Yes, I think there is something really wrong with me. I watch this extreme porn that is degrading and humiliating to women. It's the only kind I like. I want to see the women hurt, extremely. That is not good. I don't think it's good.
I would like to be touched. Hugged, cuddled, loved. I would even love to have sex. But I can't. For a few reasons. The main one right now is that I am terrified of men. Strike that. I am terrified of people. And you sort of have to hang out with people before they will touch you. People scare the shit out of me.
Except of course for my infatuation flavor of whatever day it is. I mean, it's still sort of F, but since I no longer see him or live in his town, then I'm not gonna be doing much with him, am I? Even if it's mooning over him.
I saw this amazing video that deconstructs what is going on with the characters Laura and Paul from "In Treatment". I've seen this video before on youtube, but was watching it mainly because I love that storyline. Come on, it's about a chick who is in love with her shrink. What else am I going to be interested in, right?
Here're the links, there are actually two awesome ones: In Treatment: Laura testing Paul and In Treatment: Understanding Laura
Anyway, this therapist takes apart what Laura is doing, and it is exactly the same shit I pull all the time. But it doesn't say she is bad or gross or that it's "her fault". In fact, it sort of lambasts Paul and his crappy therapy. Paul doesn't handle her testing well at all. And he lets her down.
One thing this therapist states is that Laura was most probably sexually abused, probably by her father. That doesn't turn out to be true later in the show, but we do learn she had an affair when she was 16 with a much older man. I guess I should not call it an affair. I guess I should say she was taken advantage of. I should say she was abused. Anyway, I sort of did that. Or at least I tried.
See the difference between Laura and me is that I never follow through with my guys. Or they never follow through with me. I needed someone to take a little more overt action because I was scared to death and didn't know what to do. But if I had known what to do, I would have done it. I was waiting for them to touch me first, and they never did.
I guess I am writing about Uncle Kevin. And yes, he's my uncle by marriage to my mom's sister. Not actually blood related to me. But I had a huge crush on him when I was a teenager that blossomed into an even huger crush when I visited them when I was 20, just turning 21.
All this stuff with F, it falls right in line with what went on with Kevin. It's the same damn pattern over and over, and it never gets satisfied. I never actually have an affair with these men, I just pine and pine and pine and hurt over them and never do anything. And feel guilty for even liking them in the first place because they are so inappropriate for me.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
So What the Fuck Did I Talk to F About?
So yeah, first let me state that I'm wasted. I don't know if I'll let Lara read this because of my drunkenness. It would get me kicked out of group. Whatever. Fuck it.
So, Dr. F and I, what did we talk about? Well, he said Hi, I said Hi and it went on from there. He asked me what I had been up to since November. I told him I went to detox, then to rehab, then to WIIT. I told him I had been treated for my trauma, even though I was not able to remember anything.
Yeah, so fuck F. I don't want to talk about him anymore. He may have not have meant to fuck me up, but he did; so he deserves no more of my time tonight. Fuck him. Fuck him, fuck him. In fact I am so sick of this shit that I almost want to be direct and just tell him. Fuck him.
I went out tonight with Sarah, and old friend from Gville. We wound up at her local lesbian bar, partying hard. It was fun. Except that alcohol makes me puke and gives me a headache. But I had fun. And I want to write some songs. Good times.
I'm still pretty wasted, although I've already done a pretty thorough round of puking already. I'm going to go walk on the beach, swim and think about F and what I would say to him if I could just talk to him and not chicken out. I am also going to hop the beautiful glass fence to the condos down the street and go in their hot tub. Good times. I will also listen to my Ipod. I love technology. Good night for now.
So, Dr. F and I, what did we talk about? Well, he said Hi, I said Hi and it went on from there. He asked me what I had been up to since November. I told him I went to detox, then to rehab, then to WIIT. I told him I had been treated for my trauma, even though I was not able to remember anything.
Yeah, so fuck F. I don't want to talk about him anymore. He may have not have meant to fuck me up, but he did; so he deserves no more of my time tonight. Fuck him. Fuck him, fuck him. In fact I am so sick of this shit that I almost want to be direct and just tell him. Fuck him.
I went out tonight with Sarah, and old friend from Gville. We wound up at her local lesbian bar, partying hard. It was fun. Except that alcohol makes me puke and gives me a headache. But I had fun. And I want to write some songs. Good times.
I'm still pretty wasted, although I've already done a pretty thorough round of puking already. I'm going to go walk on the beach, swim and think about F and what I would say to him if I could just talk to him and not chicken out. I am also going to hop the beautiful glass fence to the condos down the street and go in their hot tub. Good times. I will also listen to my Ipod. I love technology. Good night for now.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Goddamn It, I talked to F Again
And it went great. As in not. Not good at all. OK, let's clarify.
For the past few weeks I have been doing anything I can to distract myself. I'm not sure what I am distracting myself from, but I know that I have been doing dipshit stuff. I wanted to start working as a body rub girl, jerking guys off for money. I somehow stopped myself from doing that, even though the option is not totally erased from my mind.
Next, I relapsed on DXM (Rob, as Lara likes to call it). I did that three times, for about a week. I was honest about it in group, and decided to stop. But everyday I think about it and want to do it. If I could do group and DXM, I'd be popping pills right now.
Now most recently, I have started thinking about F again. Yes, the F that I was so infatuated with last year. I haven't really thought of him for months, but now the feelings started right back up again. The same burning in my chest, the unbearable restlessness and the feeling of I have to do something NOW. And of course, what I want to do NOW is talk to F. And start up the whole damn thing over again. Fuck.
