I cut my arm very badly last night. It started bleeding in gym today... we were playing volleyball. The good thing is the laxatives were out of me so I wasn't crawling around like an idiot like I was last Thursday.
It's very deep and will leave a bad scar, identical to the one on my opposite arm that I did about a year ago at this time. I usually don't cut on my arms much because it's so exposed... I guess this time a part of me wanted people to see. Nobody will know what it's from of course, but I'll know, and there is this danger, this adrenaline rush, in literally wearing one of your deepest secrets on your sleeve... or rather arm.
I'm trying to understand why I cut most when I'm feeling like a failure and when I'm feeling very proud. It may have to do with the masochism, the pleasure being entertwined with pain thing, it may, as my therapist said, have to do with conditioned responses. I don't know; all I know is that I don't cut when I'm really mad anymore, which is good, and I don't feel really mad all the time anymore.
Well, there will always be these scars all over me to remind me of my adolescence. I figure the boy that I marry and that loves me is obviously not the guy for me if he cares about my scars. Maybe they'll be faded by then anyhow. Well I suppose I'll have to quit cutting before they fade... I'm working on it.
I'm really worried about NFL's this weekend, because it's double elimination... meaning as soon as you lose two debates, you're out, there's no minimum amount of debates... if you lose the first two, you're out. If you lose your first one, you're in until you lose another one. It's going to be really nerve-racking, and I'm actually tempted to wimp out and not go at all, but that would be being a coward and I do that too often to do it again now. I've realized that although not taking chances does save me from failure and humiliation, it also eliminates the possibility of success and glory. I don't know. It's a cosmic balance. Is it worth it? Is anything worth it? Is life worth it?
Well I need to go do my mountains of homework before my cello lesson in two hours. We have SO much math homework every night, and we're reading this really tedious book on Native Americans for English. It's not really that bad of a book, but it's full of names like "Kills-close-to-the-lake" that I can't keep track of, so I haven't been able to read it quickly.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Hypocrisy and the woes of being a girl
I was at church today, and Dana and I were talking about this girl we know at school, and apparently she's been talking a lot to Dana, and she cuts now.
"Yeah," I said even as my own watch slipped, revealing to me the slash across my wrist, "You'd better get her help."
And I'm wondering... is hypocrisy just as great of a sin if you know and accept it as it is if you are ignorant?
I really feel like cutting now, and I think I will. Like I told Terry, the times I do cut, I don't think about it, it's just a compulsion, and I obey it because I have to. Then again, Amanda would argue that I don't really have to, that I still have control. And I know that up until the time I do it, it doesn't have to happen. Just like up until the time I swallowed those laxatives this afternoon, I could have stopped it, and now I may pay dearly for it if they don't go through my system before gym tomorrow.
So I really have some bad cramps right now and they hurt... not from the laxatives, just from being a girl.
One of the great conundrums of life: why the heck do they wrap pads in really loud, crinkly wrappers? That's just about discreet in a crowded bathroom as setting off an atomic bomb. It's so stupid. Tampons are way quiter... why can't they just change the wrappers on pads? Just a few of the things I hate about being a girl...
You know I've realized I never really get PMS. I'm not sure why, because I used to, back in like seventh and eigth grade right after I first got my period. But now I know my body really well, and know exactly when to expect it, but not because of my mood, just because it comes at regular intervals. I guess I should just be glad I don't get it. As for cramps, I still get those obviously, but only occasionally really bad ones, and I'm always too embarrassed to ask my mom to buy me some Midol or something. Let me tell you though it sucks to have to like run in gym when you have them.
I hate my body. I'd be so much more comfortable and confident in myself if I could just exist as some mass of spirit, without the flesh. But I guess I'm stuck with it, scars, fat and all.
As for the debate of who has it easier, guys or girls, I definitely vote for guys. What's a few embarrassing dreams and such compared to pain and having your period every month?
"Yeah," I said even as my own watch slipped, revealing to me the slash across my wrist, "You'd better get her help."
And I'm wondering... is hypocrisy just as great of a sin if you know and accept it as it is if you are ignorant?
I really feel like cutting now, and I think I will. Like I told Terry, the times I do cut, I don't think about it, it's just a compulsion, and I obey it because I have to. Then again, Amanda would argue that I don't really have to, that I still have control. And I know that up until the time I do it, it doesn't have to happen. Just like up until the time I swallowed those laxatives this afternoon, I could have stopped it, and now I may pay dearly for it if they don't go through my system before gym tomorrow.
So I really have some bad cramps right now and they hurt... not from the laxatives, just from being a girl.
One of the great conundrums of life: why the heck do they wrap pads in really loud, crinkly wrappers? That's just about discreet in a crowded bathroom as setting off an atomic bomb. It's so stupid. Tampons are way quiter... why can't they just change the wrappers on pads? Just a few of the things I hate about being a girl...
