Rollerskate Skinny

Rollerskate Skinny (Old 97's):

Every other day is a kick in the shins

Every other day it's like the day just wins...

I believe in love

But 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.

White Men in Black Suits

White Men in Black Suits by Everclear:

"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.

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.

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 :-)

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.

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.

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.