I told Lara I wanted to call him and her unequivocal response was "NO". She suggested I talk to the group about it, so I did for the last few minutes on Tuesday. I could feel myself acting like a nutcase- giddy, grinning and acting like a teenager. It's like an electric shock through my system, the feeling when I think about him. It's fun and definitely like a drug. Everyone in group ALSO thought it was a crap idea to call him.
So, guess what I did in the car as I left group? I called him. I left a voicemail message saying I had a question for him and left my number. The office secretary said he works at that office only on Mon and Weds, so I didn't expect to hear from him that day.
On Weds I kept my phone on me all day, even leaving it on in group in case he called. I was not going to miss his call. He didn't call by about 3pm, so I left another message on his voicemail, saying I was hoping to talk to him about a letter and getting some records. Total bullshit, but a valid reason as I still need to medically petition for my money back for my last semester. I wish I hadn't left the second message giving a "real" reason to talk to me. I wanted to see if he'd call me just to talk to me, but I messed that up by putting a valid business reason for the call. Oh well.
So guess what! He called me. Which is pretty amazing, as he never called me back in a timely manner last year. It was always like three days later. Maybe he's got his shit together more this year. So he called at about 5pm. I almost don't want to go into what we talked about. I don't want to get it wrong, and I don't want to put the work into getting it right.
For the past few weeks I have been doing anything I can to distract myself. I'm not sure what I am distracting myself from, but I know that I have been doing dipshit stuff. I wanted to start working as a body rub girl, jerking guys off for money. I somehow stopped myself from doing that, even though the option is not totally erased from my mind.
Next, I relapsed on DXM (Rob, as Lara likes to call it). I did that three times, for about a week. I was honest about it in group, and decided to stop. But everyday I think about it and want to do it. If I could do group and DXM, I'd be popping pills right now.
Now most recently, I have started thinking about F again. Yes, the F that I was so infatuated with last year. I haven't really thought of him for months, but now the feelings started right back up again. The same burning in my chest, the unbearable restlessness and the feeling of I have to do something NOW. And of course, what I want to do NOW is talk to F. And start up the whole damn thing over again. Fuck.
I told Lara I wanted to call him and her unequivocal response was "NO". She suggested I talk to the group about it, so I did for the last few minutes on Tuesday. I could feel myself acting like a nutcase- giddy, grinning and acting like a teenager. It's like an electric shock through my system, the feeling when I think about him. It's fun and definitely like a drug. Everyone in group ALSO thought it was a crap idea to call him.
So, guess what I did in the car as I left group? I called him. I left a voicemail message saying I had a question for him and left my number. The office secretary said he works at that office only on Mon and Weds, so I didn't expect to hear from him that day.
On Weds I kept my phone on me all day, even leaving it on in group in case he called. I was not going to miss his call. He didn't call by about 3pm, so I left another message on his voicemail, saying I was hoping to talk to him about a letter and getting some records. Total bullshit, but a valid reason as I still need to medically petition for my money back for my last semester. I wish I hadn't left the second message giving a "real" reason to talk to me. I wanted to see if he'd call me just to talk to me, but I messed that up by putting a valid business reason for the call. Oh well.
So guess what! He called me. Which is pretty amazing, as he never called me back in a timely manner last year. It was always like three days later. Maybe he's got his shit together more this year. So he called at about 5pm. I almost don't want to go into what we talked about. I don't want to get it wrong, and I don't want to put the work into getting it right.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Hilariosity: Look at this Fucking Hipster
This is awesome. I wanna live in Williamsburg. RIGHT FUCKING NOW!! The land of the fucking hipster.
WWW.LATFH.COM
AWEsome.
WWW.LATFH.COM
AWEsome.
AA? AA!!
So as I've mentioned, I'm on the white knuckle roller-coaster these past few days. Or for the past week. So today I figured if I wanted some company and didn't want to drink, then I should go to a meeting. The only reason I went was so that I could hang out with some people afterwords and get something to eat. So I went to the women's meeting at lambda.
The meeting blew- it was a speaker meeting and I didn't really groove with the speaker. She tried, but I just didn't connect with her. But we all went to a diner after and that was cool. Some woman sort of attached herself to me and kept talking about how important it was to talk to other people; that it doesn't come naturally and that she has to practice. It was very good advice. At first I thought maybe she was either hitting on me or trying to take me under her wing as a daughter figure, but then realized that she was just uncomfortable because she was shy and didn't know anyone either. It went well.
I met with Ethel today, and I didn't want to talk, so I talked about how my drug experiences felt. I'm not sure if it was a very profitable session. We got a bit into how I have no core, and that's why I won't attach to people. I may be able to fake people out for a while, but I don't want to have them be around for long because they will soon find out they are around a ghost. Or worse, a sucking, needy, puling black hole that could destroy them. Or at least make them very unhappy. I stay away from people so I won't hurt them, and so they won't be disappointed in me.
I'm sober right now even though I REALLY wanted to go to a bar tonight. I'm home in my PJ's, so if I don't leave then I'll stay sober until tomorrow. I guess that's good.
I want to ride my bike to IOP, but I'm afraid it's too far. That I'll get too tired. We'll see. I can't make a decision about it, there's some emotionality attached to it that I don't understand. I feel like if I don't ride then I'm a wimp and can't follow through on things. Sort of like my "job" problem of the last few days.
Whatevs. It's time to stop writing and watch Dorian Gray. Yay Colin Firth.