You know I've realized I never really get PMS. I'm not sure why, because I used to, back in like seventh and eigth grade right after I first got my period. But now I know my body really well, and know exactly when to expect it, but not because of my mood, just because it comes at regular intervals. I guess I should just be glad I don't get it. As for cramps, I still get those obviously, but only occasionally really bad ones, and I'm always too embarrassed to ask my mom to buy me some Midol or something. Let me tell you though it sucks to have to like run in gym when you have them.
I hate my body. I'd be so much more comfortable and confident in myself if I could just exist as some mass of spirit, without the flesh. But I guess I'm stuck with it, scars, fat and all.
As for the debate of who has it easier, guys or girls, I definitely vote for guys. What's a few embarrassing dreams and such compared to pain and having your period every month?
Saturday, January 29, 2005
I'm in LOVE!!
I AM IN LOVE WITH AN AMAZING GUY AND HE IS IN LOVE WITH ME!!!!!
The true joy of being in love, of having a healthy relationship, is beginning to hit me. I was talking to my therapist yesterday about it, and about everything. Of course, it would be easier for me to, instead of hearing that I am beautiful and brilliant, hear that I am a b*tch and a whore. It would be so much easier for me to, instead of being kissed, be hit. But remarkably, I am in a healthy relationship, and I have done something amazing for myself by allowing myself to love Matt and trust him.
"This boy must be amazing," Terry, my therapist said, "because you don't trust or love people very easily." And it began occurring to me, how lucky I am, how wonderful Matt is, how amazing it is that he is waiting four months just to kiss me again, because he loves me and can't imagine going out with anyone else after dating me.
Terry said, sure it's going to be hard, sure it's not the easy thing. But it's going to be so good for you. And she's right. It is good for me, and it is amazing that I have gotten to the point where I am capable of maintaining this sort of relationship. I think that by my birthday in May, I will be able to kiss him, and feel the true pleasure of love, and sensuality, and see that it is not carnal or ugly. In the month since I started this blog I have already completely changed my views about love, just from loving Matt, and allowing myself to be loved in return.
And I was talking to Brittany today, and I said, "He's the only boy in the whole school I'd really want to go out with." And it's true. Most guys just aren't appealing to me at all. They're immature and stupid, even my friends that are guys, and I'd never date them. But Matt... he's amazing. He's SO freaking amazing and so perfect for me. And I LOVE HIM!!!!!!!!!
And it feels amazing, being in love, for the first time.
The true joy of being in love, of having a healthy relationship, is beginning to hit me. I was talking to my therapist yesterday about it, and about everything. Of course, it would be easier for me to, instead of hearing that I am beautiful and brilliant, hear that I am a b*tch and a whore. It would be so much easier for me to, instead of being kissed, be hit. But remarkably, I am in a healthy relationship, and I have done something amazing for myself by allowing myself to love Matt and trust him.
"This boy must be amazing," Terry, my therapist said, "because you don't trust or love people very easily." And it began occurring to me, how lucky I am, how wonderful Matt is, how amazing it is that he is waiting four months just to kiss me again, because he loves me and can't imagine going out with anyone else after dating me.
Terry said, sure it's going to be hard, sure it's not the easy thing. But it's going to be so good for you. And she's right. It is good for me, and it is amazing that I have gotten to the point where I am capable of maintaining this sort of relationship. I think that by my birthday in May, I will be able to kiss him, and feel the true pleasure of love, and sensuality, and see that it is not carnal or ugly. In the month since I started this blog I have already completely changed my views about love, just from loving Matt, and allowing myself to be loved in return.
And I was talking to Brittany today, and I said, "He's the only boy in the whole school I'd really want to go out with." And it's true. Most guys just aren't appealing to me at all. They're immature and stupid, even my friends that are guys, and I'd never date them. But Matt... he's amazing. He's SO freaking amazing and so perfect for me. And I LOVE HIM!!!!!!!!!
And it feels amazing, being in love, for the first time.
Success
At about midnight last night I woke up and realized that when I sat down from my speech when I ran out of time, my watch said I still had a minute left. Basically, my opponant set his timer for a minute shorter than what I really got. Which is why I was so confused and why I thought I was running out of time, and why I was so flustered for the rest of the debate. I don't believe he did it on purpose, but still it is unfair. I talked to a few people about it though, and they said some very true things. Amanda said being pissed off isn't going to change anything, and that's right. By this morning it was already too late to do anything about it. Brittany said it simply... "shit happens", or in my little Mormon world, "crap" happens. (I need to cut down on the swearing I do in this blog. I never swear verbally, so I shouldn't swear in type either). Kristin probably put it best though.
"The fundamental difference between debate and all those other sports is that in basketball, you make a basket and you get a point. But in debate, arguments that seem logical and good to some judges may seen nonsical and bad to others. Flow judges judge on different things than lay judges. People think debate is objective but it's not, and it's never really fair."
Anyway, I'm okay with it now, that I lost because of that. Crap happens, people make mistakes, and everyone has an off round.
As for the rest of the tournament, I, for once, can say I had a good tournament and I'm proud of myself. I didn't the best win-loss record, I won two and lost two, and I didn't break, even to octafinals, but there were about 50 LD-ers there. I had to cope with the fact that Brittany broke and I didn't (although she went down in octs). So it wasn't, on the surface, any different than the last tournament.
