Tuesday, January 31, 2012


I. Cant. Do. This. ANYMORE.  I don't want to do it anymore.  I see no reason to do it anymore.  I'm still here because I don't want to hurt my girlfriend, but I resent her for it and that's really not enough anymore.  It's selfish to hurt her, but how is it not selfish for people to ask me to suffer to protect other people for a few weeks of sadness?

Life fucking hates me.  I fucking hate me.  I don't want life anymore.  I honestly don't.  I write about this a lot, but I feel this way a lot.  I feel this way ALL of the time.  What is the fucking point anymore?  I'm angry right now as I type this.  I'm so fucking pissed off.  Life has done nothing but shit on me and I don't think it's melodramatic to say that.  My life has been so fucking absurd.  Really fucking absurd.  I know so many people think it's all some creative morbid fairytale I've made up.  They should hear the things that I don't post on here because I know how crazy they sound.  My life fucking sucks.  It's sucked for me from the very beginning.  I can't deal with it anymore.  I'm so beyond tired.  I don't think anyone understands when I say that, but I don't know any other way to describe the way I feel.  I'm worn down.  I'm beaten down.  I have nothing left.  I'm running on nothing but fumes and gravity.

It's ridiculous how hard it is for me just to move air through my lungs.  I don't want the air anymore.  I don't give a fuck about the possible good things in the future.  "It's a permanent solution for a temporary problem."  Oh fuck everyone who says shit like that.  What temporary problem?  No, really?  What temporary problem?  My life is a PERMANENT problem for me and I'm a piece of shit.  Seriously, if you only knew the person I really am.  I'm a fucking insane, psychotic, selfish asshole.  I hurt people.  I push people to their limits.  People have hated me from the very beginning.  Sexually abused by two men by the time I was 9, Raped and ripped to pieces, beaten unconscious, starved, locked in closets, 42 foster placements, and on and on and on.  I turn people into monsters.  My sister is dead but it was supposed to be me.  I watched some man scream in pain and beg me to stop the beating but I just sat there and all I had to do was say stop.  I just want to disappear.  I just want it all to go away.  All of it.  ALL of it.  God, it hurts just to breathe.  If my dog, Cooper, were suffering and nothing could be done to save him, I'd put him to sleep so he wouldn't be in so much pain anymore.  I need someone who loves me enough to put me down.  Please make it stop.  I can't handle the memories, the flashbacks, the panic attacks, the insomnia, the nightmares, the depression, the self hatred, the cutting, the child pornography and talking about them and the abuse with the authorities.  It's too much.  Way too much.  I want my mom to love me so badly and she hates me the most in the world.  I want a family so fucking badly, but I'll never have one.  I want people who will love me unconditionally so badly, but I will never have that either.  I want people who won't eventually dump me.  I will never have what I need to survive.  I will never be able to function like a normal person.  Please just make it all go away.  I just want to go away.  I'm not being melodramatic.  I honestly just can't do it anymore.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Tired of Coping.

Dr. K:  How did things go with CT last week?
Me:  It was okay.  We worked things out.
Dr. K:  (a bunch of stuff about not being judgmental, blah blah blah).
Me:  I guess I'm just feeling really discouraged with therapy and life.  I just don't feel any better, and now my insurance is going to limit my therapy to once a week, so I don't know what to do.  Maybe it doesn't matter.  Nothing has helped me.
Dr. K:  We just have to find the right treatment for you.
Me:  But I've tried so many things.  I'm not trying to be anti DBT, it's just that I don't see how it will help me.  I mean, I see it being really useful for everyday frustrations and stresses, but not for my issues.  I do all the homework, but I feel like a freak because everyone else writes about someone at work being an asshole and the thing I have to write about is seeing my own child pornography.  I can't share that.  I did the pros and cons list homework this week, but I can't see that helping me with my panic attacks, flashbacks, or nightmares.  

We talk about my panic attacks for a while and what they are like for me.  Dr. K suggests I see a cardiologist and get checked out to make sure it's not a physical issue.  I don't think it's a physical issue because it doesn't happen all the time.  I'm also getting weird rashes a lot.  Right now I have this thing on my tongue that only babies or people with immune disorders get.  I'm constantly breaking out with something, a rash, a staph infection, hives, weird broken blood vessel like rashes on my abdomen.  I'm tired of it.  We talk about CT and my insurance and the homework for class tomorrow.  

Me:  I want help.  I've tried and tried and tried to help myself.  There have been so many people trying to help me for the past year and I'm not far from where I started.  I want to feel like a normal person.  I can't keep living like this.  I'm so tired and I'm feeling so discouraged and hopeless.  I feel like I'm being punished.  I can't take it anymore.  I have LAPD calling me and the woman from the Long Beach office.  I can't handle this anymore.  I don't want to talk to the police or FBI about my sexual abuse or the photos.  I can't do this anymore.

Dr. K:  Can't do what?

Me:  This.  All of this.  I'm exhausted.  I don't know what I'm supposed to do.  I am barely surviving and horrible things keep happening and I just don't see how making pros and cons lists or chain analysis of emotions are going to help me deal with things like child pornography or whatever else life is going to dump on me.  I just want all of it to stop.  It's fucking torture.  I can't do it anymore.

Dr. K:  Do you think you need to go to the hospital.

Me:  No.  I'm fine.  The hospital won't help and I can't afford it.