The meeting blew- it was a speaker meeting and I didn't really groove with the speaker. She tried, but I just didn't connect with her. But we all went to a diner after and that was cool. Some woman sort of attached herself to me and kept talking about how important it was to talk to other people; that it doesn't come naturally and that she has to practice. It was very good advice. At first I thought maybe she was either hitting on me or trying to take me under her wing as a daughter figure, but then realized that she was just uncomfortable because she was shy and didn't know anyone either. It went well.
I met with Ethel today, and I didn't want to talk, so I talked about how my drug experiences felt. I'm not sure if it was a very profitable session. We got a bit into how I have no core, and that's why I won't attach to people. I may be able to fake people out for a while, but I don't want to have them be around for long because they will soon find out they are around a ghost. Or worse, a sucking, needy, puling black hole that could destroy them. Or at least make them very unhappy. I stay away from people so I won't hurt them, and so they won't be disappointed in me.
I'm sober right now even though I REALLY wanted to go to a bar tonight. I'm home in my PJ's, so if I don't leave then I'll stay sober until tomorrow. I guess that's good.
I want to ride my bike to IOP, but I'm afraid it's too far. That I'll get too tired. We'll see. I can't make a decision about it, there's some emotionality attached to it that I don't understand. I feel like if I don't ride then I'm a wimp and can't follow through on things. Sort of like my "job" problem of the last few days.
Whatevs. It's time to stop writing and watch Dorian Gray. Yay Colin Firth.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Google Maps to the Rescue?
So I checked the distance on Google Maps from the mall to our house. Only 5.8 miles. Not that far. Far enough, I guess. I think I hate her.
Here I Come Again
So I'm writing again because Lara wants me to write. I would like to take some of the credit, but hell, I really don't want to write. But I am at my wit's end and don't know what else to do, so here it is, me writing.
I've been fighting, white knuckle fighting, doing something/anything destructive for the past few days. Over the weekend I was sure I was going to use. Either drink and pick someone up or do DXM and maunder on the beach after watching Dorian Gray. But I didn't. But I still want to. It's early enough still tonight for me to go get some alcohol and be a dumbass.
We have a ton of new people in group, which I wasn't thrilled about at first, but am now glad of it. They are going to bring new energy, new perspectives. Good times.
I really do hate myself. And when I hate myself, I'm embarrassed that I'm still alive. I think I want to kill myself. Ugh. But I think I do.
My watch is too damn big and was fucking up my typing so I just took it off. I guess if I'm going to die, then should I have fun first? I was in this same place in March, when I sent my super-duper awesome email to Dr. . Yeah, there was a veiled "hey wanna fuck?" question in there, but the bulk of the email was about how I hated myself and wanted to travel, get fucked up and jump trains until I died. But somehow that whole part got ignored. Wonder why?
So.... I am coming to grips with the fact that my mom might just suck royally. But I'm not there yet. It would be easier if I could remember some really horrible thing she did to me, but there isn't anything. She just was mean and extremely unpredictable and unsafe. She hit me. She dragged me on the floor. She kicked me. She slammed my head by my hair all the time in the car. She broke my stereo, my most prized possession. But I figured out how to fix it every time she threw it. Fucking bitch.
She left me at the mall once. I was 16 or 17. It was before college. She got mad at me and left me at the mall. I had to walk home probably 6 or 7 (or more) miles. I remember walking home and being so embarrassed. I stopped to eat at a pizza place and somehow felt that everyone could see how gross I was, how contaminated and tainted. I felt like an other, like an "it", but a gross, unwelcome "it", not a neutral being. I was tainted. I just remember being shamed.
When I finally got home I walked back in the house through the front door. I remember trying to decide: front door or through my window? For some reason I chose the front door. Walking through the door was harder than the whole walk home. I just sort of wished I could die and not have to face her. She was sitting in the living room watching TV and didn't say a thing to me. It must have been hours later, it was a LONG fucking walk, with a stop to eat. And she didn't say a thing to me. nothing.
How could she do that to me? How could she not say "I am so sorry, I know I got mad, but I never wanted you to have to walk all by yourself all that way." Or "I went back to look for you and couldn't find you, I'm sorry." She had no idea if I had money or not. And this was long before I had a cell phone. She left her kid alone miles and miles from home and didn't give a shit.
But I did have money. I don't remember if I had my backpack, but I almost ALWAYS had it with me as a teenager, and it was exactly for reasons like that. In fact, maybe that started the backpack thing? But I remember I always wanted to be ready. I always had money, an extra jacket, writing materials and a book. I was safe then. Set for anything. I didn't need her, or safety, or knowing I had a ride home. I could take care of myself. Fuck her. I think. I mean, is leaving me awful? It feels awful, but maybe it's no big damn deal. I mean it's not being raped. It's not being beat up... It's just being... left.
I've been fighting, white knuckle fighting, doing something/anything destructive for the past few days. Over the weekend I was sure I was going to use. Either drink and pick someone up or do DXM and maunder on the beach after watching Dorian Gray. But I didn't. But I still want to. It's early enough still tonight for me to go get some alcohol and be a dumbass.
We have a ton of new people in group, which I wasn't thrilled about at first, but am now glad of it. They are going to bring new energy, new perspectives. Good times.
I really do hate myself. And when I hate myself, I'm embarrassed that I'm still alive. I think I want to kill myself. Ugh. But I think I do.
My watch is too damn big and was fucking up my typing so I just took it off. I guess if I'm going to die, then should I have fun first? I was in this same place in March, when I sent my super-duper awesome email to Dr. . Yeah, there was a veiled "hey wanna fuck?" question in there, but the bulk of the email was about how I hated myself and wanted to travel, get fucked up and jump trains until I died. But somehow that whole part got ignored. Wonder why?
