Showing posts with label cutting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cutting. Show all posts
Friday, July 5, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
K's Choice: "I'm Not an Addict" and DXM
I have the taste of puke in my mouth and nostrils. SEEEEXXXXXY. Yeah, so I stopped at Walgreen's and got my drug of choice and for some godforsaken reason, Egg Nog. It seemed yummy at the moment. I drank some. Then when I got home I realized how fattening it is and how it doesn't seem to set well on my stomach, so I made myself puke it up. Feel much better now.
My drug of choice (for this year) is DXM. Which is in cough syrup or cough pills. It's a dissociative drug, maybe hallucinogenic. It is the shit if you aren't depressed. Or maybe it makes you depressed. I have become suicidal coming off of it. But yet, I do it again.
"It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive. If you don't have it you're on the other side. I'm not an addict, maybe that's a lie."
One more day, then rehab. I'm excited. How fucked up is it that part of the reason I'm excited is the idea of meeting people. New people that I may become friends with. New people that I may want to seduce. I am a fucking goddamn mess.
"Sober now, I'm cold, alone. I'm just a person on my own. Nothing means a thing to me. Nothing means a thing to me. It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive... I'm not an addict. Maybe that's a lie."
I really want nothing to mean a thing to me. Why do I always have to care. I care just enough to feel guilty.
I saw my mom for breakfast today, so that I could switch cars and get my truck back. But I did not tell her about rehab. I'm going to tell her on the phone two minutes before I walk in the clinic's doors. I just can't handle her disapproval. I am a wuss. As has been determined earlier.
Maybe if I cut myself tonight I can prove to myself I'm not such a goddamn fucking weakling. But I am. But the cuts may ameliorate the feeling. Being able to draw blood on myself helps.
I drove to his apt complex tonight. So on top of being a weak depressed loser, I am a fucking stalker. Sorry.
My drug of choice (for this year) is DXM. Which is in cough syrup or cough pills. It's a dissociative drug, maybe hallucinogenic. It is the shit if you aren't depressed. Or maybe it makes you depressed. I have become suicidal coming off of it. But yet, I do it again.
"It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive. If you don't have it you're on the other side. I'm not an addict, maybe that's a lie."
One more day, then rehab. I'm excited. How fucked up is it that part of the reason I'm excited is the idea of meeting people. New people that I may become friends with. New people that I may want to seduce. I am a fucking goddamn mess.
"Sober now, I'm cold, alone. I'm just a person on my own. Nothing means a thing to me. Nothing means a thing to me. It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive... I'm not an addict. Maybe that's a lie."
I really want nothing to mean a thing to me. Why do I always have to care. I care just enough to feel guilty.
I saw my mom for breakfast today, so that I could switch cars and get my truck back. But I did not tell her about rehab. I'm going to tell her on the phone two minutes before I walk in the clinic's doors. I just can't handle her disapproval. I am a wuss. As has been determined earlier.
Maybe if I cut myself tonight I can prove to myself I'm not such a goddamn fucking weakling. But I am. But the cuts may ameliorate the feeling. Being able to draw blood on myself helps.
I drove to his apt complex tonight. So on top of being a weak depressed loser, I am a fucking stalker. Sorry.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
I still want to have sex with my psychiatrist. But less so.
It's 5:29 AM on Sunday morning and I haven't slept. This information will have to be reported to Dr. F. I almost don't want to tell him because that will make me look like a crazy person. And no one is attracted to a crazy person. Except maybe a shrink? One can dream.
I didn't sleep last night, but then finally passed out around 9am and slept all day. I then went for an hour walk/run which turned my back into steel cables. I NEED to go to Bikram Yoga tomorrow, or will be hobbled for the next few days with the added bonus of tight muscle migraines. Gotta love those.
I have been thinking about my infatuation with F (duh, what else do I do). I am very embarrassed about the email I sent him through Facebook. It was overly familiar with a sort of a frat boy slang. I guess I was trying to be cute and not that serious. But it comes off as needy and stalkerish. In my opinion. I sent it after we already talked about his Facebook page and how I had tried to add him. In session I said, "Hey Dr. F, I tried to add you as a friend on Facebook, did you see that?" He replied something like, "Oh yeah, I thought I saw something about that." And that was the end of the conversation.