But if you look past that, as I have, and think about the things that really matter... Last night I debated the best two rounds of my debating career. I did an awesome job. I hit two very daunting opponants, a girl I had lost to in the past, and a girl who has been consistently breaking. But I didn't let that fear get to me like I usually do. I went into my first round with an attitude I rarely have. I was self-confident, I was smooth, I was in control. I had that aura I've been struggling for. Same thing for second round. And my debating was at its best. I did my true best in those two rounds, and I won one of them. I beat a person I never thought I could beat, because I am starting to develop that assertiveness and excellent speaking skills (my speaker points are always very high). My round this morning was easy, and I won, and I had that same control although it wasn't as exciting of a round.
So, ultimately, rather than being disappointed, I am proud of myself. I am frusterated with my round last night in which those unfair things happened, and know I could have won if they hadn't, and that I would have broken if I'd won, but crap happens, life goes on, and discluding that debate and its unfairness, I had an awesome tournament.
I think I'm getting somewhere with this self-actualization thing, because I could have never been proud of going 2-2 even a few weeks ago. I'm just beginning to realize that your record doesn't really reflect your ability, that debate truly isn't objective.
For example, the girl who has won every tournament all year and has been undefeated except for one or two freak debates went down in octafinals today. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that she is still the best LD debater in the state. But that didn't make it any easier for her. She cried. She felt horrible I'm sure. Her senior year, she's had an amazing season, and the tournament where she wants it the most, she goes down.
That's how it is with debate though, and I'm beginning to realize that judges aren't perfect, people make mistakes, everyone has a bad round, sometimes people are unlucky, and generally, life goes on. Going 2-2 and getting somewhere around 20th doesn't make me the 20th best debater in the state. I know that if I can perfect that control I had the beginnings of at this tournament, I can beat anyone. And I know that my senior year, Brittany and I are going to rock LD debate.
I know that I am good at debate. And I don't need a judge to tell me this. And even if a judge doesn't agree with this, I still know it in my heart. That's all that matters, I suppose in the end, and that's all that Amanda has been trying to tell me all along. Maybe I haven't won any tournaments this year, but that doesn't change the fact that in ideal circumstances, I could have easily beat all of them.
I think that realizing this is an important step for me, and I think that it's what people have been telling me for years. Success is great, and nice, but especially in LD, it doesn't mean you're the best or that you should have won, and the same is true for failure: it doesn't mean you're not good, or that you should have lost. Everything is crazy and thrown up in the air and so much is based on luck and, in the end, the judge's personal opinions.
Last week at Powell Brittany and I wrote this pledge and everyone signed it:
End the Abuse (The Pledge of Self-Actualization):
We, the people of Amand and Shea's debate teams, make this pledge to end the abusive relationship between judge and debater. We will no longer give the judges the power of altering our self-confidence. We will remain assertive and sure of our abilities despite the ballot outcome. We assume the right to believe that judge decisions are not always grounded in pragmatism, reality, or technical aspects. We, the people, refuse to concede to the tyranny of mediocrity. WE WILL NEVER TALK PRETTY TO WIN.
Ammendment 1: 0-5, 1-4, and 2-3 tournaments do not mean the world is ending. THEY MEAN THE JUDGES DON'T KNOW WHAT THE H*LL THEY'RE DOING.
I got this pledge out today when I was feeling defeated, and like a failure, and I read through it, and I realized it's true, and it will always be true, and it's the only constant thing about debate: that things aren't always fair, or correct, or right. People aren't constant and judges aren't constant and judging isn't constant and that is why debate will never be constant.
I felt, today, like a failure for a little while. But then I sat down and I told myself, I can look at this tournament as an opportunity to grow for next weeks NFL's, or I can look at it as a failure. And I thought about how I'd improved, and how I was able to have that aura I've been trying to get, and I realized, I'm not a failure. I make mistakes, I have my off-days, I get flustered and sometimes I'm not self-confident. But I am an awesome LD debater, one of the best in the state, and no one and nothing can ever change that but me.
Also, this is entertaining, I was sitting by Matt and Brittany at the awards ceremony, and they were talking about appreciating your judges and coaches and such, and how everything was posted on time (everything was, it was a very good tournament), and then they said, there's no lost and found except for these shoes left at the last tournament. And they held up my fifty dollar shoes I thought I'd lost! Wow I don't think I've ever been more excited. I said, "Those are mine!" but it wasn't loud enough, so I yelled, "THOSE ARE MINE!" but it still wasn't loud enough, and the lady, Virginia, started walking off stage, so I jumped up and yelled while frantically waving my arms, "THOSE ARE MINE!!!!!" and the whole auditoreum, the whole state of speech and debaters, laughed at me and I turned a true shade of red as I went up to get them. But boy am I happy- I debated this whole tournament in my fuzzy slipper socks and my Ugh (or however you spell that) boots.
So, life and things and happenings do work out okay, in the end, I suppose. Matt said, "it's like that feeling you get when you're having a horrible dream and you wake up, and realize it's not real", because last week I told him that was the best feeling in the world.
