Monday, January 9, 2012
Klonopin and cutting
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.
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.