Like an asshole, I wrote him a day or so later on Facebook (even though he hadn't added me), btw he hasn't added anyone, he has no Facebook friends, so I'm not taking it personally. In session he was wearing a certain football team's shirt (I'm going to omit which one) and he had explained why he was a fan. So here's my email:
Is that email horrifying or not? The more I look at it, the less I shudder in horror. But it prob is still not great. Oh yeah, I also need to give myself a nome de plume. Like the good stalker that I am, I went back by his page a few days ago and noticed he made it private. As I mentioned before, this is a good idea. But I am wondering how much of that has to do with my asinine email. Oh well.
I didn't sleep last night, but then finally passed out around 9am and slept all day. I then went for an hour walk/run which turned my back into steel cables. I NEED to go to Bikram Yoga tomorrow, or will be hobbled for the next few days with the added bonus of tight muscle migraines. Gotta love those.
I have been thinking about my infatuation with F (duh, what else do I do). I am very embarrassed about the email I sent him through Facebook. It was overly familiar with a sort of a frat boy slang. I guess I was trying to be cute and not that serious. But it comes off as needy and stalkerish. In my opinion. I sent it after we already talked about his Facebook page and how I had tried to add him. In session I said, "Hey Dr. F, I tried to add you as a friend on Facebook, did you see that?" He replied something like, "Oh yeah, I thought I saw something about that." And that was the end of the conversation.
Like an asshole, I wrote him a day or so later on Facebook (even though he hadn't added me), btw he hasn't added anyone, he has no Facebook friends, so I'm not taking it personally. In session he was wearing a certain football team's shirt (I'm going to omit which one) and he had explained why he was a fan. So here's my email:
Hey "Football team" fan,
Come on dude, you definitely need to add me. I know, I know, you're not into the friend thing, I get it. Just giving you a hard time.
I'm a "type of politics", so at least we have that in common, if not your "other type of gross politics". I just had to come by so I could read their pages again. Seriously funny.
Have a good football day,
(Name redacted for privacy)
Come on dude, you definitely need to add me. I know, I know, you're not into the friend thing, I get it. Just giving you a hard time.
I'm a "type of politics", so at least we have that in common, if not your "other type of gross politics". I just had to come by so I could read their pages again. Seriously funny.
Have a good football day,
(Name redacted for privacy)
Is that email horrifying or not? The more I look at it, the less I shudder in horror. But it prob is still not great. Oh yeah, I also need to give myself a nome de plume. Like the good stalker that I am, I went back by his page a few days ago and noticed he made it private. As I mentioned before, this is a good idea. But I am wondering how much of that has to do with my asinine email. Oh well.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Seroquel
Seroquel is cool. I'm falling asleep right now because of it. Good for F. Now if only I could fuck him, all would be well.
My bf is too scared of my leg to stay the night with me. Am I mad about this? I don't know yet...
Actually, I do know. I'm mad. He freaked, which is understandable. But I wish he were tougher and could deal with it. I'm not upset about my cuts, I mean, they're done. I just want him to hold me. Go down on me, make me come. Then I'll go down on him, we'll have sex, snuggle and then go to sleep.
But hell, he's too freaked out. Which is odd, because he seems to be fairly familiar with the whole cutting thing. Which is why I felt safe enough to show him.
If I knew he was going to freak, I would never have let my guard down. I am very good at keeping my guard UP. Instead I wound up hugging him and comforting him about being upset about my slices. Weakling.
Yep, that's what I think of him. Weak. Deal with it dude- I do. And hell, you don't even have to bleed (I mean from cuts). You just get to fuck a pretty, smart, and accomplished chick. How hard is that? You won't find many chicks smarter and more independent than me. Plus, I'm a fairly good lay.
Yep, I guess I'm pissed off.
Goodnight
My bf is too scared of my leg to stay the night with me. Am I mad about this? I don't know yet...