So.... I am coming to grips with the fact that my mom might just suck royally. But I'm not there yet. It would be easier if I could remember some really horrible thing she did to me, but there isn't anything. She just was mean and extremely unpredictable and unsafe. She hit me. She dragged me on the floor. She kicked me. She slammed my head by my hair all the time in the car. She broke my stereo, my most prized possession. But I figured out how to fix it every time she threw it. Fucking bitch.
She left me at the mall once. I was 16 or 17. It was before college. She got mad at me and left me at the mall. I had to walk home probably 6 or 7 (or more) miles. I remember walking home and being so embarrassed. I stopped to eat at a pizza place and somehow felt that everyone could see how gross I was, how contaminated and tainted. I felt like an other, like an "it", but a gross, unwelcome "it", not a neutral being. I was tainted. I just remember being shamed.
When I finally got home I walked back in the house through the front door. I remember trying to decide: front door or through my window? For some reason I chose the front door. Walking through the door was harder than the whole walk home. I just sort of wished I could die and not have to face her. She was sitting in the living room watching TV and didn't say a thing to me. It must have been hours later, it was a LONG fucking walk, with a stop to eat. And she didn't say a thing to me. nothing.
How could she do that to me? How could she not say "I am so sorry, I know I got mad, but I never wanted you to have to walk all by yourself all that way." Or "I went back to look for you and couldn't find you, I'm sorry." She had no idea if I had money or not. And this was long before I had a cell phone. She left her kid alone miles and miles from home and didn't give a shit.
But I did have money. I don't remember if I had my backpack, but I almost ALWAYS had it with me as a teenager, and it was exactly for reasons like that. In fact, maybe that started the backpack thing? But I remember I always wanted to be ready. I always had money, an extra jacket, writing materials and a book. I was safe then. Set for anything. I didn't need her, or safety, or knowing I had a ride home. I could take care of myself. Fuck her. I think. I mean, is leaving me awful? It feels awful, but maybe it's no big damn deal. I mean it's not being raped. It's not being beat up... It's just being... left.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
DXM and Guitar
I think I'm going to get fucked up this weekend. I want to do DXM so that I can feel. Uh oh. That's no good.
But being high is the time I feel safest to feel. I don't have to stand guard at the gate, ushering in or blocking out my thoughts. I can just let go. And I'm happy. I'm happy to die. Life is good, I'm good, all is good when I'm high on DXM. Maybe I can write a song.
I think I've also decided to write a short story about abuse. Not sure what. Childhood maybe? Now? I don't have enough of a fucking clue of what's going on with me now to write about it intelligently. Or maybe I do.
I just finished reading Dr. Jack's book- the first part, the story part. It triggered the urge to write. His story begins with a woman in the car on the way to a hospital. I'm thinking I might start in the same place- a woman (me, but not me) driving herself to inpatient, as I did. A nice fat five hour drive. It was like liberation and fear at the same moment- driving myself to what? The lady or the tiger?? It sure as fuck feels like the tiger a lot of the time. And I'm not sure I want the lady even if she showed up.
So yeah, a rumination on my/her ride down here. But through it, there'll be remembrances of how she got to that point. Not serious trauma, because hell, I don't have that. I just hate myself. But somehow let the fear, the excitement, the hope, the crushing depression and self hatred come through. But show 'em, don't tell 'em, as old Samuel Clemens was wont to say. What the fuck is with all my cute folksie-isms. I'm about ready to make myself puke.
OK, goodnight.
But being high is the time I feel safest to feel. I don't have to stand guard at the gate, ushering in or blocking out my thoughts. I can just let go. And I'm happy. I'm happy to die. Life is good, I'm good, all is good when I'm high on DXM. Maybe I can write a song.
I think I've also decided to write a short story about abuse. Not sure what. Childhood maybe? Now? I don't have enough of a fucking clue of what's going on with me now to write about it intelligently. Or maybe I do.
I just finished reading Dr. Jack's book- the first part, the story part. It triggered the urge to write. His story begins with a woman in the car on the way to a hospital. I'm thinking I might start in the same place- a woman (me, but not me) driving herself to inpatient, as I did. A nice fat five hour drive. It was like liberation and fear at the same moment- driving myself to what? The lady or the tiger?? It sure as fuck feels like the tiger a lot of the time. And I'm not sure I want the lady even if she showed up.
So yeah, a rumination on my/her ride down here. But through it, there'll be remembrances of how she got to that point. Not serious trauma, because hell, I don't have that. I just hate myself. But somehow let the fear, the excitement, the hope, the crushing depression and self hatred come through. But show 'em, don't tell 'em, as old Samuel Clemens was wont to say. What the fuck is with all my cute folksie-isms. I'm about ready to make myself puke.
OK, goodnight.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
In loving memory
The roomie that relapsed died. Probably 3 or so hours after I wrote my previous post. She stopped breathing and died in the bed next to me as I was sleeping. I heard her breathing/snoring at about 5 AM, but she was dead when I woke up at 8:45 AM.
I don't know what more to say about it right now. There is so much to say that I am overwhelmed and can't begin to communicate. Because beginning and not saying enough or not saying the right thing would be worse than just staying mute.
I guess I could say I feel badly. And I am sad. I went to her funeral yesterday. She was loved. It is a horrible thing, her death. She did not deserve it. Yes, it was a horrible, horrible waste. Terrible.
Enough.
I don't know what more to say about it right now. There is so much to say that I am overwhelmed and can't begin to communicate. Because beginning and not saying enough or not saying the right thing would be worse than just staying mute.