It it did feel like that. And it was.
And I'm very proud of myself because I could have emotionally fell apart again at this tournament (although I am medicated so it's easier), but I chose to look at it as a learning experience, and as a result, I can say happily, it was an awesome tournament.
It would be nice though, someday, to win something, something big. I've never done that. I think it would be a nice feeling.
"The fundamental difference between debate and all those other sports is that in basketball, you make a basket and you get a point. But in debate, arguments that seem logical and good to some judges may seen nonsical and bad to others. Flow judges judge on different things than lay judges. People think debate is objective but it's not, and it's never really fair."
Anyway, I'm okay with it now, that I lost because of that. Crap happens, people make mistakes, and everyone has an off round.
As for the rest of the tournament, I, for once, can say I had a good tournament and I'm proud of myself. I didn't the best win-loss record, I won two and lost two, and I didn't break, even to octafinals, but there were about 50 LD-ers there. I had to cope with the fact that Brittany broke and I didn't (although she went down in octs). So it wasn't, on the surface, any different than the last tournament.
But if you look past that, as I have, and think about the things that really matter... Last night I debated the best two rounds of my debating career. I did an awesome job. I hit two very daunting opponants, a girl I had lost to in the past, and a girl who has been consistently breaking. But I didn't let that fear get to me like I usually do. I went into my first round with an attitude I rarely have. I was self-confident, I was smooth, I was in control. I had that aura I've been struggling for. Same thing for second round. And my debating was at its best. I did my true best in those two rounds, and I won one of them. I beat a person I never thought I could beat, because I am starting to develop that assertiveness and excellent speaking skills (my speaker points are always very high). My round this morning was easy, and I won, and I had that same control although it wasn't as exciting of a round.
So, ultimately, rather than being disappointed, I am proud of myself. I am frusterated with my round last night in which those unfair things happened, and know I could have won if they hadn't, and that I would have broken if I'd won, but crap happens, life goes on, and discluding that debate and its unfairness, I had an awesome tournament.
I think I'm getting somewhere with this self-actualization thing, because I could have never been proud of going 2-2 even a few weeks ago. I'm just beginning to realize that your record doesn't really reflect your ability, that debate truly isn't objective.
For example, the girl who has won every tournament all year and has been undefeated except for one or two freak debates went down in octafinals today. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that she is still the best LD debater in the state. But that didn't make it any easier for her. She cried. She felt horrible I'm sure. Her senior year, she's had an amazing season, and the tournament where she wants it the most, she goes down.
That's how it is with debate though, and I'm beginning to realize that judges aren't perfect, people make mistakes, everyone has a bad round, sometimes people are unlucky, and generally, life goes on. Going 2-2 and getting somewhere around 20th doesn't make me the 20th best debater in the state. I know that if I can perfect that control I had the beginnings of at this tournament, I can beat anyone. And I know that my senior year, Brittany and I are going to rock LD debate.
I know that I am good at debate. And I don't need a judge to tell me this. And even if a judge doesn't agree with this, I still know it in my heart. That's all that matters, I suppose in the end, and that's all that Amanda has been trying to tell me all along. Maybe I haven't won any tournaments this year, but that doesn't change the fact that in ideal circumstances, I could have easily beat all of them.
I think that realizing this is an important step for me, and I think that it's what people have been telling me for years. Success is great, and nice, but especially in LD, it doesn't mean you're the best or that you should have won, and the same is true for failure: it doesn't mean you're not good, or that you should have lost. Everything is crazy and thrown up in the air and so much is based on luck and, in the end, the judge's personal opinions.
Last week at Powell Brittany and I wrote this pledge and everyone signed it:
End the Abuse (The Pledge of Self-Actualization):
We, the people of Amand and Shea's debate teams, make this pledge to end the abusive relationship between judge and debater. We will no longer give the judges the power of altering our self-confidence. We will remain assertive and sure of our abilities despite the ballot outcome. We assume the right to believe that judge decisions are not always grounded in pragmatism, reality, or technical aspects. We, the people, refuse to concede to the tyranny of mediocrity. WE WILL NEVER TALK PRETTY TO WIN.
Ammendment 1: 0-5, 1-4, and 2-3 tournaments do not mean the world is ending. THEY MEAN THE JUDGES DON'T KNOW WHAT THE H*LL THEY'RE DOING.
I got this pledge out today when I was feeling defeated, and like a failure, and I read through it, and I realized it's true, and it will always be true, and it's the only constant thing about debate: that things aren't always fair, or correct, or right. People aren't constant and judges aren't constant and judging isn't constant and that is why debate will never be constant.
I felt, today, like a failure for a little while. But then I sat down and I told myself, I can look at this tournament as an opportunity to grow for next weeks NFL's, or I can look at it as a failure. And I thought about how I'd improved, and how I was able to have that aura I've been trying to get, and I realized, I'm not a failure. I make mistakes, I have my off-days, I get flustered and sometimes I'm not self-confident. But I am an awesome LD debater, one of the best in the state, and no one and nothing can ever change that but me.