Dr. K:  (really really long lecture)

I'm so tired.  I'm tired of being tired.  I'd take the worst pain I've ever felt in my life over this.  I'll take the gallbladder pain over this.  People keep leaving me because I bring everyone down.  I suck the life out of everything.  People always say they won't leave, and they are usually sincere when they say that, but once they realize how fucked up I really am, they can't deal with it anymore.  Everyone leaves.  Last week I was dumped by two blog friends for being "too heavy."  I am too heavy.  I'm too heavy for me too.  It's too heavy to breathe.  I'm not strong enough to carry it anymore.  I'm so fucking exhausted.  Just make it stop.  I can't cope anymore.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Friendship bracelets

I feel kind of bouncy and light right now.  Today was a pretty good day.  I have tons to write about with therapy and all, but I'll do that later.
 I have never given someone a friendship bracelet before, so even though I'm in my 20's, I gave one to a friend today.  :-)  Today is a shitty anniversary for her so I put together this box of stuff.  I LOOOOOVE putting together gifts for people, so I was really doing something for me.  LOL  I put the bracelet in there.  It's so super cheesy, but I've never done it before and wanted to because I'm not sure you can get any closer than having someone help you delete your childhood kiddie porn from your computer.  I feel pretty lucky to have made a friend like that.  That's one way my life being so weird has benefited me!  Thanks!

Update:  Look!  I got one in return!  First time I've ever been given a friendship bracelet.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Fucked up security blankets

There is something very wrong and screwed up with the fact that I had to have someone come over and help me delete the horrible graphic images from my computer.  There is something really fucked up with me that I felt a ton of anxiety about deleting the photos and took double my prescribed dose of sedatives before my friend came to prevent a panic attack.  I was able to stay calm while she was here, but as soon as she left, so did my calm.  I'm still panicking, almost two hours later.  Its screwed up that I would look at these fucked up photos for hours and hours late at night and cut myself.  I'd open the file on my computer, and go into my closet.  I hate closets.  I'm terrified of them, but the large walk in closet in my apartment is the only place that I can have privacy and be sure my girlfriend won't walk in on me while I'm doing fucked up things.  I'd sit in a dark spot between the wall and a dresser in my closet, open the files on my computer, stare at them, cry and slice my skin with a giant box-cutter.  I mean, what kind of person does that?  What does that say about me?  What does it say that as soon as my friend left I went into my apartment, laid in my bed, cut myself, and then sobbed really hard for ten minutes because my photos were gone and I'm not even sure if the tears were because I'm relieved that they are finally gone or because I don't have them anymore.  Both?  God, I'm fucked up.  

I'm horrified that I feel attached to them, like some kind of sick and twisted security blanket.  They were proof that I wasn't lying.  People have doubted or flat out disbelieved my story my whole life and these images were my proof.  They were proof that this really happened.  I didn't just make it all up.  It wasn't all in my head.  I'm not some crazy false accuser psycho kid.  If it weren't for my friend (the only person besides CT who knows about them in real life) constantly telling me how unhealthy it is to have them on my computer, I'd probably be sitting here, drawing, drinking bottled water, looking at my own child pornography, and cutting myself with a giant box cutter and then writing things on the bandages.  What is wrong with me?  Why can't I be a normal person?

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

I need a sabbatical from life.

Dear god or santa or whoever.  Can you bring me a coma as a late Christmas present?

I spoke with someone from "Innocent Images" today.  They've called a couple times and I was finally brave enough to answer the phone.  She told me that deleting my emails and emptying the trash will make it harder for them to investigate, because the email header and full information didn't transfer when I forwarded it.  I'm not sure how that could have happened.  I have mixed feelings about all of this.  I'm terrified to know how many images are out there.  I'm pretty sure I know who sent them to me, but I'm not positive.  It just wouldn't make a lot of sense if it was anyone else.  It would be a lot scarier.  She has forwarded my case to some task force in a city about 45 minutes from where I live.  I just want all of this to go away. 

Things with CT and me are not so great.  I am really hurt by the way I was treated this weekend, and the thought of sitting in front of her tomorrow makes it a little difficult to breathe.  She keeps changing the rules on outside contact and it's really making me feel like she doesn't care about me very much.  She has been preaching, "You can always call me if you need to," and then when I actually do reach out to her after a year and a half of ignoring that offer, she decides she doesn't really mean that.  She only wants to hear about my experiences and feelings in person, even during a crisis.  I'm really hurt and I don't feel very cared about.  What happened this weekend was so stressful for me.  It probably wouldn't have been on it's own, but when you add everything she knows is going on for me, it just became too heavy for me and I needed her to deal with a situation that very much involves her.  I have one therapist complaining that I don't contact her outside of session enough and one therapist who tells me I can contact her outside of session and gets upset when I do.  I can't win and I'm really hurt.  I can't decide if I want to see her this week or not.  I have to call and cancel today because of the 24 hour cancel policy.  I'm also worried she's going to think I'm looking for attention when I call to cancel.  I'm not.  I'm looking for less attention from her.  I have so much to deal with right now and I know tomorrows session is going to be all about her, this weekend, and our relationship.  This is the subject of our sessions way too often.

I need help dealing with the photos and everything else more than I need help dealing with the shitty parts of our relationship.  Maybe she just doesn't understand what it's like to be sent child pornography--child pornography starring YOU (me) as the child.  It's really fucking devastating, scary, and way beyond my coping skills right now.  I don't know how to handle this.  I feel like I shouldn't feel so upset about these photos because they were taken so long ago.  I should be happy it's not some other tiny little girl in them.  I feel kind of selfish that I can't be happy about that.  I mean I am happy about that, but my shame and devastation kind of drown that out.  One minute I'm totally fine and the next I'm crying so hard that I'm literally not able to stand up.  I'm normally obsessed with keeping my apartment clean but I've just not been able to keep up with it right now and it's messier than I can cope with.

I know I will never have a family.  I just need to come to terms with that.  I think I can, but I can't figure out why my life is full of so much fucked up shit.  Am I being punished for something?  Was I Hitler in another life?  How am I supposed to function when this kind of stuff keeps happening in my life?  I need life to give me a break so I can deal with all the shitty things from my childhood before I can deal with all the shitty things happening now.

Right now I'm feeling devastated by these photos.  One photo was titled "47."  That photo is when I'm super tiny, so I'm terrified to think about how many more exist.  I'm hurt, annoyed, and frustrated with my therapist and how she's treated me and I'm so frustrated that life just won't give me a break.