I guess I could say I feel badly. And I am sad. I went to her funeral yesterday. She was loved. It is a horrible thing, her death. She did not deserve it. Yes, it was a horrible, horrible waste. Terrible.
Enough.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Rollerskate Skinny
Rollerskate Skinny (Old 97's):
So, here's my new blog entry. I'm editing it on Notepad, we'll see how it works.
My newest roomie relapsed today. That makes 3 in about a week. WTF. I guess I'm doing pretty well comparatively. No relapse. Or maybe a relapse, I'm not sure. I took a bunch of one roomie's sedation crap. So I guess that does mean I used. I don't want to admit it. But I guess I did. I didn't even get high though. Suck.
I'm still a complete mess mentally. I'm not cutting, but I'm giving up. I hate myself and my life. And I'm tired. Just tired of trying.
I sick of even writing this.
Every other day is a kick in the shinsEvery other day it's like the day just wins...I believe in loveBut it don't believe in me...
So, here's my new blog entry. I'm editing it on Notepad, we'll see how it works.
My newest roomie relapsed today. That makes 3 in about a week. WTF. I guess I'm doing pretty well comparatively. No relapse. Or maybe a relapse, I'm not sure. I took a bunch of one roomie's sedation crap. So I guess that does mean I used. I don't want to admit it. But I guess I did. I didn't even get high though. Suck.
I'm still a complete mess mentally. I'm not cutting, but I'm giving up. I hate myself and my life. And I'm tired. Just tired of trying.
I sick of even writing this.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
White Men in Black Suits
White Men in Black Suits by Everclear:
OK, so combine both those characters and you have me. Damn do I love Everclear. The lead singer is a great lyricist. And an OK guitar player. And he was definitely fucked with when he was growing up. Many, many of his songs deal with being an adult with childhood issues. I love him.
I was too much of a chicken to go see them play at the Garlicfest this weekend. I'm worried I'll pick up somebody or use or both. So instead I sit on my computer and make mixes. Whoot. I am a rock star.
So I have eaten nothing today but ice cream and soy sausage. Oh so healthy and tasty. I need to eat something real or go to bed... Yeah, probably eat something.
So I haven't cut in almost a week. yay. But I still want to, badly. Oh well.
I left IOP early on Friday afternoon. I was getting incredibly angry and just couldn't sit in the room anymore. I HATE inner child stuff. It really sets me off. I was able to hold it together until we went to break, then left. So I didn't make a scene. I just told two people still in the room that I was too tired to be there and left.
So I am bored out of my skull. BORED, BORED, BORED. And I am in trouble when I'm bored. So, I guess I'll go for a run. I have a whopper of a cold, but fuck it, I can't stand being indoors anymore. I'm going crazy.
Good night.
PS: I'm making yet another song playlist- this time for Dr. Jack/Carol/Sheryl, all my counselors. Just a grouping of fun, farcical and uplifting songs about people who've been abused and hate themselves.
"I am a loser geek
crazy with an evil streak
yes I do believe there
is a violent thing inside of me
she is just a girl
she is doing what she can
she dances topless
when she's not playing in a band..."
OK, so combine both those characters and you have me. Damn do I love Everclear. The lead singer is a great lyricist. And an OK guitar player. And he was definitely fucked with when he was growing up. Many, many of his songs deal with being an adult with childhood issues. I love him.
I was too much of a chicken to go see them play at the Garlicfest this weekend. I'm worried I'll pick up somebody or use or both. So instead I sit on my computer and make mixes. Whoot. I am a rock star.
So I have eaten nothing today but ice cream and soy sausage. Oh so healthy and tasty. I need to eat something real or go to bed... Yeah, probably eat something.
So I haven't cut in almost a week. yay. But I still want to, badly. Oh well.
I left IOP early on Friday afternoon. I was getting incredibly angry and just couldn't sit in the room anymore. I HATE inner child stuff. It really sets me off. I was able to hold it together until we went to break, then left. So I didn't make a scene. I just told two people still in the room that I was too tired to be there and left.
So I am bored out of my skull. BORED, BORED, BORED. And I am in trouble when I'm bored. So, I guess I'll go for a run. I have a whopper of a cold, but fuck it, I can't stand being indoors anymore. I'm going crazy.
Good night.
PS: I'm making yet another song playlist- this time for Dr. Jack/Carol/Sheryl, all my counselors. Just a grouping of fun, farcical and uplifting songs about people who've been abused and hate themselves.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Podcasts are kewl.
So I went for a run tonight and listened to a podcast of J being interviewed. This is the first time I've ever listened to a podcast. Wow, I'm only like 10 years behind the curve. Wow.
So J was great. It is good to hear his theories when I'm not in the room and know that what he's saying has nothing to do with me personally. Because as we all know, everything has to do with me at all times. Seriously though, when he talks about abuser values, loyalty and being stuck, it's nice to hear it dispassionately. Every other time I hear/see him I'm in the middle of some type of emotional quagmire. Either I'm ready to run from the room or dissociate, want to cut myself and die, or am somehow trying to flirt with him and get him to like me.
It is really sad how important it is to me for him to like me. Find me attractive even. I can't believe I am writing this on a public blog, but that is what I've decided to do. Have a blog with no secrets just out here on the net. So here it is. I've related crazier shit than this before. But now I'm afraid J will somehow track this down and read it. But I doubt it. I get the feeling he's 1. not incredibly invested in his blog, 2. not really invested in stalking his readers and 3. not that net savvy.