Also, this is entertaining, I was sitting by Matt and Brittany at the awards ceremony, and they were talking about appreciating your judges and coaches and such, and how everything was posted on time (everything was, it was a very good tournament), and then they said, there's no lost and found except for these shoes left at the last tournament. And they held up my fifty dollar shoes I thought I'd lost! Wow I don't think I've ever been more excited. I said, "Those are mine!" but it wasn't loud enough, so I yelled, "THOSE ARE MINE!" but it still wasn't loud enough, and the lady, Virginia, started walking off stage, so I jumped up and yelled while frantically waving my arms, "THOSE ARE MINE!!!!!" and the whole auditoreum, the whole state of speech and debaters, laughed at me and I turned a true shade of red as I went up to get them. But boy am I happy- I debated this whole tournament in my fuzzy slipper socks and my Ugh (or however you spell that) boots.
So, life and things and happenings do work out okay, in the end, I suppose. Matt said, "it's like that feeling you get when you're having a horrible dream and you wake up, and realize it's not real", because last week I told him that was the best feeling in the world.
It it did feel like that. And it was.
And I'm very proud of myself because I could have emotionally fell apart again at this tournament (although I am medicated so it's easier), but I chose to look at it as a learning experience, and as a result, I can say happily, it was an awesome tournament.
It would be nice though, someday, to win something, something big. I've never done that. I think it would be a nice feeling.
Friday, January 28, 2005
struggling (again) to cope with failure
My first two rounds went very well, but then my third round I was really out of it and essentially did a horrible, embarrassing horrible job. I ran out of time during one of my speeches without discussing half my case (which I've never done before). Yeah, it was bad. I was very spaced out and for some unintelligible reason I was convinced time wouldn't really run out. I don't know what the heck I was thinking.
Anyway, this is the first time I've failed, and felt disappointed, and known that I didn't do my best. I've always been disappointed and had a hard time coping with losing, but this time it's even worse because it's so frusterating. I know I could have one my last round if I did my best. But I didn't.
So I feel like cutting. Of course I do. But I'm trying very hard not to, struggling mightily. Brittany and I called Amanda/Shea after our last round tonight, and I talked to Amanda for like twenty seconds, which was helpful. But I still feel so discouraged. I need to get this out of my system so I can go get some sleep and do well tomorrow.
Anyway, this is the first time I've failed, and felt disappointed, and known that I didn't do my best. I've always been disappointed and had a hard time coping with losing, but this time it's even worse because it's so frusterating. I know I could have one my last round if I did my best. But I didn't.
So I feel like cutting. Of course I do. But I'm trying very hard not to, struggling mightily. Brittany and I called Amanda/Shea after our last round tonight, and I talked to Amanda for like twenty seconds, which was helpful. But I still feel so discouraged. I need to get this out of my system so I can go get some sleep and do well tomorrow.
Scared crapless and sincerely yours...
Well the tournament starts in two hours and I'm beginning to get very nervous. I had a session with my therapist today, and we talked about my cutting/eating mentalities, and about how my conditioned response to both success and failure is to cut, and that we need to "rewire" those responses in me so I can allow myself to be happy and be proud. We also talked about how pain has become a substitute for pleasure in my life, and doing things like cutting and throwing up don't give me control, but like I said are still allowing that control to be taken away.
I feel really good, kind of like when you're really sick, and you throw up all the bad stuff in your stomach, and then feel a lot better. I threw up a lot of bad stuff to Terry, and I think we're going to be able to work through it. I think I'll learn to be happy and healthy some day.
I was driving and looking at all the people and how they'd probably think I'm messed up because I'm in counseling, and how if you look at people's emotional lives, most people could use counseling. I probably in that respect am far more healthy than the general masses.
I'm worried about not having self-confidence tonight, but like Amanda said, all I have to do is believe, and believe in myself, and I could be unbeatable. I can do this all I have to do is believe I can do it with every part of me.
Well I have got to go finish getting ready, but I remain scared crapless and sincerely yours.
I feel really good, kind of like when you're really sick, and you throw up all the bad stuff in your stomach, and then feel a lot better. I threw up a lot of bad stuff to Terry, and I think we're going to be able to work through it. I think I'll learn to be happy and healthy some day.
I was driving and looking at all the people and how they'd probably think I'm messed up because I'm in counseling, and how if you look at people's emotional lives, most people could use counseling. I probably in that respect am far more healthy than the general masses.
I'm worried about not having self-confidence tonight, but like Amanda said, all I have to do is believe, and believe in myself, and I could be unbeatable. I can do this all I have to do is believe I can do it with every part of me.
Well I have got to go finish getting ready, but I remain scared crapless and sincerely yours.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Why I am an idiot...
Last night I ate two cookies and some candy so I took three laxatives. They usually work in twelve hours, but I think my body is building up tolerance. Anyway, in gym today, I was having the worst stomach/intestine/whatever spasms. I thought I was going to throw up. And I kept having to dash off to the bathroom. I'm so stupid.
