constant craving…

i almost cut today.
i got out my box. lifted the lid on the intruments i have missed so much.
that tin smells of blood.
i like it
i selected a scalpel handle & fitted a sharp new blade.
i spread a towel for the much anticipated blood.
i took my time finding the perfect spot.
somewhere soft & inviting.
a patch of skin eager to submit.
i sterilised my skin
and
sat there for hours.

i wanted to make that cut almost as much i wanted to be alive.

opening that box felt like coming home.
breathing in the aroma
feeling that scalpel in my hand
i was back where i belonged.

the thought of that first incision
the crimson emerging,
slowly sliding down my arm.

my heart is racing now at the thought

i want it.

i want blood
&
gore
&
pain
&
scars

i want stitches
and staples.
nerve damage
and infections.

i crave it so badly that i can hardly breathe.

i nearly cut today,but i knew if i started
i wouldn’t be able to stop.

i thought about the life that might be possible
and of all the people i’d be letting down.
i thought of athena
and
i put that box away.

i’ll stand in front of you, take the force of the blow

i am currently enduring EMDR.
it’s a therapy designed to reprocess thought & feelings relating to a traumatic experiences.
it basically involves repeatedly revisiting the event. focusing on specific aspects & the feelings they evoke with the desired income of making them less painful.
i was aware hard. i am forcing myself to examine a period of my life that i have been avoiding for 14 years. these memories have never been safe ground for me.
stirring up things that i have purposely supressed for my entire adult life is terrifying.
the sessions themselves are emtional and exhausting. inbetween sessions has become a type of hell.
i’ve been having nightmares. well, some of them are nightmares. others are just dreams about that period. neither are welcome. i’m scared to sleep,which only makes everything else worse.
worse than the nightmares are the flashbacks, awful memories that i get trapped in. images of the worst moments of my life. i cant explain how frightening it is to be back there.
i don’t know how to cope with either of these developments.
the urge is cut is so intense. i see graphic images in my head. i feel the need to hurt.
to be disfigured
and
damaged.
perhaps a reflection of how i view myself.
i am making a little progress. i am beginning to develop some compassion for my younger self. i am able to acknowledge that at 19 years old, i was unprepared for the series of events that occured. i feel a little less angry with the young me.
i’m yet to feel less to blame, just that maybe there were mitgating circumstances.
it’s a slow, excruciating process, but i determined to see it through.
i’m hoping that i will finally be able to deal with the trauma and move on.

everybody’s talking at me…..

this morning i got on a bus.
i paid my fare
smiled politely at the other passengers
sat down quietly.

i wasn’t in anyone’s way
i wasn’t rude
or
loud
i was just minding my own business, getting to where i needed to be.

apparantly,
my mere person was offensive.
my exposed arms
somehow enough to warrant censure.

a complete stranger took issue with my scars.

i was aware of her noticing & staring at my arms,
i’ve grown used to this sort of behaviour
& tried to dismiss her rudeness.
but
the stares became glares
and
she was visibly annoyed.
i felt uncomfortable, but was able to zone her out.

alas, she felt compelled to express her judgement
as i walked past her to leave the bus,
she hissed that i should be ashamed of myself.

i reacted by asking her if she was ashamed of being a cunt.

this is how i usually respond to such comments.
i make an angry, sometimes comic retort
&
quickly get on my way

i don’t want these people to know how much they hurt me
or
how the shake my confidence.

most of all,
i never want them to be aware
of just how ashamed i am

i’ll never know why my personal struggle anger others
or
why strangers believe that my body is their business.
i do know that shame is a common theme. they want me to cowed
&
hiding
&
sorry.

i hope one day i will be unconcerned by these encounters
today is not that day
i came home & stayed home.
i doubt i’ll go out tomorrow either.

because shame & guilt are what make my world go around.
i don’t need the negative reinforcement.

adventures in dating, part 1

i’m 32, i’m single & childless.
i am not thrilled with these fact.
which leads me to every single girl’s saviour,
internet dating.