But yeah, so even after working through it with him somewhat, even after I already told him I don't want to start getting a crush on him or hitting on him, and after he told me there would be no way in hell he would ever entertain any of that shit from me; even after all that, still, if he would go for it, I would go for it. "It" being some kind of ridiculous romantic entanglement. Still. Sick huh? I think it is actually a blockage to me getting better. I guess I should talk to him or Cheryl about it. Honesty, right?
I seriously have a problem in the needing male attention arena. Why do I not do this with women? I am bisexual, you would think I would also crave attention from women in power/authority. But I don't. Weird. With women, I want the prettiest (to me) one in the room. But I usually go for women my age or younger, who are at my status or below. But, they have to be great looking, smart and connected.
With men it's a little looser. If they have a PhD (or MD) (or DO I guess) then they could be a goddamn toad and I'd sleep with them. This has been proven empirically. Dr. Sputo is a case in point. Yep, I said his fucking name. No more fucking secrets asshole. Angry, maybe...
But anyway, if a man is smart, accomplished and unavailable I will drool over him. If he's young, working on himself, good looking and interested in me, I won't touch him. This has also been proven many times empirically. I never believe that a guy would actually like me.
The guy I'm sleeping with now completely confuses me. OK, I just had a lightbulb moment. Duh, guys will sleep with you because they want to have sex. With pretty much anyone. Just because they want to sleep with me doesn't mean they like me. Duh. Duh. And I know that, hell, I've slept with enough guys in the "only sex" kinda way- no feelings, no attachments. But always safe :-)
OK, so while running and listening to J tonight, I started to cry for no reason. Then I started to get angry any time J (I'm sick of putting the damn Dr. in front of his name) said anything positive about "survivors". At one point I started kicking a concrete wall, and now my freaking ankle hurts. I literally was saying "fuck you" out loud at a couple of points. I hear his self-love stuff and I want to reach through my ipod and punch him in the face then get a knife and shove it in my chest and thigh.
I've been having these recurring visions of stabbing myself HARD AND DEEP in my chest. To die. Also visions of stabbing myself in my leg and stomach to hurt myself. It's like cutting isn't enough anymore. I want to violently, angrily stab myself again and again. I want to stab into the meat of me. It's scaring the shit out of me. I'm afraid I'm going to do it.
I just sort of want to give up. I'm tired and life is no good. But at the same time I just want someone to sweep me up in their arms and hug me and love me. But anything in between I don't want. I either want to stop living or I want love. The painful life I have now is unendurable and just stupid.
So J was great. It is good to hear his theories when I'm not in the room and know that what he's saying has nothing to do with me personally. Because as we all know, everything has to do with me at all times. Seriously though, when he talks about abuser values, loyalty and being stuck, it's nice to hear it dispassionately. Every other time I hear/see him I'm in the middle of some type of emotional quagmire. Either I'm ready to run from the room or dissociate, want to cut myself and die, or am somehow trying to flirt with him and get him to like me.
It is really sad how important it is to me for him to like me. Find me attractive even. I can't believe I am writing this on a public blog, but that is what I've decided to do. Have a blog with no secrets just out here on the net. So here it is. I've related crazier shit than this before. But now I'm afraid J will somehow track this down and read it. But I doubt it. I get the feeling he's 1. not incredibly invested in his blog, 2. not really invested in stalking his readers and 3. not that net savvy.
But yeah, so even after working through it with him somewhat, even after I already told him I don't want to start getting a crush on him or hitting on him, and after he told me there would be no way in hell he would ever entertain any of that shit from me; even after all that, still, if he would go for it, I would go for it. "It" being some kind of ridiculous romantic entanglement. Still. Sick huh? I think it is actually a blockage to me getting better. I guess I should talk to him or Cheryl about it. Honesty, right?
I seriously have a problem in the needing male attention arena. Why do I not do this with women? I am bisexual, you would think I would also crave attention from women in power/authority. But I don't. Weird. With women, I want the prettiest (to me) one in the room. But I usually go for women my age or younger, who are at my status or below. But, they have to be great looking, smart and connected.
With men it's a little looser. If they have a PhD (or MD) (or DO I guess) then they could be a goddamn toad and I'd sleep with them. This has been proven empirically. Dr. Sputo is a case in point. Yep, I said his fucking name. No more fucking secrets asshole. Angry, maybe...
But anyway, if a man is smart, accomplished and unavailable I will drool over him. If he's young, working on himself, good looking and interested in me, I won't touch him. This has also been proven many times empirically. I never believe that a guy would actually like me.
The guy I'm sleeping with now completely confuses me. OK, I just had a lightbulb moment. Duh, guys will sleep with you because they want to have sex. With pretty much anyone. Just because they want to sleep with me doesn't mean they like me. Duh. Duh. And I know that, hell, I've slept with enough guys in the "only sex" kinda way- no feelings, no attachments. But always safe :-)
OK, so while running and listening to J tonight, I started to cry for no reason. Then I started to get angry any time J (I'm sick of putting the damn Dr. in front of his name) said anything positive about "survivors". At one point I started kicking a concrete wall, and now my freaking ankle hurts. I literally was saying "fuck you" out loud at a couple of points. I hear his self-love stuff and I want to reach through my ipod and punch him in the face then get a knife and shove it in my chest and thigh.
I've been having these recurring visions of stabbing myself HARD AND DEEP in my chest. To die. Also visions of stabbing myself in my leg and stomach to hurt myself. It's like cutting isn't enough anymore. I want to violently, angrily stab myself again and again. I want to stab into the meat of me. It's scaring the shit out of me. I'm afraid I'm going to do it.