On the downside I have gained three pounds and now weigh 108. Which is sad and I'm definitely going to lose it again, all I have to do is not eat (but we have like 600 of my favorite cookies in the universe raw in our freezer so it's going to be hard).
I have SO much math homework... we're using integrals to find the area under a curve, back to sigma notation oh joy, obviously my favorite part of math (not).
I need to start running again but it's cold out, so I don't really want to. Ack I'm so fat and out of shape.
The state debate tournament starts tomorrow, and I'm very, very scared. I just have to believe in myself... I keep telling myself that. I wish I learned it when I was young like most kids instead of having to completely unravel and redo my self-confidence as a teenager. Although it is better I suppose than the many adults that never have any sort of self-confidence.
I don't believe in heroes as amazing people that do amazing deeds or according to Mrs. Hanson "give their life for a greater cause" or whatever. I believe in heroes as ordinary people who go through a lot and handle it with dignity and are better for their mistakes and are constantly working on turning their weaknesses to strengths. You don't have to perfect or strong or anything to be my hero- you just have to have compassion, you have to admit to your emotions and work through them every day of your life.
I do believe that I think too much about philosophy and life in general, but like Matt says that's a lot better than people that don't think at all (cough our high school cough).
I want to do that tomorrow, though, be a hero. I know if I believe in myself I have the potential to be unbeatable. I only need to tap that potential and gain this sort of aura, this presence that can't be described but that hangs in curtains around any very good varsity debater. It's just this power, this control, this knowledge that no matter how bad things get or how bad they are, you are still in control of what y0u say, so whether it's your first speech or your last, your words have the power to shift the whole debate.
I need to walk into those rooms knowing that I can win. Knowing that anything is possible when you have that control.
Amanda and Shea won't be there though so I'm going to just keep myself medicated and pray I don't have emotional collapses like at the last two.
Amanda's going to call Brittany's cell phone sometime and email us at night. Why does she care so much about us? I can't figure it out. I realize Brittany and I are codependent on her, but she's just so amazing. She is like my ultimate hero, because she's so smart but she thinks about philosophy and life ameleorating her mistakes. She's my definition of a hero.
On the downside I have gained three pounds and now weigh 108. Which is sad and I'm definitely going to lose it again, all I have to do is not eat (but we have like 600 of my favorite cookies in the universe raw in our freezer so it's going to be hard).
I have SO much math homework... we're using integrals to find the area under a curve, back to sigma notation oh joy, obviously my favorite part of math (not).
I need to start running again but it's cold out, so I don't really want to. Ack I'm so fat and out of shape.
The state debate tournament starts tomorrow, and I'm very, very scared. I just have to believe in myself... I keep telling myself that. I wish I learned it when I was young like most kids instead of having to completely unravel and redo my self-confidence as a teenager. Although it is better I suppose than the many adults that never have any sort of self-confidence.
I don't believe in heroes as amazing people that do amazing deeds or according to Mrs. Hanson "give their life for a greater cause" or whatever. I believe in heroes as ordinary people who go through a lot and handle it with dignity and are better for their mistakes and are constantly working on turning their weaknesses to strengths. You don't have to perfect or strong or anything to be my hero- you just have to have compassion, you have to admit to your emotions and work through them every day of your life.
I do believe that I think too much about philosophy and life in general, but like Matt says that's a lot better than people that don't think at all (cough our high school cough).
I want to do that tomorrow, though, be a hero. I know if I believe in myself I have the potential to be unbeatable. I only need to tap that potential and gain this sort of aura, this presence that can't be described but that hangs in curtains around any very good varsity debater. It's just this power, this control, this knowledge that no matter how bad things get or how bad they are, you are still in control of what y0u say, so whether it's your first speech or your last, your words have the power to shift the whole debate.
I need to walk into those rooms knowing that I can win. Knowing that anything is possible when you have that control.
Amanda and Shea won't be there though so I'm going to just keep myself medicated and pray I don't have emotional collapses like at the last two.
Amanda's going to call Brittany's cell phone sometime and email us at night. Why does she care so much about us? I can't figure it out. I realize Brittany and I are codependent on her, but she's just so amazing. She is like my ultimate hero, because she's so smart but she thinks about philosophy and life ameleorating her mistakes. She's my definition of a hero.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Back to my medicated existance...
Well I'm back on my medicine, and am sane and generally myself, depressed all the time but not suicidal. In fact I'm so used to a constant depression that I don't even really think of it as depression, but rather just my normal state of mind... but I should cycle to hypomania again soon, like I was on Tuesday, because I'm about due for it. On meds, my cycles are every few days, off meds, I have weeks, sometimes over a month of depression, and then a random few days of mania.
Today Amanda gave us these really cool things for state, which is this weekend, and I'm really nervous, but it was really nice of her.
Anyway, I love Matt, but I'm so scared he'll stop loving me. I guess I can't understand why he or Amanda or Siobhan or Olivia or anyone loves me. I really want to love myself and believe in myself though... but I'm constantly frightened that Matt is just going to stop loving me. I don't know why, because I don't worry that anyone else will do that, just him. Hmm... I never make much sense, do I?
