 

I don't understand it. I may not ever understand it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though this batch sucked, my efforts will still be appreciated, and that's what is keeping me going. When I screw up and go back to old habits, my friends are still supportive and they recognize the effort, the previous successes, and the hope for a conquering in the future. Cupcakes metaphorically representing cutting... who would have ever thought of that?

Craziness.

I decided to be an emo kid for Halloween, so I pulled out the skinny jeans and stereotypical emo beads and the armwarmers... and just wore a normal stripey shirts and did my hair and makeup in the stereotypical way...

Apparently, people miss my "emo"-ness. Everyone told me that I looked really cute, that they missed the armwarmers... (morons, do they not realize what they are for...?)...

The really ignorant freshman and sophomores that don't know me very well said that I look the same as I always do. Apparently, the way I dressed last year and at the beginning of this year, and to an extent still do, is nearly exactly the same as my Halloween costume.


 

 

I felt it coming all day. Actually, I've felt it coming since last night's phone conversation with Stansel. Anything with phrases like "silly cutter" and suicide references is going to make me cry. Wait, no, I felt it coming when I woke up yesterday morning. It just happened to all come out in creative writing today. 

Monday was not a great day. It was Ray's birthday and I missed him and I wanted to be with him. I was coming off a bad weekend and did not want to be awake at any particular moment. At work, my manager broke my register. I got home, Stansel called me and we talked, which conversation has already been discussed. At school, Justin was being an ... and pretending to shoot himself in the head and slit his wrists. At that point I put my head down and fought tears. I managed to hold it all in until 4th block, when we read a story about a man who's love dies when he is 12. He grew up to marry someone, and went back to his hometown with her, and they found the body of the girl who died, and he realized that he still loves the dead girl and doesn't really love his wife. Then we discussed it. I had to fight tears the whole time. The story was about a DEAD LOVE. I couldn't take it. The discussion turned to things that we wanted more because we couldn't have them. My ideas included Ray and a full-ride to SCAD. Some idiot freshman wanted to know why I need a scholarship. Sasha explained, then I said, "Because I don't want to have to work at Walmart for the rest of forever," put my head down, and cried. The tears that I had barely managed to control for 2 days all came rushing out. My teacher just kind of looked at me.

I hate freshman.

A hug would be nice too. Especially if it was from my boyfriend. But we both know why that can't happen. (sobsigh) 

The back of the store smells like Ray's car... 

One of my customers smelled like Hal, which was weird.

A few minutes later, a guy came through my line to check his food stamp balance. His shirt had an abstract depiction of downtown Atlanta on it. I amused myself my picking out buildings I recognized. ("That's the Georgia Dome on the left, that's Tech Tower on the right, the Bank of America is right there...")

Of course, I couldn't help notice that my coworker Jerry smells exactly like Ray. It made me realize how much I miss him. It sunk in with a loneliness and heart ache that left me depressed and wanting to cut.

So, I'm listening to Justin rap... or try to...

He likes to rap about cutting and suicide.

(cries in corner)

I walked past the "cutters and templates" aisle and almost broke into tears. I can hardly get it off my mind. It is nearly killing me. I hate this. You have no idea how hard this is. 

Upon regaining composure, I attempted to call the boyfriend, hoping that he would follow through on his promise to answer "if you want to call me later, or if you need anything..." Of course, he didn't... but I couldn't cry where I was, people were already staring at my puffy eyes and I didn't need to give them any more reason to stare.

I'm in search of a shoulder... do I have any offers?

As soon as I got to Jacksonville, I pulled out the 10000000000000 page long story that I wrote in 8th grade... the one about Angel and Paul and love and fate. I read through all of it once, then went through one more time just to make sure I hadn't missed anything important. I think that was something entirely important to get over the past. Reliving it nearly brought me to tears, but it helped me come to terms with it.

Here, for your pleasure are my two favorite parts of the story.



The rest of the story is all about fights about drugs and him cheating on me. The are completely unnecessary to relive. In the original, Angel committed suicide, ending the story. Since, I wrote a new ending, one that shows Angel as whole, healed, and capable of loving again.

This transformation wouldn't have been possible without a few very important people. They know who they are.

Anywho, I found myself thinking this week "I haven't done this since Paul." I think I've finally gotten to a stable point. There is no more need for drastic measure. However, please keep the phone lines open, I am not looking forward to a possible relapse into self destructive behavior.

I'm going through ancient journal entries, from middle school. I figured that if I'm going to sort out my past, I have to understand it. 

I'm coming across phrases that slightly disturb me.

Describing my initiation, "When she grabbed me, every muscle in my body tensed. I just knew she was going to hit me."

The first time the phrase "Tomorrow, I'll have to wear pants, long sleeved shirt..." appears.

And blunt denial of the obvious. "I'm not [underweight] though. I can't be. That's ridiculous."

I was a seriously screwed up kid.

I still am.

And of course, this one...

"We were closer than I will ever get to anyone again. The pain of separation is too much. ... You will be nothing more than a memory. ... It was your choice. ... I won't let myself love again. It isn't fair. You left me."

I found the new Harry Potter movie slightly disturbing. In part of it, Harry gets detention, and the teacher uses magic to force him to cut himself... I had to turn away...

In the bathroom, some stupid prep was staring at my wrist with an "OMG" look on her face. Ugh.

I'm not sure why, but I feel compelled to post this on here. There's not much background info in here, because there's a 300-page novel that's now in Mel's custody. Feel free to comment on it if you wish.
( Story time! )

And don't worry, it's a fictional story... which makes sense because it's set in the future, but whatever. No worries, I'm not planning on attempting any such feat in the near future.

Don't freak out about the first one, but seriously consider the second one.

A Short Sad Poem

Shut my door and go away.
I don't want to see your face today.
Maybe I'm cutting, but that's okay.
You don't care about me anyway.

A Question

I want to let go.
It hurts more if I don't.
My brain says it's time
But my heart just won't.

My eyes still turn green
At the sound of his voice.
It is going to be difficult
But I must make a choice.

Do I go to him
And say it was a mistake?
Or continue as I am,
A living fake?

Though for the day: Like steak knives, barbed wire, and broken glass, I'm a little rough around the edges.

I'm feeling much better today. Nothing cures a bad day like just letting it all out... and then talking about it later.

I never realized how much thought I put into hiding it until I analyzed this morning's thought process. Fishnet cleverly hides new wounds and old scars. Stripes keep the eye moving. Armwarmers detract attention from the obvious, and redirect it to safer places. Bright colored bracelets do the same thing. It's all about making people see what I want them to see. That's why I would be so good in an advertising agency.

Sometimes I wish I could fast forward to see if it was all worth it. I love walking in the rain because nobody can see my tears. Sometimes I want to go to sleep and never wake up. I try to keep it together but I'm falling apart. I want to go back to kindergarten when cutting meant stealing a spot in line.