I just sort of want to give up. I'm tired and life is no good. But at the same time I just want someone to sweep me up in their arms and hug me and love me. But anything in between I don't want. I either want to stop living or I want love. The painful life I have now is unendurable and just stupid.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Holy moly, a movie can change your life.
Maybe not completely change your life. Or maybe so... "The Graduate" changed my life when I was a teenager. And Paul Simon's "Negotiations and Love Songs" changed my life when I was a teenager as well. Yes, I know that is an album, not a movie, but whatever.
So yeah. I went to see A Single Man tonight, starring (my pretend husband) Colin Firth. Bonus: Colin was playing a dapper, intelligent, and educated gay man. Swoon.
Anyway, Colin's character lost his long-time partner and was planning on killing himself. But he didn't. I'm not going to go into the plot of the entire movie- but it moved me and made me feel a little better about being alive.
(I then went to see "The Book of Eli" and was not as moved. Cheesy and formulaic. Cinematography was excellent, though.)
So, I'm still alive and (barring any mid-night tragedies) will be alive in the morning as well. I am going to ride my bike to the beach and get some sun and exercise. I am also going to write about what has been going on in my brain this week. I want to write about my anger towards Cheryl and J. I am really, really pissed that I was ignored and not cared for. My feelings were really hurt. It makes me not trust either of them very much right now. Which really sucks, because I have to trust them to get better. Or maybe I don't? I don't know. Can you not trust your therapists, hate their guts for being mean to you and still get better? We'll see.
All I know is I'm going to lay it on the line. I've had it with bullshit, lying and beating around the bush. Which seems to be my theme for the past few months. Hell, it's what got me sober and to the hospital. If only it had gotten me a little more sane :-)
So yeah. I went to see A Single Man tonight, starring (my pretend husband) Colin Firth. Bonus: Colin was playing a dapper, intelligent, and educated gay man. Swoon.
Anyway, Colin's character lost his long-time partner and was planning on killing himself. But he didn't. I'm not going to go into the plot of the entire movie- but it moved me and made me feel a little better about being alive.
(I then went to see "The Book of Eli" and was not as moved. Cheesy and formulaic. Cinematography was excellent, though.)
So, I'm still alive and (barring any mid-night tragedies) will be alive in the morning as well. I am going to ride my bike to the beach and get some sun and exercise. I am also going to write about what has been going on in my brain this week. I want to write about my anger towards Cheryl and J. I am really, really pissed that I was ignored and not cared for. My feelings were really hurt. It makes me not trust either of them very much right now. Which really sucks, because I have to trust them to get better. Or maybe I don't? I don't know. Can you not trust your therapists, hate their guts for being mean to you and still get better? We'll see.
All I know is I'm going to lay it on the line. I've had it with bullshit, lying and beating around the bush. Which seems to be my theme for the past few months. Hell, it's what got me sober and to the hospital. If only it had gotten me a little more sane :-)
Friday, February 5, 2010
Like Pearl Jam, I am still Alive
I'm not sure why though. Maybe so I can still go to group on Monday and yell at Cheryl and J. Thank you very much, I appreciate it. Hah.
So I'm off to the movies. Figured I can catch one more Colin Firth movie. Just like me to be in love with a repressed British movie star.
There's an entire AA Clubhouse that's LGBT in Ft. Lauderdale. You gotta love big cities. Maybe I'll check it out. Maybe I can get laid or something. At least it'd be doing something life affirming, right? Sex is life affirming, is it not? Or I could go the Bill route and think it's scary and self-destructive. Whatever. I'm not sure who is right on this one.
"I'm having trouble saying what I mean
with dead poets and drum machines...
Nothing I write is ever good enough"
---Natasha Bedingfield "These Words"
Cheesy song, but has some great lyrical bits.
So I'm off to the movies. Figured I can catch one more Colin Firth movie. Just like me to be in love with a repressed British movie star.
There's an entire AA Clubhouse that's LGBT in Ft. Lauderdale. You gotta love big cities. Maybe I'll check it out. Maybe I can get laid or something. At least it'd be doing something life affirming, right? Sex is life affirming, is it not? Or I could go the Bill route and think it's scary and self-destructive. Whatever. I'm not sure who is right on this one.
"I'm having trouble saying what I mean
with dead poets and drum machines...
Nothing I write is ever good enough"
---Natasha Bedingfield "These Words"
Cheesy song, but has some great lyrical bits.
Blah Blah Blah
So, I feel like shit. Suicidally like shit. And I'm too much of a chicken to do anything about it. Or I'm too apathetic. Or lazy. Whatever the reason, I'm still here whining instead of going through with it.
I told two different mental health professionals today that I was feeling suicidal. And neither one did anything about it. Is that normal? I guess they think I need to be in charge of my own life or lack of it? Which I guess is correct. If I want to die, that's my prerogative and responsibility. I guess I was hoping somebody would care and help me. But they haven't.
Which falls in line with what I have learned in the past 3 months. Only I am responsible for me. I can't count on anyone else to care. So if I want to die, then I should do it.
I cut a few times today. It helped a little. But not enough. I am proud I didn't use though. So hell, I'll die clean.
So, how am I going to do it? Lately I've been envisioning slicing my wrists and bleeding to death. I don't think it would hurt that badly and wouldn't make that much of a mess. But after reading about Elliot Smith, I've been thinking about sticking a knife in my chest. That is how his girlfriend found him- with a knife protruding from his chest.
I could do it with my Swiss army knife, it is sharp as hell, but probably not long enough. I have to hit my heart or the aorta, otherwise I won't bleed out and die quickly.