I'm really not handling this well at all and I am feeling so alone.  I feel so abandoned by the people who are supposed to help me.  Dr. K just makes me make Pros and Cons lists or "chain analysis" of my behaviors.  She only cares about the behaviors and not my feelings causing them, at least right now.  I need more than what Dr. K can give me and I need WAY more than what CT is giving me.  I'm having such a hard.  I'm literally sick over it--physically and mentally.  I need a break.  I'm so exhausted.  So exhausted and alone.  I need a kitkat bar, some vodka, some drugs, and a coma.

I need something to stop the freaking tears.  It's getting annoying.  I need a therapist that gets it.  I need someone who understands.  Maybe I'm just a freak.  I don't know.  Maybe there isn't anyone that understands.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Unwated images

Trigger warning for this entry.

Despite my seriously messed up dreams I slept about 8 hours today, off and on, and I felt really great most of the day, physically.  Not so much mentally, but I'll take whatever I can get.  I'm a bit exhausted now that I've left therapy.  It's nice to have gotten some sleep though.
Last Tuesday I received an anonymous email with images of me as a child.  Horrifying images.  Disgusting images.  Graphic images.  I totally lost it on Tuesday.  I really lost it.  I had no idea photos existed and I could not understand who would send them to me or why.  I have since received four emails, and three different photos.  Two emails had the same photo, and one email was a giant photo of thumbnails from a video.  I now have a pretty good idea who sent them to me and it makes me really sad because it was someone I really looked up to and cared about as a child.  The emails make his feelings about me pretty clear.  They make his hatred and disgust for me pretty clear.

I do not remember photos ever being taken.  I do not have any memory of it at all and that really bothers me.  Why don't I remember?  What else don't I remember?  How many exist?  Who else has seen them?  Are they on the internet somewhere?  What would make this person send them to me like that?

The last email I got has really messed me up.  I'm having a really hard time with it.  In this picture I'm so tiny and so scared.  I mean I'm so tiny.  I was a very small child until I reached puberty at 13 and grew and grew and grew until I stood the five foot 8 inches I am today.  When I was 9, I was the smallest kid in my class, and I was way older than everyone because I hadn't been to school in America regularly until I was 8.  I still have this really weird outfit I got for my birthday when I was 9.  I really loved it.  It was a size 6x (x does not mean extra large) in little girls.  That's tiny for a 9 year old.  I can't imagine ever being that small.  It kind of feels like I was born a fully grown adult.

The sheets in this picture haunt me to this very day.  They are the sheets that replaced my Gummi Bear sheets.  My nightmares are full of these ugly stripped floral sheets.  I don't know what to do with these visual images.  I remember the actual event in this last picture, but I don't remember ever being so tiny.  I'm having a really difficult time with all of it.  My gf found my camera in my bed last night (I was taking images off my camera) and she cracked a joke about taking dirty pictures and I had to go take a shower so I could break down.  I  sat down in the shower, letting the water flow down my back and face as I cried and cut myself.  I can't make the images go away.  I can't stop remembering.  I can't stop dreaming.  I can't stop re-experiencing the event in this photo.  I break down crying for no reason.  Opening my computer makes my heart race.  I can't think about anything else, even when I try to force myself.  I've tried everything-- drawing, showering, music, walking my dogs, cutting, more cutting, burning, pounding my head on things, sedatives.  I reported the images to the proper authorities and I changed my email.  I don't know what else to do.  I sent the images to the address that the police officer told me to send them.  I can also go to the FBI in person and I tried, but when I walked in to this busy place full of powerful men, I freaked out and left.   

I don't know what to do to make this panic I feel go away.  I don't know how to erase the event from my head.  I think about what happened in this photo all day long and I dream about it at night.  I have been feeling so mortified and disgusted and ashamed that I have been afraid to tell anyone.  I keep hearing that little tiny girl in those photos screaming in pain and I keep hearing his voice calling me vulgar names and telling me to shut up.  I keep feeling suffocated by his weight.  I have such a hard time breathing when those feelings engulf me.  I keep hearing him laughing at my tears.  I keep hearing the rage in his voice when he yells at me for screaming or fighting back.  I keep feeling his hands over my mouth.  I keep smelling those hands.  I keep smelling cigarettes and beer mixed with body smells.  I can't make it stop and it's pretty overwhelming.  I either feel completely overwhelmed or literally nothing at all and both are pretty unbearable.

Why can't I just get over this fucked up crap and move on with my life?  Why can't I just put it behind me?  Why can't I just pretend it doesn't exist?  Why do I torture myself like this?  How do I stop?  I hate this and I hate myself for it.  I'm so messed up and crazy.  I'm so fucked up and I can't stand it.  I can't stand this crazy creature I've become.  Do you know what it's like to hate yourself so much that you grimace every time you walk past a mirror?  Do you know what it's like to hate yourself so much that you wish someone would seriously physically hurt you?  I do.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012


 Today's been a really tough day, but I've managed to change my email address and go to therapy.  I've not managed any less or any more.  I am wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, except I added a sweatshirt.  I only slept for 45 minutes today, so does it count if I say I even slept in my jeans and shoes?

I had therapy just a few hours ago, but most of it's a blur.  I know there was quite a bit of crying and a some hyperventilating and then there is just kind of nothing.  There is a big black fuzzy wall blocking my view of the rest of the session.  I do remember that CT had me sit with her for a few minutes after session and asked me to try to get a ride home instead of driving myself home.  I only vaguely remember leaving and I do not remember getting home or how I got these knew cuts on my legs.  Not remembering a good chunk of your day is creepy and pretty scary.  I don't like it at all.  I wish there was a way I could program my brain to channel this ability into areas where it would be really useful. 