you have to be willing to invest some time.
you have to have a thick skin & be unafraid to block.
a good bullshit detector is required.
men lie.
a few extra pounds always means obese
5ft 10 often equates to somewhere under 5’5
men will message you for the sole purpose of telling what they don’t like about you.
some will drop you a line to request a picture of your tits, i wonder how often that works ?
you have to plough through the thousands of medicore, looking for some to watch a movie & share some wine with profiles.
patience & perservence are essential, but, if you hang in there, if you retain your sense humour and maintain you self esteem,
you might just find a sweet, intelligent, slightly odd man.
or two…….

i don’t believe in fear, i don’t believe in pain…

i haven’t written much about my physical health problems
i don’t know why
increasingly the physical is as debilitating as the mental health problems.

today has been a black hole of pain
the maximum dose of painkillers has little impact.
i’m not experiencing the worst pain i’ve known
but
it’s constant
day after day

simple tasks have become mammoth jobs
moving hurts
eating hurts
i can’t concentrate on anything long enough for it to offer distraction
the pain makes it hard to sleep
and
wakes me when i do manage to drift off

it grinds me down
i feel trapped both in my home
and
in my body

my stomach is a firey ball
my chest aches
the nerve damage in my arm is causing excruciating shooting pains
and the limb feels like dead weight
it goes weak at random intervals
meaning i drop, sometimes, dangerous items

i’m afraid of the pain
terrified
i plead with god to make it stop

i’m more frightening of the consequences of my pain
i want to work
i want to rejoin society
i am working so hard to resolve my mental ill health
if my physical ailments can’t be managed
it may all be in vain
i worry that no one will ever employ me

i am missing my life.
i am tired of saying no
because i’m sore
or sick
or in fear.

for now
i’m just hoping tomorrow is a good day.

i hurt myself today…

i haven’t cut in 175 days.
i couldn’t say with complete confidence that it’s a good thing.
the last few weeks have been bad.
i feel as though i’ve taken a thousand steps back.
i am so lost
and
scared
and
desperate to hurt myself.

the self imposed ban on cutting was supposed to improve my life
i was told i’d despise myself less
i would discover i had some worth
the need to destroy myself would disapate.

bullshit

last night i beat my hand with a marble pestle
i’m fairly certain i’ve broken some bones
but
i can’t stop
i watch it puff
&
swell
&
bruise

i finally win a little peace

i can escape from the fear
there has been so much fear.

someone knocks my door
& i find myself hiding in the office
heart racing
hands sweating
terrified

of what, i have no idea.

the fear doesn’t actually need a trigger.
i wake up afraid
scared of having to get through another day

there are so many days
most with no purpose
no joy
no meaning

pain has meaning
inflicting pain upon myself is natural
it’s right

so, i haven’t cut in 175 days
but
i’ve hit myself with a hammer
torn off toenails
pierced my flesh with needles
pressed salt & ice in my skin until it blisters
broken finger bones….
the list will go on
i will always find new ways

” i cherish the revolting thought,
that even i quit,
there’s not a chance in hell i’d stop “

life is what happens to you whilst you’re busy making other plans…..

sometimes, i’ll be in a shop and i see something she’d like
and
i forget.
just for minute, then, i remember
and i’m that crazy lady who crys in public.

every call reminds me of how much she is growing
changing
experiencing
without me

i am missing too much

so much happens everyday
in her life
and
her head

i used to know all her whims
her favourites
who cried at nursery
which toy she wanted most in the bath

the little details that make up her world

now, i’m constantly playing catch up
she talks about kids i don’t know
goes places i’ve never been.
i’m missing all the background detail.

facetime & skype make it easier
but
it’s not enough

i want to tickle her
make her cereal in the morning
see all the new things she learns
because she learns new things everyday

new words pop up in her vocabularly
her accent is changing
her hair is so long
i want to put it into bunches
and
side ponies
and
play with her curls

i want to be there from the moment she opens her eyes
until she closes them again
i want all the nonsense inbetween.

i miss my muffin.