Or I could go the wussy way and take pills. But I don't want to be puking while I'm dying. We'll see.
Why do I just keep thinking about it and not doing it? Why? Why can't I decide once and for all and get it over with? Or, why can't I decide I want to live and keep going? I just keep swinging from complete apathy to suicidal depression. I can't keep steady.
I am really, really, really angry at Dr. J and Cheryl, I just realized this. They both blew me off. It does seem weird. This is the first time I've felt this badly in my life, and none of the mental health professionals I'm seeing seem to give a shit. Do I not sound sincere? Am I that annoying? I guess I'm still just looking for external validation, for external help when I should just be taking care of myself.
So on to taking care of myself- I need to get busy living or get busy dying. Dying it will be. A hotel room and some razors this weekend. Why on the weekend? I'm not sure, but that's when. This Saturday.
I wish I could figure out a way to make a case for continuing my life. But I can't. I'm just wasting space, resources and time that could be better spent on other people. I am in the way and I am useless. If I don't want this life, then I should get the fuck out of the way. People could use the water, food and air I'm using up on this wasted, self-centered, whiny, bullshit life I'm living.
I am not anything and I need to accept it and follow through. Goodnight.
I told two different mental health professionals today that I was feeling suicidal. And neither one did anything about it. Is that normal? I guess they think I need to be in charge of my own life or lack of it? Which I guess is correct. If I want to die, that's my prerogative and responsibility. I guess I was hoping somebody would care and help me. But they haven't.
Which falls in line with what I have learned in the past 3 months. Only I am responsible for me. I can't count on anyone else to care. So if I want to die, then I should do it.
I cut a few times today. It helped a little. But not enough. I am proud I didn't use though. So hell, I'll die clean.
So, how am I going to do it? Lately I've been envisioning slicing my wrists and bleeding to death. I don't think it would hurt that badly and wouldn't make that much of a mess. But after reading about Elliot Smith, I've been thinking about sticking a knife in my chest. That is how his girlfriend found him- with a knife protruding from his chest.
I could do it with my Swiss army knife, it is sharp as hell, but probably not long enough. I have to hit my heart or the aorta, otherwise I won't bleed out and die quickly.
Or I could go the wussy way and take pills. But I don't want to be puking while I'm dying. We'll see.
Why do I just keep thinking about it and not doing it? Why? Why can't I decide once and for all and get it over with? Or, why can't I decide I want to live and keep going? I just keep swinging from complete apathy to suicidal depression. I can't keep steady.
I am really, really, really angry at Dr. J and Cheryl, I just realized this. They both blew me off. It does seem weird. This is the first time I've felt this badly in my life, and none of the mental health professionals I'm seeing seem to give a shit. Do I not sound sincere? Am I that annoying? I guess I'm still just looking for external validation, for external help when I should just be taking care of myself.
So on to taking care of myself- I need to get busy living or get busy dying. Dying it will be. A hotel room and some razors this weekend. Why on the weekend? I'm not sure, but that's when. This Saturday.
I wish I could figure out a way to make a case for continuing my life. But I can't. I'm just wasting space, resources and time that could be better spent on other people. I am in the way and I am useless. If I don't want this life, then I should get the fuck out of the way. People could use the water, food and air I'm using up on this wasted, self-centered, whiny, bullshit life I'm living.
I am not anything and I need to accept it and follow through. Goodnight.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
What a long strange trip it's been (and is continuing to be)
So, it's been 3 months. 90 freaking days. Of sobriety. Wow.
And I am dying inside right now, not doing well mentally. Or spiritually, for whatever that means.
Update:
I went into detox on November 2. I spent 12 or so days there, then went to inpatient substance abuse treatment for a month in a town so small they don't even have a Starbucks. I met the most amazing counselor there, and he probably saved my life. I need to call him, I've forgotten to do it lately. I said that I was going to call him once a week. Bad me .
So, after rehab I came home. Alone in my apartment I was going crazy. I needed more help. So I wound up going to an inpatient PTSD treatment hospital for 3 weeks. I just got out of there and am staying in a half-way house to do the outpatient portion of the PTSD program, as it's not in my town, where I am still paying rent. Double rent, gotta love it.
This program I'm in helps women with trauma get over themselves. I guess it helped me. But maybe not. I don't know. All I know is that I feel like cutting the shit out of myself right now. I skipped the IOP today.
I haven't been on this blog since November, and realize I never really updated the F story. I'll do that later. There's been an even more interesting twist that I created. I am a drama queen. Not really. But I do like to make things interesting when I'm in the mood.
More later.
And I am dying inside right now, not doing well mentally. Or spiritually, for whatever that means.
Update:
I went into detox on November 2. I spent 12 or so days there, then went to inpatient substance abuse treatment for a month in a town so small they don't even have a Starbucks. I met the most amazing counselor there, and he probably saved my life. I need to call him, I've forgotten to do it lately. I said that I was going to call him once a week. Bad me .
So, after rehab I came home. Alone in my apartment I was going crazy. I needed more help. So I wound up going to an inpatient PTSD treatment hospital for 3 weeks. I just got out of there and am staying in a half-way house to do the outpatient portion of the PTSD program, as it's not in my town, where I am still paying rent. Double rent, gotta love it.
This program I'm in helps women with trauma get over themselves. I guess it helped me. But maybe not. I don't know. All I know is that I feel like cutting the shit out of myself right now. I skipped the IOP today.
I haven't been on this blog since November, and realize I never really updated the F story. I'll do that later. There's been an even more interesting twist that I created. I am a drama queen. Not really. But I do like to make things interesting when I'm in the mood.
More later.
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