Why

They always want to know why you've hurt yourself. At the very least they want to know why. And today with my second set of stitches in three days my doctor asked if there was anything specific I wanted to talk to him about as to 'why'. He's such a nice guy and I know he genuinely cares... I feel rather badly about give him the same old 'Oh, so many different things' answer that really tells him nothing at all. But the problem is they're all so stupid. I suppose that only matters so much (if it matters at all) since, stupid or not, they still land me in the ER (Sunday evening) or the doctors office (today).

I've got to make myself tell these people 'why'. Even if it is stupid. *shakes head* I've just got to figure out how to get it out...

Proof You Have An Eating Disorder # 17

You are not only critical of your own weight and appearance ( regarding appearance, how heavy you look in addition to what the scale says) as well as that of those around you (everyone, really), you notice you are now critical of the 'over generous' curves of your character on a Facebook game (which are probably not that over generous to begin with).

*shakes head* God help me.

Please

It's a word I've carved on my body several times before, in several different places. It usually means the same thing each time, though what that is I cannot say for sure.

Please.

Please, make it stop.

Please, I do not want to feel this way any longer.

Please, I would like these thoughts/urges to go away.

Please.

Yesterday and today I have been bombarded with an abnormal number of suicide related thoughts (abnormal for me anyway). Overdose. Slit my wrists. These thoughts are not uncommon for me. Most days one or the other (or both) will flit through my mind at least once. But today they come with something else. A longing. I feel so Awful. Today I am longing to give in, if only to make it stop. What makes it that much worse is that I cannot. I want it desperately, but I cannot.

Please.

Please make it stop.

Or else please, let me go.

Borderline moment ahead. You have been warned.

Don't worry it's not that bad.

 Anyway.

So maybe I just quit writing. Or maybe you quit telling me you're going to read and respond if you're not really going to. I don't handle it well. Every time something like this happens (and not just with you) I start to question: 'Did I do something? Are they mad? What could I have done? Damn, I suck!' and on and on. It makes no sense, I know that, but I still do it. Heck, last week I skipped church because I hadn't heard anything about worship rehearsal and so I start with 'Well they must not want me to play. No surprise I'm not that good lately and my voice has been effected by all this purging. Still that's really not fair; they should have told me.' and blah blah blah.

 So. Given that I do this often enough without your help... could you just quit? Or at least, if it's just that your busy, let me know you're still intending to get back to me? Or if you are too overwhelmed, that's alright you know. I know this is unreasonable and stupid. But I just can't help it. I'm Borderline. However reluctantly.

Identity Disturbance

A couple of my musings as of late seem to fall under the same theme. With that in mind I have decided to spare you all several separate posts on essentially the same thing and combine them in to one, longer post. Aren't you lucky ;)

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Pieces

Right now I feel a little like I am trying to put together a puzzle (which, by the way, is one of my least favorite past times). Never having been very good at them I am easily frustrated because I am making almost no headway at all. There's a reason for that, I have discovered. It seems that what I have been given to work with is not one whole puzzle. It feels as if I have been given a box of mismatched pieces. Wooden pieces, cardboard pieces, foam pieces. Big, small, and in between. Round and square edges. As you might have guessed it doesn't work very well. Oh some of the pieces match. There's an eye here, a watering can there. But there's nothing with which to make a picture. What makes it that much worse is that the puzzle and the jumble of mismatched pieces is my life. I'm trying to put together a (WHOLE, WORKING) person from this mish-mosh of things and I have no idea how to do it. And at this time, it seems, I am doing it mostly on my own.
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What I Really Need

Sometimes I think what I really need is a stylist, not a therapist. In my attempt to piece together an identity I keep landing on my 'look'. I don't know, it's almost as if I feel that if I can get a handle on that it will help somehow. I believe in a previous post I mentioned that I recently came to the conclusion that my brother, sister, and I had little choice but to become the people we did and that in my case at least it is not necessarily who I am. And that includes 'look'. Mine, before, was what I have referred to as 'regionally casual' (the region would be 'identifying information' which I try to keep to a minimum). It fit with my family. But it doesn't seem to have fit with me. I know how to dress that part. I know how to act that part. But I think, I feel that it is simply that. A part. Just another Mask. And I'm so tired of masks. They serve a purpose, I know, but can I be honest? They hurt. They really do. Like smiling can hurt (How Smiling Can Hurt) so can employing a mask.

Only problem now is... having come to the conclusion that I am not this 'regionally casual' person... who am I? I have some of those pieces. I love my Converse (I won't tell you how many pair I own; I am sure there are people with more but it's still pretty sad in my opinion). My glasses (which I recently decided I liked the look of better than my contacts) are rectangular, black, and bold. My bangs (also a new discovery) are cut low and (mostly) straight across (they get a little longer as they go out, if you understand my meaning). But for the most part I have no real clue and no idea how to figure it all out. I have to stumble across it, it seems, and that could very well take too long.

*shakes head* It sounds so absolutely trivial and yet it feels so very vital...

Je ne sais pas

There is a solemnity with which I go about things most days, any more. Tinged with melancholy it at times seems to contain a sense of finality as well. Beyond that it is very difficult to describe.

I first noticed it some three months past, at the end of December. Just three weeks ago I experienced something very similar. And now here we are again. If I am to be honest the solemnity and it's tinge of melancholy are present as often as not any more. What makes these three instances different (three months ago, December, three weeks ago, the beginning of March, and now) is the sense of preparing for something, and the sense of finality. This time around the reason for the sense of finality is vague and I have a feeling that I am reticent to admit it to myself. And the other two times..? To be honest it was a sense of impending death. My own. By my own hand.

My suicide.

At neither time did I have an actual plan, apart from the 'If I did it I'd do it this way'. There was no (real) intent. Each time it was simply a feeling that it was coming and that what I was doing was in some way preparation. I cannot recall what that preparation was three months ago. Three weeks ago it was, among other things, I'm sure, a good cleaning of the apartment, something I hadn't done in ages.. This time (because let's face it; the reason for this sense of finality now is the same as the two times before, whether or not I want to admit it to myself), along with some basic tidying up, it was a purge of my closet and dresser. I filled one large black trash bag with cloths for Goodwill and ended up with three plastic grocery bags of clothing that needs thrown out. Now, to be fair, it was all clothing that I never wore and/or that no longer fit. But the act in and of itself may not be as important as the melancholic solemnity with which it was done and the sense of finality with which it was accompanied.

This time, however, I am ambivalent to the idea of my suicide. This ambivalence confuses me a little, in light of the aforementioned sense of finality. I worry that this sense of ambivalence will not be enough of a protective factor, however, and a time may come in the not too distant future when I finally say 'Enough, I'm done' and, without plan, give in.

Proof You Have An Eating Disorder #157 (a totally arbitrary number btw... you will not find 156 more on this blog)

You order from a different pizza establishment because you are afraid that the folks at your regular one will notice just how often you have been ordering from them lately. The fact that they will most likely not care in the slightest does not matter. Because... what if they notice how often you've been ordering from them lately?


And if you want to know, Dominos is superior to Pizza Hut in every way but one: this pizza is so greasy I should have little trouble with the next phase of this operation. TMI? Sorry *blush*