I've felt really strange and disconnected today, kind of like my life isn't real, like I'm just a character in a movie or a book or something.  I just don't feel...alive.  I mean I know I'm real and I know I'm right here, laying under my covers, typing on my computer, but it still feels like nothing is real, like I'm dreaming and I know I'm dreaming.  I tried drawing because that usually helps me space out and create something, but because my drawings are kind of surreal in nature, it added to the lack of reality or any kind of grounding in the present.  I am not complaining though.  I'll take the surreal feeling over how I've felt these last few days.  It's like I'm kind of trapped in this vast land of nothingness or white water rapids.  I'm in one extreme or the other.

I'm always searching for ways to survive and make it to the next moment, the next day, the next month, but that's not really enough.  Life is too hard and sad and scary.  I'm trying so hard to crawl out of this giant pit I've been stuck in.  I'm exhausted and really worried about the next one I will fall in after this.  I'm tired of fighting right now.  I don't feel all that despondent when I say that.  I'm actually pretty flat right now.  I'm just kind of... I don't know the right words.  I'm ready to wave my white flag and surrender.  It's like that feeling when you're out traveling on vacation or something and you're so tired you're not really interested in the activities anymore.  You're totally ready to go.  That's how I feel right now.  I'm just ready for something to end, and at this very moment, I don't really care what that means.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Finally going to change it

I really don't want to change my email address.  I love my user name and address and I've had to change my address a million times because of my mother and bio siblings.  I'm not good at protecting my identity on the Internet.  I always think I'm being good at hiding my information but I just realized that my email was visible on facebook.  I could have sworn I had it set to friends only.  I really have no choice anymore.  I can't delay it any longer.  I have received four emails since last Tuesday from someone with an email with spoofed identity information so that they can remain totally anonymous.  The anxiety of not knowing who is sending them to me is almost worse than what they are sending me.  Almost.  The email I received on Tuesday made the day so overwhelming that I threw out any desire for health and frantically searched for anything that would take it all away, for some kind of mental anesthesia. 

I went to therapy today which is only a few buildings from a big government building that I need to go to.  I walked in and stood there for a minute.  There were no women anywhere.  Men everywhere.  I left.  I feel so strange around men, well straight men anyway.  I become jumpy and anxious and so self conscious about my behavior around them.  I can't ever calm down enough to connect with them.  I walked in there, hoping to find a receptionist or someone who could answer my embarrassing questions but I became frozen and eventually left. 

Not long after leaving, I received another email.  This new one hit me hard, like a wrecking ball to my stomach.  Too familiar.  Too fucking familiar.  Everything about it is familiar.  I skipped my DBT class tonight and spent a few hours hiding in a dark spot in my closet, where I found some stashed razors I had forgotten about.  I decorated my legs to match the email.  I feel so trapped by these attachments from the past.  I can't tell anyone.  I'm writing about it now but I can't be more specific.  I can't show them to anyone.  I want someone else to see it too, to see what's happening.  I can't show them to anyone because it would be wrong.  I don't want anyone else to see because I don't want to hurt them too and I feel so ashamed.  I don't want who I think might be doing it to get into trouble.  I feel disgusting and I don't want people to know, except I do want people to know.  It's another big secret all over again.  I'm an adult now and someone has figured out how to make me feel just as helpless as I felt back then.

The vodka in my freezer is a bit seductive right now.

I remain quiet but I feel like screaming.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck you!

WHY?? WHY?  Just fucking why?

pedophiles are....is there a word beyond evil?
hushmail is just WRONG.  I hate you and your stupid "rights."
I am fucked up.

please leave me alone.  I don't remember.  I don't remember.  I don't freaking remember.  I don't remember so please don't remind me.   I don't know if you read my blog, but I'm not going to email you back to give you more information about me.  I'm just asking you to please stop.  I get it.  I'm all those things you say.  I know that.  I believe that.  I can't tolerate this anymore.  Just stop.  Please.

This world hates me.  Why am I in it?

Monday, January 16, 2012

Got connections?

PSST!  Hey you!  Yeah, you.  You look like you know how to have a good time, do you know where I can get some peace?

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Relationships and panic and razors and being fucking stupid

Much of this is based on my session with CT today.  A lot of the "wisdom" is hers.  

Imagine you are always starving.  You're more than starving, you're so emaciated that you're growth is stunted and your belly is distended.  Everyone around you seems to be doing okay.  They don't seem to be that hungry, but you are starving so much and all of the time.  All you think about is food.  All you want is food.  Everything you dream about is food.  You can't eat what everyone else eats because you are a little different.  Maybe you are allergic to almost everything and the type of food you can eat it is pretty hard to find.  When you do find it, you're never sure if it's poison that can cause serious and permanent damage and make you even hungrier after you eat it.   There has been food in the past you seemed to manage for a while but one day after years of it being okay, it hurts you and causes internal damage and you can never have it again.

You're desperate for food.  You're so hungry all the time, but you are terrified of food.  Will this food hurt me?  How long will this food be okay for me to consume?  How much is okay to consume?  Just a nibble or the whole plate?  You're so desperate for food but so afraid of it that when you come across it, you're not sure if you should run away or devour everything you see.  Sometimes you end up eating too much from the food source.  You pick the garden clean so that there is no more left for you.  The garden disappears without warning and you are hungry again.  Sometimes there are gardens calling out your name, but you skip them because you're too afraid of the damage and you're too afraid because it hurts more to feel nourished for a while and then hungry later.  You're always worried about being hungry later, even when you're feeling really happy and full now.  How do you choose?  Which need is more important?  Safety or nourishment?

That's how relationships are for me, except I never trust the reasons people want to be in my life.  "I don't have anything to offer, why would he or she want to be in my life?"  I find it hard that people could like me, especially when they know my secrets.  I've managed to have a long term relationship by not needing too much from her.  She can't handle the stuff I bring to the table.  She panics and worries, and then gets too involved with it.  I always end up having to make her feel better about me feeling bad.  She ends up trying to fix everything instead of just being there for me.  We've talked about this before.  She just doesn't know how to keep that balance and she takes on everything.  She is a fixer and a worrier.  Everything worries her.  Everything hurts her, so I keep a distance.  I am there for her when she needs me to be, but I go hide in parks and get really drunk because I'm afraid to go home where she'll be able to see that I've been crying all day.  She tries hard to be there for me, but she just can't in the ways that I need because she just doesn't know how.  She doesn't understand.  Just a little while ago she came home early and caught me crying and I've spent half an hour trying to get her to stop crying about the fact that I am upset. 