Actually, I do know. I'm mad. He freaked, which is understandable. But I wish he were tougher and could deal with it. I'm not upset about my cuts, I mean, they're done. I just want him to hold me. Go down on me, make me come. Then I'll go down on him, we'll have sex, snuggle and then go to sleep.
But hell, he's too freaked out. Which is odd, because he seems to be fairly familiar with the whole cutting thing. Which is why I felt safe enough to show him.
If I knew he was going to freak, I would never have let my guard down. I am very good at keeping my guard UP. Instead I wound up hugging him and comforting him about being upset about my slices. Weakling.
Yep, that's what I think of him. Weak. Deal with it dude- I do. And hell, you don't even have to bleed (I mean from cuts). You just get to fuck a pretty, smart, and accomplished chick. How hard is that? You won't find many chicks smarter and more independent than me. Plus, I'm a fairly good lay.
Yep, I guess I'm pissed off.
Goodnight
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
2 Days Later
Ugh.
Ugh, ugh, ugh. I drank for a straight 12 hours or so on Sunday through Monday morning. I went to class drunk at 9:35 am, with more whiskey in my water bottle. WTF. I have never done that in my life.
During the wonderful marathon drunkathon, I cut myself pretty badly on my inner thigh. 6 cuts. About 3 inches long. Did it with a brand new razor blade. I have those for chores around the house, not for freaking mutilating myself. Oh well.
A couple are pretty deep. I hope I don't have scars. How hot is that- someone's going down there and freaks because of scars. Maybe I could limit my dating pool to people who like the Suicide Girls. I hate the Suicide Girls.
I have been sick as a dog since then. I really and truly am an alcoholic and need to keep away from the booze. Which I've been doing pretty well. But, not lately. I think I've drunk like 5 times in the past 2 weeks. OK, that actually really sucks.
And the last time I got fairly drunk I cut myself on my forearm. So obviously I'm doing just fine.
Ugh, ugh, ugh. I drank for a straight 12 hours or so on Sunday through Monday morning. I went to class drunk at 9:35 am, with more whiskey in my water bottle. WTF. I have never done that in my life.
During the wonderful marathon drunkathon, I cut myself pretty badly on my inner thigh. 6 cuts. About 3 inches long. Did it with a brand new razor blade. I have those for chores around the house, not for freaking mutilating myself. Oh well.
A couple are pretty deep. I hope I don't have scars. How hot is that- someone's going down there and freaks because of scars. Maybe I could limit my dating pool to people who like the Suicide Girls. I hate the Suicide Girls.
I have been sick as a dog since then. I really and truly am an alcoholic and need to keep away from the booze. Which I've been doing pretty well. But, not lately. I think I've drunk like 5 times in the past 2 weeks. OK, that actually really sucks.
And the last time I got fairly drunk I cut myself on my forearm. So obviously I'm doing just fine.
Monday, September 28, 2009
I CAN TAKE IT
I can take it. It's the story of my life. The story that I have narrated. So fuck you if you can't take it. Because then you clearly are a wuss.
Fuck yeah. I WILL TAKE IT, BECAUSE I CAN TAKE IT. Fuck you Ralph, F, and bf. Fuck you all.
Come on J. Come on C. Where are you? Your softness beckons me.
Fuck yeah. I WILL TAKE IT, BECAUSE I CAN TAKE IT. Fuck you Ralph, F, and bf. Fuck you all.
Come on J. Come on C. Where are you? Your softness beckons me.
Ralph is scared of me.
I'm not in need of sutures or the f'ing hospital. I guess I just need someone to tell me they like me.
Fuck, I am a person with BPD. Yeah, and admitting it makes people not even want to try. Fuck, it's more popular to be Bipolar.
Fuck you Ralph. You let me down. As will everyone else on JA. Because no one on JA can help me, solely due to the fact of it's process.
Well, I tried.
And now none of the "7000 experts online" will touch this shit. Maybe I should be flattered? I have created a problem so scary that no one will touch it?