I think my new math class hates me, I just try to camouflage into my desk...
I'm really tired. I'm going to go do my biology homework. It feels weird to go again from insane psychotic to medicated and tired. Bipolar is crazy.
The seraquel I'm taking is really helping for sleep and anxiety though.
ACK I'm just a pharmacy packed into a teenager I've been through SO many medications!
Today Amanda gave us these really cool things for state, which is this weekend, and I'm really nervous, but it was really nice of her.
Anyway, I love Matt, but I'm so scared he'll stop loving me. I guess I can't understand why he or Amanda or Siobhan or Olivia or anyone loves me. I really want to love myself and believe in myself though... but I'm constantly frightened that Matt is just going to stop loving me. I don't know why, because I don't worry that anyone else will do that, just him. Hmm... I never make much sense, do I?
I think my new math class hates me, I just try to camouflage into my desk...
I'm really tired. I'm going to go do my biology homework. It feels weird to go again from insane psychotic to medicated and tired. Bipolar is crazy.
The seraquel I'm taking is really helping for sleep and anxiety though.
ACK I'm just a pharmacy packed into a teenager I've been through SO many medications!
Saturday, January 22, 2005
HOLY FREAKING SHITAKI MUSHROOMS...
That was the scariest thing that's ever happened to me in a very long time. I was in the shower, and I started cutting my wrist... (I'm going to try not to be too graphic but I have to)... and it started bleeding of course and I sat down in the shower.
And it started and carried on like it usually does, getting deeper and deeper and bleeding a little and hurting, but the pain feels so good... and then I realized it was the deepest I'd ever cut my wrist and I said to myself, "Enough". But I couldn't stop.
And for a half hour I sat there and it was so horrible. I felt my stomach in my throat. I kept cutting and cutting and I kept saying, "Lindsay you've got to stop you've got to freaking stop" but I couldn't I just kept cutting.
And there was SO much blood. The most blood I've ever seen in one place before. And that's saying something since I've cut pretty deeply in the past, in my wrist and other places. But I've never seen that much blood.
And the blood was pouring out of me and all over me and I was just sitting there in this pool of bright red blood, and you wouldn't believe how slippery that much blood is and both my hands were completely red with it. And I said to myself, "Lindsay, you've got to stop."
But I couldn't.
I started crying. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. The shower water was deep red by the time it went down the drain. There was blood in my face blood in my hair blood all over me. I kept setting the blade down and picking it back up again. I turned off the shower. For a second, the blood was mostly gone. Then it pooled up around me again. I kept cutting and cutting and my cut kept getting deeper.
At this point my whole body went sort of numb. Everything felt warm and tingly even though I should have been cold, soaking wet with the water off. I just felt so warm. And the blood was warm.
I think I blacked out for about a minute and then I woke up again. I was lying there on the shower floor all this blood around me and covering me and so slippery. And I said it to myself again, panicky, scared, crying, "YOU'VE GOT TO STOP!" And the part of me that I hate whispered, "You're going to die. You're losing so much blood. And would it really be that bad?"
I don't know why but I still couldn't stop and I still kept cutting. I was barely conscious. I'd lost cups of blood. Maybe more. I was painted bright red with it. My brain was screaming STOP STOP STOP!!! But that voice was saying, "they'll find you here. You don't have to worry about anything. It's all over, all of it, the pain and the anger and the being second best. You don't have to worry about debate or about soccer tryouts or about making varsity tennis or about practicing your violin or about anything. It's all over Lindsay. Let go."
And I wanted to stop and I was SO freaking scared by this point, because I don't want to die today, but a part of me was already accepting it, was already saying silent good byes to the world.
Finally when everything was fuzzy and black and fading I remembered Amanda. And nothing else could have saved me at that point but remembering her, and remembering her in the bathroom at the debate meet a few weeks ago, saying, "I love you." And I thought, she'll blame herself.
I wrenched myself out of the bathtub. I put the razor away. I sat there for fifteen minutes, dizzy, on the toilet seat, getting dressed with one hand, the other one still dripping blood. I took a tissue and held it against my wrist tightly. When the blood finally slowed, I put on a bandaid. I looked at the mirror.
I've never been happier to be alive. I realized how close I'd come to death. I looked at my retainer case full of razorblades. I made a promise to myself that if I ever cut my wrist again, I had better be pretty dang sure I want to die. Until then, I can cut my legs and my arms but never my wrist.
It took me a long time to stop crying. It took me a long time to stop feeling faint and dizzy. But I looked in that mirror and I knew that I'd reached rock bottom and I can never let that happen again. I was SO out of control as I was cutting my wrist. I never want to not be able to stop doing something like that again.
I wish I could tell Amanda that she was what saved me, because if I didn't remember her right at that moment I did, I may not be alive right now.
And it started and carried on like it usually does, getting deeper and deeper and bleeding a little and hurting, but the pain feels so good... and then I realized it was the deepest I'd ever cut my wrist and I said to myself, "Enough". But I couldn't stop.