I'm starving for someone who understands me, my life, my history, my fucked up pieces because I feel so freaking alone in this world.  I feel like such a fucked up freak because I don't know anyone like me.  No one that has any of those lonely things in common with me.  I started this blog initially hoping to find other former foster kids like me so that maybe I wouldn't feel so alone.  For some reason I expected it to be easy to keep relationships with former fosters, but it turns out, it's even harder because we both end up being too hungry and paranoid.  Even the former fosters I've found don't know how to relate to me or think I'm making things up or find some other reason not to like me.

I just never learned how to be a friend.  I never learned how to find friends.  I've never learned how to maintain friendships unless they are at a distance.  There is no one in my life that knows how bad I feel in this exact moment.  No one knows that I sat in a park, drank way too much while cutting myself with my keys and then razors when I got tired of the keys not working enough.  No one knows I did this because I got stuck in my car for hours and just couldn't stay in the present.  My whole body was hurting, like really hurting.  It's still hurting.  All my senses were on fire.  There was so much screaming in my head.  I felt like someone was going to attack me at any moment.  I was even hoping someone would attack me so I could fight them.  I wanted a physical fight. I don't know why.  My body was just read to fight someone.  

After my DBT class, I was stuck in my car crying for over two hours when I decided I couldn't take it anymore.  I went to the store, bought the alcohol and razors and was going to go home.  When I got home, I saw the light still on in my apartment and knew my gf would be super stressed out, working on her dissertation.  I looked like a mess and couldn't let her see me like that, for her sake or mine.  I left my car at home and walked to a park where I drank until I puked and cut and cut and cut until I couldn't feel anything else but the razor sliding across my skin.  That felt so much better than all the other pain, but it doesn't take the pain away for very long.  As soon as I stop, the pain comes back.  I didn't do too much damage.  I was able to restrain myself more than usual.  I only needed three tiny stitches, but the doctor put liquid stitches on instead.  Liquid stitches is basically super glue.  That was an expensive dab of super glue.  I tried to go home a couple of times last night, but the light was still on each time, so I went back to the park to cut and drink some more.  I felt so alone, and scared, and like such a freak.  I wanted someone to sit with me.  I wanted someone who understands me to sit with me and help me not feel so insane.  I couldn't go home because my girlfriend couldn't handle it and she wouldn't understand and she would want to take me to the hospital because she always wants to fix things an make me better.  I don't want to be fixed.  I want to be comforted and understood.  The only thing I had last night was this blog which I got a little weird about.  This thing often gets me in trouble.

I'm so lonely and so exhausted.  I'm exhausted by my life.  I'm really suffering right now.  Most people use their blogs to vent or write about an interest and then log off and go talk to their families or friends or whatever.  I use my blog because I have nowhere else.  My need is too heavy for my gf.  My need is too heavy for me.  I want someone who gets me, but there is no one and when there is someone, I panic and do stupid shit and get scared and run away, or I ask them to go away or I do shit that makes them go away.  Relationships are hard for me.  I'm always searching for evidence that I've fucked up.  I'm terrified of hurting other people.  I'm terrified of fucking up.  I'm terrified of being dumped.

My panicked inner dialogue:

Not call/email/text me back?
"OMG.  They are pissed off at me.  What did I do?  I hope I didn't say something stupid.  What if I did.  God, I'm such a fuck up.  I hate myself.  Should I write the and ask them if I messed up?  What if they say yes?  What if they are never going to talk to me again?  What if they dumped me?"  

Tell me you're upset with me or set a boundary of some kind?
"OMFG.  They are so upset and I don't even know what I did.  Why am I being scolded when I wasn't the one who did it?  They think I'm fucked up.  They think I'm crazy and psycho.  I can't stop it from happening.  They are leaving.  I can't go back and fix it.  It's all over now.  I really fucked up.  I fucked up everything.  I mess up everything.  I'm such an asshole.  They are pissed.  I don't know what to do.  I don't know what to say.  They are leaving.  I can't handle it if they leave.  Fuck them.  Let them leave.  No wait, I don't want them to go.  God, I don't know what to do.  I'm just going to leave them first." 
So basically I'm scared and lonely and sad and fucked up and so fucking exhausted.  I feel like such a freak and so alone in life.  I read blogs searching for people who understand.  I've found a few, but it's not the same as having someone in real life, plus when you read someone's blog there is this false sense of intimacy that isn't really there because basically you don't know the person beyond reading their diary, but you feel like you know them so well.  It's so confusing and complicated and hard to judge how to behave.  You feel super close to someone that you don't know.  It complicates things.  I've gone to support groups but I feel like a freak there too.  I'm not sure what to do with myself.  I'm in a high level of agitation at all times.  I'm freaking out at all times.  I have only slept maybe 10 hours since last Thursday.  I'm tired.  I'm so freaking tired.  I don't know how do this anymore.  I don't have the strength.  I don't know how to deal with all of this by myself and my therapists won't deal with it right now.  They think it's too much for me to deal with it right now, that I don't have the skills to cope....but that's the point.  It IS too much for me RIGHT NOW.  I'm drowning in white water rapids all by myself.  I'm so tired and so sad and so fucked up and so tired of fucking up everything in my life.  I just want...a break, even for just an hour.  I just want to be able to breathe.  I want to be understood.  I want someone who knows what it's like to be jealous that your rapist is dead because you're in a park trying to drink him away and cut him out of you.

I just want to disappear.  Poof.  Gone.

