Monday, February 20, 2012


I'm really tired.  I passed out in my car last night, starring at my photos and covered in blood.  I had two glasses of wine.  One at 7pm and one around 11, but those glasses of wine were accompanied by NyQuil, Tylenol PM, and my klonipin.  I can't really describe what it's like to be so tired but so awake.  There is nothing I want more but to sleep, but my body just refuses.  Since last night I've consumed an entire bottle of NyQuil, quite a few sleeping pills and my own medications.  I'm sure my liver is near death.

I've been trying to keep myself occupied so that I don't end up looking at the photos and cutting.  I tried drawing and other crafty things.  I tried cleaning, but ran out of paper towels and I do not want to enter society today.

Someone wrote me an email telling me that one of my biggest problems is that I don't see any of the positive things life has given me.  That's probably true.  I realize that I am a lot better off than a lot of people.  I guess I'm too self obsessed to see the good around me.  I'm so consumed by the negative.  You're right.  Maggie tells me that all I have to do is think of things that make me happy when I feel bad.  I've tried to do that.  I really have, but the bad consumes all of my energy.  Maybe I just don't know how to be happy.  Maybe I don't want to be.  I don't know what the problem is.

I'm laying in my bed, with my frozen toes in the air, writing this blog entry in hopes that it will be more productive than cutting myself.  I've gone a little nuts with the cutting.  I've been pretty good about not going too deep.  Nothing has needed stitches.  They are all really minor cuts.  Using really thin razor blades helps with that.  When you cut with something super thin, it heals faster for some reason.

I feel so lonely in the world.  I know there are people in my life who would be there for me if I asked, but I just feel so... I don't know.  I guess I feel like no one gets it.  No one understands what it's like to be such a fuck up.  No one knows what it's like to be your own nightmare.  If people really knew the things that are in my head, the things I hide, the horrible, disgusting, fucked up secrets I carry around, they'd hate me.  So I keep those secrets inside my head.  I don't tell anyone.  They shift and roll around my brain like bunch of marbles on a city bus.  And because of them, I will always be alone.  I will never have a real connection with someone else.  I deserve to be alone anyway.

I am alone with these photos.  These are one of my really shameful secrets.  It was a big secret when it was happening.  My brain kept the photos a secret from me, but the photos have been around for a very long time.  The photos are out there forever.  I can't share the photos with anyone, but somehow I'm supposed to be able to sit down with officers who have the photos and describe each one.  Why do I have to do that?  Why can't they describe them?  I told Officer Good that I'll give them the information that they need to help other children, but I don't really want to pursue it if there isn't.  I don't see the point.

My world is a very dark place, a very dark, lonely place.  I used to be locked in little dark closets for hours or days, terrified about the spiders or monsters that I couldn't see, terrified about the things I couldn't see coming.  Not a whole lot is changed.  I'm still locked in those closets.  I'm still terrified about the things I cannot see coming next.

I'm exhausted.