It still feels horrible. But I can take it. That's the point, right? I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it.
So, I'm taking it.
Fuck you Ralph. I know it's not fair, but you left my ass. And I've paid you . Not much, but a lot for a student. So fuck you. Just don't even start to answer questions that are too hard for you.
Good night for now. I'll probably cut about two more lines. Of course making them as deep as I can. Wussy pants if they're not as deep as the others. Bleeding hard is good. But it's not an emergency, and I don't need stitches. Are all the experts as touchy as Ralph. Because he had obviously not dealt with my kind before.
I'm a beginner according to what I've read. An amateur.
Fuck, I am a person with BPD. Yeah, and admitting it makes people not even want to try. Fuck, it's more popular to be Bipolar.
Fuck you Ralph. You let me down. As will everyone else on JA. Because no one on JA can help me, solely due to the fact of it's process.
Well, I tried.
And now none of the "7000 experts online" will touch this shit. Maybe I should be flattered? I have created a problem so scary that no one will touch it?
It still feels horrible. But I can take it. That's the point, right? I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it.
So, I'm taking it.
Fuck you Ralph. I know it's not fair, but you left my ass. And I've paid you . Not much, but a lot for a student. So fuck you. Just don't even start to answer questions that are too hard for you.
Good night for now. I'll probably cut about two more lines. Of course making them as deep as I can. Wussy pants if they're not as deep as the others. Bleeding hard is good. But it's not an emergency, and I don't need stitches. Are all the experts as touchy as Ralph. Because he had obviously not dealt with my kind before.
I'm a beginner according to what I've read. An amateur.
Ralph Tried
But I scared Ralph too much. I'm not in a fucking crisis. I'm just upset and sad and drunk. And being drunk is my fault.
F you Ralph. That's what I feel like right now. But I guess I understand your position. No legal problems. I'd do just what you did. But I know I'm a hardline asshole, and I was hoping I could find a therapist who wasn't as much as an asshole as I was.
I respect you for covering your ass.
So I've got 15 minutes until the question opens up to other therapists. Fuck them too. Fucking lily white fuckers who've never felt this. Had one or two problems in their childhoods and decide to study this shit to help people. Fuck them.
I had this shit happen, and I decided to study something else. And if I were them, I wouldn't be such a chickenshit as to not to help someone like me.
Fuck you all. Do I sound bitter? Ha.
Bitter bitch on the line. Will you help her?
F you Ralph. That's what I feel like right now. But I guess I understand your position. No legal problems. I'd do just what you did. But I know I'm a hardline asshole, and I was hoping I could find a therapist who wasn't as much as an asshole as I was.
I respect you for covering your ass.
So I've got 15 minutes until the question opens up to other therapists. Fuck them too. Fucking lily white fuckers who've never felt this. Had one or two problems in their childhoods and decide to study this shit to help people. Fuck them.
I had this shit happen, and I decided to study something else. And if I were them, I wouldn't be such a chickenshit as to not to help someone like me.
Fuck you all. Do I sound bitter? Ha.
Bitter bitch on the line. Will you help her?
Yeah, still waiting, so wtf, why not write, but fuck does my typing suck when I'm drunk.
Why can't it be as simple when I was in high school. JOKE. It couldn't have been worse than when I was in HS. I was anorexic, in love with my English professor and failed out of my senior year because I drove my car into the parking lot, but hung out in the bird-shit covered bell tower all day.
But sickly, I almost wish I was back there. Because now I would def know how to fuck Mr. Coffman. Shit, he wasn't even a Ph.D. And I've fucked plenty of them since then. And I was damn hot back then.
Time to cut my inner thigh a little harder. Bleed more. Tougher I am.
And seriously, if you wanted to f* me, wouldn't it be hotter if my inner thighs were cut to hell. It shows that I could fuck you pretty hard. Or you could fuck me pretty hard. Either way it'd be good. F'ing good. At least for one night. Until you woke up and realized what a crazy person you had spent the night with.
But don't worry I would never, NEVER lay claim on you.
In fact if you tried to lay claim on me, I'd disappear as quick as a vapor.