The sad little parasite

Once upon a time there was a teenage girl that ran away from home and met a truck driver at a truck-stop in California.  A few months later, the universe mistakenly created a girl child despite every effort the couple put into preventing this type of thing from happening.  They looked everywhere for a doctor that could get rid of the teenager's parasite, but by the time they discovered the mistake it was legally too late to rectify it.  And so, a baby was born on October 28th, 198X.  A baby girl that nobody wanted.  The father took off long before the child arrived and the mother had moved back home to Arizona where people could care for her as she prepared for the arrival of evil.  The reluctant teenage mother held the still somewhat blue child after 17 hours of difficult labor and a breached birth.  The baby came out the wrong way, strangled by the very cord that gave it life.  She looked down at the baby.  It looked pretty normal, had all it's fingers and toes.  It wasn't a beauty queen, but it wasn't hideous either.  She looked down at this thing she created and just knew that there was something really wrong with it.  It was fucked up in a lot of ways.  It was not supposed to be sleeping in her arms.  This thing was going to be her parasite for the rest of her life.  She tried really hard to kill it.  She smoked a lot of crack and cigarettes when it was growing inside of her.  She forgot to feed it or change it's disgusting diapers.  The thing was always sick and dirty and crying for her attention.  She hated looking at it.  It grew more and more disgusting and sickly everyday.  Eventually the state came and took the baby away to give the mother a break from the thing.  The Child services decided they didn't want it either so they gave it back.  Then the mother gave it back to the state when she just couldn't tolerate it anymore.  The state took it back, but only for a little while before they had to give it back too.  It went on and on like that for 7 or 8 years.  Eventually the state just had to keep it.  The state tried really hard to find someone who could tolerate it, but it was a very difficult task.  Every home that they put it in said that they just didn't want it.

Eventually there was one home that said they would take it even though there was something seriously wrong with it.  These people kept it and fed it and loved it for 3 years.  It grew taller, gained weight, and it's health improved.  It was no longer so sickly.  They discovered that it had useful skills.  It could clean, and tell jokes, and draw, and play music.  It was entertaining, so they grew to like it.  The father realized that it also had other uses.  This parasite had body parts that he and other people would want.  The parasite's stepfather taught it how to make men feel good, but the foster father need it to know more.  He taught it many lessons even when the lessens had to be tough and painful.  It was the only way this parasite could learn anything.  You see, this parasite was kind of a whore and skillful at making father figures feel good.  It was the only thing this parasite was really good for.  It was the only thing this parasite was worth, so he used it up and damaged it beyond repair so no one else would ever want it.  Even with this useful purpose, it was still a parasite and it still sucked people dry.  This family tried really hard to keep the little fair skinned parasite, but eventually they just couldn't do it anymore, so they dropped it off at the hospital and never saw it again.

The parasite tried really hard to fix what was wrong with it, but no matter what she tried, it didn't work.  She came out wrong and it wasn't fixable.  For the next six years the parasite never lived anywhere longer than a few months, 7 months maximum.  Lots of families felt sorry for it and tried to take care of it.  They tried to love it despite all the warning stories people told them about it.  They couldn't believe that something that was so good at school, and art, and sports could really be a parasite, but once they realized what a fucked up piece of garbage it really was, they tossed it in the trashcan and waited for the garbage truck to come pick it up and take it away.

The parasite became good at wearing costumes.  It tried on quite a lot of them and some of them fit really nicely.  People liked the costumes.  People loved the costumes, but no matter how hard the parasite tried, it was just never good enough at staying in the costume that hide the fucked up parts.  It could never fool people for very long.  It could only wear the little costumes for a little while before the monster that it really was showed through.  Family after family told the parasite that they tried to love it, but it just wasn't possible.  It wasn't worth all the blood sucking chaos inside of it.  It was too weird.  It was too fucked up.  It was only good for fucking.  It was only good for it's body parts.  There would never be anything else about it that anyone could love for very long.

Eventually the parasite was old enough to live on her own and she was pretty good at it.  It even found some new costumes that fooled people, but it is still so lonely and sad and scared and damaged.  It wants to be normal.  It wants to be lovable.  It wants to be worth loving.  It wants to be part of something.  It wants a family.  It wants to be a good friend and good person, but you see, no matter how hard this parasite tries to be something else, something good, it is still nothing but a parasite and it still drains away any love or fondness anyone ever feels for it.  This parasite has nothing to offer people.  There is nothing about it that is worth anything.  No matter what this parasite tries, it is never going to have a family or friends that would ever want it after they found out what it really is, so the sad little parasite will just have to accept itself for what it is.  It is a mistake that came out the wrong way.  Even nature tried to get rid of it a few times.  The Earth doesn't want it either.  Right now the parasite is able to fool one person with a pretty good costume, but once it's girl friend sees what's under it, she'll throw it away too.  The parasite is still good at occasionally fooling a person now and again, so be ware and keep your distance because you do not want this fucked up thing anywhere near you.  The only hope for this disgusting fucked up, blood sucking parasite is that the universe will realize it's mistake and rectify it by putting it out of it's misery.  Eventually the parasite will be where it belongs, in a place that doesn't exist.

The end.

There are amazing people in this world

That I am so grateful to have found out exist.  I will never live up to what these amazing souls deserve and need and I'm so sorry some of you end up sucked into my world of fucked up destruction.  I suck everyone dry.  As my mother once called me, I am an emotional vampire.  I will take everything you have and no matter how much you promise you'll never do it, you'll always disappear.  I'm sorry if I've ever hurt you. That seems to be all I'll ever be good at-- hurting amazing people.  I am a fucking piece of shit that doesn't deserve the light of day and somehow I always attract these angelic people who want to save me.  I'm not savable or WORTH saving.  I deserve everything I have ever gotten and I do not deserve great people like you.  I will never deserve to have people like you and I will always disappoint and hurt you.  Always.  Maybe now, some of you will understand why I lived in so many fucking group homes and no one ever adopted me.  I am a piece of fucking garbage.  I should be in the trash.  Stop picking me out of it.  I deserve to feel like shit.  I deserve to suffer and I deserve to die.  I don't deserve the tears of innocent amazing people.  I deserve nothing.  Nothing will fix me.  You cannot fix me.  We all go eventually.  What's the big deal if some leave sooner than others?  Doesn't seem to make much difference to me.

