I’m Trying

to pick back up on this blogging thing, i just can’t…but i’m going to keep trying.

 

a gallery of scars

 

“How right that the body changed over time, becoming a gallery of scars, a canvas of experience, a testament to life and one’s capacity to endure it.”
— Janet Fitch

before here this is what my life was like. this is what i was. sometimes i miss it, but most of the time i don’t. well maybe i’m lying. i miss it a lot. i never cut this badly anymore, i never cut this much, or this frequently anymore. but i miss the pain. the blood. the nice little neat lines, organization. it doesn’t make sense to you, but it makes sense to me, in my head it matters. i look at my damaged scarred arms and i feel remorse, sometimes regret. i’m angry at myself for going that far, but i can’t stop. i want to, sometimes, but most of the time i don’t. what if i never do.

i guess i will tell you about what happened recently. my bestfriend, his name is Brandon we have been friends for a long time. finally we had sex, it was awkward, painful, it was everything that i didn’t expect. i freaked out and that pissed me off. i can’t explain what happened. i can, but there isn’t enough time and i have work first thing  in the morning. so let me tell you some things briefly. the things that i never do, i broke all of my rules, i let him kiss me in the mouth, i started to like him, i got attached, and it all fucked me over. i don’t know, i can’t go any further here. my head hurts and i have work at like 8am. that is early for me. maybe i will try to write more another time.

k

Broken in certain ways

“And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.”
-Douglas Coupland

I can’t sleep, not that i’m trying hard. i just, i can’t. i’m sad. this isn’t like depression, but maybe it is. i’m sad. i’ve been crying. i want to paint, but i haven’t the energy, the strength i guess. i just, i want to let go. i saw ML last night, before i drove home from Salisbury, we talked about the concept of broken and what it meant to her, and now it is stuck in my head.

the problem is i know i am broken, i don’t think i was ever whole, i don’t think i was ever fixed, from birth i was damaged, in the womb i was broken. i don’t mind so much now, it is what it is. as i told ML i seem to collect middle aged broken women in my life. i fall in love with them. i develop a connection with them. i’ve never been a child. only sometimes do i miss it, having a childhood. being young and carefree. but in all honesty you can’t miss something you’ve never had, so i guess i miss the concept of it, the idea. i watch children now, and i guess i miss the freedom they have. i beg them to not try to grow up so fast. i beg them to stay innocent for as long as possible. But when you are a kid you want to grow up so fast, you want to do all the thing you aren’t allowed to do. But when you become an adult you crave that innocence back. you miss taking naps in the middle of the day, you miss being picked up and carried to bed, you miss being tucked in and having your mother stroke your face or tuck your hair behind your ears. i’m only assuming these things because i’ve never had them, i’ve only witnessed them through the kids i nanny for.

it used to bother me that i was so damaged, occasionally it still does. sometimes late at night, around this time. i think so hard about it and i crave love. growing up i was the fixer. i still am. i am the one that hooks up the electronics in the house. i am the one that fixes broken computers and all sorts of things that breaks. i was when i was a kid, and still am. i can’t stand when things break and they never get fixed, i feel the same way about myself. when something breaks i want to immediately replace it. i don’t want to be around something damaged. damaged, means broken, broken means unwanted, unwanted means trash. it’s my pathology. the thought is imprinted in my flesh, and i worry it will never go away. i worry broken means i will never be loved. broken means unwanted.

but i continue to watch the people in my life get broken, damaged, bruised, and misused. it saddens me, but it doesn’t make me love them any less. Maybe the same could go for me. maybe they could still love me even through my broken-ness.