Love ya. Ralph, give me what you got.
Why can't it be as simple when I was in high school. JOKE. It couldn't have been worse than when I was in HS. I was anorexic, in love with my English professor and failed out of my senior year because I drove my car into the parking lot, but hung out in the bird-shit covered bell tower all day.
But sickly, I almost wish I was back there. Because now I would def know how to fuck Mr. Coffman. Shit, he wasn't even a Ph.D. And I've fucked plenty of them since then. And I was damn hot back then.
Time to cut my inner thigh a little harder. Bleed more. Tougher I am.
And seriously, if you wanted to f* me, wouldn't it be hotter if my inner thighs were cut to hell. It shows that I could fuck you pretty hard. Or you could fuck me pretty hard. Either way it'd be good. F'ing good. At least for one night. Until you woke up and realized what a crazy person you had spent the night with.
But don't worry I would never, NEVER lay claim on you.
In fact if you tried to lay claim on me, I'd disappear as quick as a vapor.
Love ya. Ralph, give me what you got.
So I just wrote Ralph. He's decided to answer my question. So I now sit waiting for a while while he writes his response. Shit I hope he can help me. Probably not. I mean, what else can he say other than go to hospital?
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. Yeah, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. That's what I fucking mean. I've made five cuts on my thigh, and I feel like a wuss, because I didn't make the same six cuts I did on my forearm. My greatest disappointment is to not be as tough as I could be. I am tough. I swear. I will Kick Your Ass. Don't Fuck With Me.
But of course, aren't I still sexy? Cause isn't that the point? I mean, from the first books I read (I mean 4th grade), women were allowed to be smart, but if only their clothes fit them well and the male scientists could look down their blouse or admire their shiny, beautiful hair.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK, you. You goddamn authors who f'cking planted that shit in my heads. I'm a f'ing great scientist. And f what I look like. That only matters when I'm trying to lay someone.
And if I were a guy, being a scientist would probably help. It def does not help as a chick. Unless you are dating guys who have problems. Because they seem to be the only ones who like super smart chicks.
Please help me Ralph.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. Yeah, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. That's what I fucking mean. I've made five cuts on my thigh, and I feel like a wuss, because I didn't make the same six cuts I did on my forearm. My greatest disappointment is to not be as tough as I could be. I am tough. I swear. I will Kick Your Ass. Don't Fuck With Me.
But of course, aren't I still sexy? Cause isn't that the point? I mean, from the first books I read (I mean 4th grade), women were allowed to be smart, but if only their clothes fit them well and the male scientists could look down their blouse or admire their shiny, beautiful hair.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK, you. You goddamn authors who f'cking planted that shit in my heads. I'm a f'ing great scientist. And f what I look like. That only matters when I'm trying to lay someone.
And if I were a guy, being a scientist would probably help. It def does not help as a chick. Unless you are dating guys who have problems. Because they seem to be the only ones who like super smart chicks.
Please help me Ralph.
JustAnswer.com
Shit, I've spent $45 f'ing dollars at JustAnswer.com. But Ralph in the Mental Heath section is probably saving my life. So I guess it's OK
I just cut myself- let's see- 3 times hard, and 1 time wussy on my inner thigh. I did it before on my inner forearm, but then everyone could see it. Somehow that didn't occur to me when I did it.
I need help I guess. But I can't go to hospital. So I'm stuck asking questions to folks on justanswer.com. Hopefully Ralph knows wtf he's doing and I'm not just paying some scamming whore. I probably am though.
Well, I'm going to wait for an answer, then maybe post it here. Or not. Let's see
I just cut myself- let's see- 3 times hard, and 1 time wussy on my inner thigh. I did it before on my inner forearm, but then everyone could see it. Somehow that didn't occur to me when I did it.
I need help I guess. But I can't go to hospital. So I'm stuck asking questions to folks on justanswer.com. Hopefully Ralph knows wtf he's doing and I'm not just paying some scamming whore. I probably am though.
Well, I'm going to wait for an answer, then maybe post it here. Or not. Let's see
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