I love all of you.  Thanks for the year and a half of readers/followers.  I appreciate all of you.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Dear blog world

That naively thinks I'm this innocent little victim in life....I'm a fucking piece of garbage.  That's all.  Not the garbage that can be recycled.  Not the garbage that decomposes and becomes something beautiful.  No...I am the kind of garbage that polutes our air and oceans and kills the poor creatures that decide to put it in their lives and bodies.  Apparently I'm the kind of garbage that sits in public parks, drinking vodka out of a water.bottle and slits her skin and watches it bubble and steadily drip on the sand.  don't worry I'm not far from home....not gonna drive.  I'm not that much of an asshole.  I don't need to kill anyone else in my young life. I think killing my baby sistter was enough.  
I'm sitting here watching and listening to my blood hit dirt, hoping someone bothers me so I can physically fight them.  Yep.  That's me.  Sweet little innocent Campbell... No wonder I have few friends and no family.  No wonder I can give someone a baby and they still take off.  No wonder not one family wanted me as a kid.  No fucking wonder people wanted to kill me.  No wonder no one ever stays in mhy life. Jesus, who the fuck would.want to???? I'm a waste of fucking precious oxygen.  I'm a waste of this crappy vodka I'm pouring down my mouth, in a plastic bottle that will pollute the earth when I'm done.  I'm just a fucking piece of garbage that should have died a loooooooooong time ago.  I'm sure you'd agree if you knew me.

Please god.....please make it stop.  Please god or whoever I can't anymore. Please end it soon, however you bsee fit, fast and painless, slow and severly painful. I don't care as long as it ends soon. If any of u think you can save me, please don't try. I'm not worth it. I will suck you dry. I am an emotional vampire. I am filth. I am shit. I am not worth whatever effort you have. I am not worth your time and I never will be. The only thing I can hope for are freak accidents or for.my body to decide its had enoght too. God knows my brain is tired.  


Showers taken today:  8
Hours without cutting:  20
Hours of sleep today:  4
Number of times I woke up screaming before I couldn't sleep anymore:  3
Hours spent hiding under my comforter today:  10
Panic attacks today:  3
Severe panic with dissociation:  several hours
Accomplishments today:  0
Number of child rapist foster dads who died today:  1

Attempting the opposite

Today my foster father has been dead for exactly 1 year.  I fucking hate myself so much right now.  I gave a friend all my razors tonight and am feeling panicked and wanting to bleed instead.  I really want to hurt myself so here's me doing the opposite of what I really want to be doing.

Something I did that wasn't fucked up:

I spent the majority of my senior year of high school sleeping on friend's couches, motels when I had the money to pay for them, and my car when I didn't.  The school nurse let me sleep on the bed in her office when I had nowhere else and it was too cold to sleep in my car.  I went to 7 high schools.  I graduated with honors and at the top 5% of my class.

With a 3.8GPA from Chapman University


If only any of that really matters or makes any difference in life, but it's all I've got so I ran with it.  Now I'm going to crawl back into my cave and pretend I don't exist.  

Monday, January 9, 2012

Klonopin and cutting

Why am I filled with so much self hatred? It feels like the more self-compassion I try to force on myself, the more I am consumed with self hatred. The more I try to care about myself the more I harm myself. The more I harm myself, the more I hate myself. The more I hate myself, the more I harm myself. I can't win.

Six months without cutting and all it took was a stupid movie to put the razorblades back in my hands. I didn't even realize I was doing it which makes it all so much crazier. I was really freaked out after the movie. It was a huge fight not to totally disappear into the land of pain and torture between my ears. I drank a lot of wine and took a lot of klonopin to calm down after trying everything else. My sobriety went away, but everything else stayed. Later I found myself sitting in the bathtub with the shower set at a slow sprinkle watching the streaky red whirlpools dance above the drain. I had cut myself pretty deeply many times and used my blood to write on myself. Do you know how fucked up it is to suddenly realize you've been in a shower slicing open you leg and using the blood to write degrading words all over your skin? I'm fucking insane!

We went over all of my symptoms in therapy last week for my insurance. By the time we were finished with my list, I felt like the DSM was my biography.

CT: What about cutting? How often are you doing that?
 Me: I hadn't since before I left Partial in July, but I did last night.
CT: We should talk about that.... blah blah blah.... That's so great that you've gone six months without cutting. That took a great deal of strength.
Me: Doesn't matter cuz I ruined it.
CT: It doesn't work like that. You relapsed, but that doesn't erase the six months you had without cutting.
Me: **Shrug**

But it does erase my six months without cutting. My scars were becoming pale and light and my nerve endings were starting to respond normally to touch, but now my legs are decorated with perfectly horizontal lines of pink, red, purple, blue, and black again and my urges are strong and constant. I was feeling kind of proud of myself for those six months. I know it's fucking sad and ridiculous to feel proud of myself for not cutting my skin with razorblades, but I was.

Why do I keep hurting myself? It seems like all I do is hurt myself. I hurt myself by subjecting myself to things that I know will hurt me, like watching that video of a judge beating his daughter, stalking my bio mother and brother on Facebook, reading old emails repeatedly knowing how they will make me feel. Physically hurting myself.  I've held onto the listing for Maggie and Tim's house since I went there over Thanksgiving weekend. I keep it in my sketch book, so it's pretty much with me at all times.  I also have a bunch of photos on my phone that I took while in the house that I keep looking at.  I've been spending a lot of time thinking about them--him.  I mean I often have flashbacks of him, but I try not to actually think about him too much.  The 10th is the day he died last year.  It's crazy to admit it but part of me is angry that he got to die peacefully while I'm alive and paying for his crimes.