K

turning tables

i love this song, i love Adele, i love to hear her talk because she has this posh British accent. but also because she isn’t a “traditional” singer. She’s kind of heavy, not fat, but she isn’t self conscious about it or anything, it’s hard not to be in such a weight conscious society where thin is supposed to equal beautiful. When she talks in her interviews she talks about not loosing weight because she likes to eat. my kind of girl. anyhow she has an amazing voice, wonderful talent. out of the ordinary sound too.

a time before this…

i can’t remember a time before the razor, before it was my bestfriend, my refuge. before it was the first thing on my mind when i wake up, and the last thing i think about before i go to bed. it has made me a liar, manipulator, ugly and ashamed. and still i don’t know how to stop, i worry i don’t want to stop.

at work tonight with the girls, 8 and 5, they make me feel so horrible. they point out my scars, not to be mean, but in curiosity. i am ashamed of them. i am embarrassed by them. i feel like a liar to them. but i can’t tell those little girls the truth. i can’t tell them that i do it to myself, that i hurt myself. what would they think? would they understand? they are much to young. But every time the lie comes out of my life, i feel like scum of the earth, not because i’m lying, but because i know i’ll do it again. i know i’ll hurt myself more. One day they’ll catch on. i wish summer was already over so i could wear my long sleeves in peace. i think i’m going to have to start wearing jeans. if i don’t get control of my urges. if i can’t stop myself, i will probably slice up my thighs.

i would have never started had i known it would be damn near impossible to stop. or maybe i would have anyway. i can’t be sure. it helped me get through, i just didn’t realize it would trap me, i would feel imprisoned by the urges. i wish it was different. i wish i was different. all i have are these urges and these thoughts in my head egging me on. i feel to much and not enough all at once.

nothing better than a good lie

Sam and I are at war, right now he’s winning. i’ve maintained safety, but for how long i don’t know. i can’t keep this up. i’m exhausted from the sheer battle. it’s all i can handle tonight, maybe i’ll write more some other time.

i wonder if i am all the things he says i am and the rest of me is this giant lie. and if the rest of me is this giant lie then i’ve been lying to all the people i love and care about, and if i am lying then what is the truth? Am i all the things he says i am, what if i am?

My wants not to hurt

This will be completely random, but is it really? These are thoughts and feelings nothing rational I don’t guess… why I think this blog needs a warning I’m not sure but there you go.

Some part of my brain is feeling severely left out when it comes to life. I mean what are we doing? Where are we going? Nothing,  nowhere. Should we have a baby? We’ve picked out a suitable sperm donor. He’s got great teeth and skin and gorgeous eyes he’s not too tall but not to short. He’s musical which is important because I’m musically retarded. He looks like Harry Connick Jr. He’s not brilliant but that’s where I come in,  right. I mean good looking people tend to do better in life,  as well as white people, mixed is half way there, look at Obama. No I actually have someone in mind, he’s a good friend of Krystle. They have a running joke where she actually calls him “bd ” or “baby daddy.” Its a joke but does it have to be? Neither of us are getting any younger. But I’m psychotic, I must be. I can barely take care of myself, Myselves.

What if we work hard on going back to school? That seems kind of doable. Right? What about a career?  I just feel like I’m not doing anything with my life. Its just work and therapy. I know about everyones life instead my own. I have no goals, I finish one thing and I feel empty and ask myself what now? I want to travel but I’m afraid to. I have yet to have s serious relationship. What am I doing with my life, its nothing but trauma focused and right now I think its where I am but how do I get else where? When do I grow up?  For real this time…..  
Why wont I let someone love me? 
I hate this feeling of being stuck, I hate feeling like I’m the only one who notices who feels the stuckness. I’m not out much but I feel it. I probably can’t have kids, do I honestly want them?  No I guess not. But our lives are supposed to move in a order. I don’t know who made the order but I’m supposed to be a mother at 26 that was the plan. 26 was the perfect age. The body is going to be 26. Krystle has never even been in love. Neither have I except the dad. But he doesn’t count, I guess. I give, I’ll be Lauries big. I’m not her mother and I don’t repeat myself. If she doesn’t want to listen to me or follow my directions I’m not going to break my neck. We are all broken boys and girls. I have my own level of fragility. I can’t handle self harm of the genitals. So other then that I’ll be her big.
Alright?
Kay

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something inside me shuts off

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