I know there are going to be a lot of updates to his memorial pages about how wonderful he was.  The thing is, he was a good guy, so what is it about me that could change such a gentle person into the monster he was with me?  The sexual abuse is never the kids fault.  I know the mantra, and maybe if it were just Tim I could believe that in my case.  My life has been so over the top bizarre, has sucked so bad and I've been hurt so much often and by so many people that the cause of all that rage has got to be me.  There is something about me that makes people want to hurt me.  Something about me changes or at least brings out the worst in people and I hate myself for it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about how shitty I am.  I probably think about myself more than most people think about themselves, but I am always thinking about ways that I suck. CT keeps interrupting me in therapy to point out when I say something bad about myself. This makes therapy pretty fucking frustrating sometimes because we frequently don't get very far in discussions.  It makes me hate myself too. It seems like I just want to hate myself, except I desperately don't want to hate myself.  Hate is all my brain knows how to feel about me. I often joke with some of my friends by saying "Cuz I'm awesome!" As the answer to any question they ask. It's always a joke, but a friend I met in my therapy program keeps responding, "You are awesome, you know?" Which freaks me out and then I feel bad. Everything makes me feel bad about myself, and when things should make me feel good, I start thinking of reasons why I should feel like shit. It's like the idea of not feeling like a piece of rotten, damaged, used up, filthy infested piece of garbage scares the crap out of me.

Tonight has been another night of self hatred, klonopin, and cutting.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

A video for foster kids by a foster kid

This video is for all the foster kids out there looking for home and family and for all of you who can make a difference in their lives.
Watch Nobody's Child in People & Blogs | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

Friday, January 6, 2012

How do I forgive her?

My whole life I've felt like I am damaged goods, like the junk thrown on shelves and marked as clearance because they are broken and no one is going to want them unless they can use them for a different purpose.  And, in a way, that's true.  No wants an abused and damaged older child when they can get a fresh, brand new baby that hasn't been broken yet.  The few people who tried to take me and fix the broken pieces never could and usually when you break something and can't put it back together you throw it away.  I get it.  It makes sense to me.  It just doesn't feel very good.

So I try not to let the people see the broken, other than my blog and my therapists.  Even with my therapists I hold a lot back.  The first time I had a flashback in therapy (right before Thanksgiving) I freaked out and told my therapist that I didn't want to see her anymore.  I assumed she was going to dump me after seeing how screwed up I really am so I tried to dump her first. Whenever I think someone thinks negatively of me or that I've upset them or that the relationship is in trouble, or that I might be dumped I run around in a panic not knowing what to do.  I'm so panicked that there are no real rational thoughts.  Basically I no longer have the ability to think.  I'm all impulse and the impulse is to just turn off the source of my anxiety--people.  I either lash out so that people will leave or I give them a list of reasons to leave and ignore them.  I always feel like such an asshole when I've calmed down and can see things more clearly.

This last week has been so intense for me.  The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movie was hard for me, but I was already feeling pretty bad before that.  The next couple of weeks mark anniversaries of the loss of two significant people in my life.  But I don't want them to share a blog entry so I'm only going to write about Tim.

Tim died in January.  Since that fucking movie I've been obsessively reading and rereading all these tribute pages to him.  I hate him.  I freaking hate him, but there is this little part of me that still misses him.  I want all these people who call him a "gentle loving soul" to know what he was to me.  I want them to know who he really was, but then I can't do that.  That would only hurt the people who loved him.  It's not their fault he did what he did.  I can't sleep because the minute I close my eyes my brain thinks about him.  I have these strange dreams where I am him and I'm hurting other children and then I wake up and need to vomit.

I walk around very calm and quiet but on the inside I'm running around like I'm barefoot and stuck on a path of glass and hot coal.  I have so many feelings, so many mixed feelings, all just as intense as the next.  Many of them are contradictions and many of them make me hate myself.  I'm flooded with these fucking intense and insane and irrational feelings.  I'm flooded with so much hate for myself.  Why am I able to find ways to feel compassionate for a man who violently and repeatedly raped a tiny little girl and damaged her for life, but I am totally incapable of finding compassion for myself?

I try so hard to think of or remember myself as an innocent vulnerable little girl, but when I look back I don't really feel like I was ever a little girl or ever innocent.  It's like I can't disconnect the adult I am today from the child I was back then.  I'm supposed to feel compassionate towards that little girl, but I feel like she never existed.  I feel so much disgust for myself today because of what happened to me, and I keep trying to use the phrase, "what happened to me," instead of "the fucked up things" that happened or I did.  I use the other phrase a lot too.

I feel compassion towards my childhood rapist.  I give him all the compassion and take all the blame.  I give all the blame to that tiny 9 year old little girl who was still slightly under 4 feet tall and 65 pounds.  I want to look back and see that little girl, but I just look back and see me.  I look back and see how I've always felt about myself or all the things I've been told I am.  I look back and remember how she felt about herself, so that's how I see her too.  I can't see an innocent little girl.  I just see a fucked up piece of garbage that screwed up everything in my life.  I look back and I hear all the names people used to call me.  I look back and see all the people who didn't want her.  I look back and hate her for how I feel today.  I hate her because she's eating me alive today.  I think of her and I feel so much rage and helplessness.  Sometimes I beg her to go away.  I feel so much compassion for all the adults in my life that abused and abandoned me as a child, but so much hatred for that child I used to be.  It's backwards and fucked up.  How do I forgive her?

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

But I have so many secrets

My whole life has been secrets.  So many secrets, so many lies, so many bandaids, so many costumes.  I carry them in ten gallon buckets balanced carefully on my shoulders.  I cautiously watch each step to make sure nothing spills as I move around.   

194 posts so far.  Posts with really honest, raw, scary secrets.  This year...er last year, I have started sharing secrets with a few people in real life, mostly therapists and doctors and blog friends.  But I have so many painful secrets that scare people away.

Monday, January 2, 2012