And for a half hour I sat there and it was so horrible. I felt my stomach in my throat. I kept cutting and cutting and I kept saying, "Lindsay you've got to stop you've got to freaking stop" but I couldn't I just kept cutting.
And there was SO much blood. The most blood I've ever seen in one place before. And that's saying something since I've cut pretty deeply in the past, in my wrist and other places. But I've never seen that much blood.
And the blood was pouring out of me and all over me and I was just sitting there in this pool of bright red blood, and you wouldn't believe how slippery that much blood is and both my hands were completely red with it. And I said to myself, "Lindsay, you've got to stop."
But I couldn't.
I started crying. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. The shower water was deep red by the time it went down the drain. There was blood in my face blood in my hair blood all over me. I kept setting the blade down and picking it back up again. I turned off the shower. For a second, the blood was mostly gone. Then it pooled up around me again. I kept cutting and cutting and my cut kept getting deeper.
At this point my whole body went sort of numb. Everything felt warm and tingly even though I should have been cold, soaking wet with the water off. I just felt so warm. And the blood was warm.
I think I blacked out for about a minute and then I woke up again. I was lying there on the shower floor all this blood around me and covering me and so slippery. And I said it to myself again, panicky, scared, crying, "YOU'VE GOT TO STOP!" And the part of me that I hate whispered, "You're going to die. You're losing so much blood. And would it really be that bad?"
I don't know why but I still couldn't stop and I still kept cutting. I was barely conscious. I'd lost cups of blood. Maybe more. I was painted bright red with it. My brain was screaming STOP STOP STOP!!! But that voice was saying, "they'll find you here. You don't have to worry about anything. It's all over, all of it, the pain and the anger and the being second best. You don't have to worry about debate or about soccer tryouts or about making varsity tennis or about practicing your violin or about anything. It's all over Lindsay. Let go."
And I wanted to stop and I was SO freaking scared by this point, because I don't want to die today, but a part of me was already accepting it, was already saying silent good byes to the world.
Finally when everything was fuzzy and black and fading I remembered Amanda. And nothing else could have saved me at that point but remembering her, and remembering her in the bathroom at the debate meet a few weeks ago, saying, "I love you." And I thought, she'll blame herself.
I wrenched myself out of the bathtub. I put the razor away. I sat there for fifteen minutes, dizzy, on the toilet seat, getting dressed with one hand, the other one still dripping blood. I took a tissue and held it against my wrist tightly. When the blood finally slowed, I put on a bandaid. I looked at the mirror.
I've never been happier to be alive. I realized how close I'd come to death. I looked at my retainer case full of razorblades. I made a promise to myself that if I ever cut my wrist again, I had better be pretty dang sure I want to die. Until then, I can cut my legs and my arms but never my wrist.
It took me a long time to stop crying. It took me a long time to stop feeling faint and dizzy. But I looked in that mirror and I knew that I'd reached rock bottom and I can never let that happen again. I was SO out of control as I was cutting my wrist. I never want to not be able to stop doing something like that again.
I wish I could tell Amanda that she was what saved me, because if I didn't remember her right at that moment I did, I may not be alive right now.
Myself again and who is that?
Today I am again myself and okay again and thinking clearly and when I look in the mirror instead of sinking, shifting shadows I see my face, pale but real. I woke up this morning and took one step out of Olivia's bed and ran to the bathroom and threw up one last time and sat on the toilet seat my head spinning circles but then I was okay.
My forehead is breaking out ahh I need to fix that! I hate zits they're so stupid why do our bodies have to have them?
I was supposed to be cleaning my room all day but I got very distracted and ended up sorting through pictures looking for my pictures of the world trade center and Kristin and me. And I realized I've been friends with Kristin for almost eleven years.
So I am myself again but I am wondering, who is that?
I really think I'm going to cut my wrist tonight. I'll do it in the shower... the water makes my skin soft, and I have a brand-new razorblade. I may end up dying but I don't think I will I usually am able to stop when it gets too deep.
I was looking at myself in the mirror today and all the scars all over me and total I think I have about sixty. I've cut far more times than that, but those are the ones that were deep enough to leave scars.
I'm worried about the state debate tournament because Amanda won't be there and Shea won't be there and I don't know how I'm going to cope with anything. Then again if I die tonight it won't matter.
I'm not suicidal right now I'm just a bit detatched. I don't really care if I live or die I just want to feel alive and I know that pain can do that to me, and I love that sort of adrenaline rush when I'm cutting my wrist and I know I'm on that obscene edge of life and death.
When I have tried to commit suicide by cutting my wrist I haven't been able to. Movies and books make it seem so easy but it's not, it's sawing and violence and cut after cut, no matter how sharp your blade is it takes time to get to the vein. And when you finally do you're so numb that you can't figure out what the h*ll is going on.
And the last time I attempted suicide, not the last time I cut my wrist but the last time I did it fully intending to die, was September and I sat there for a half hour or more cutting until there was SO much blood coming from me but I still hadn't cut that vein, I was still able to save myself, and I was planning on dying but then something snapped in my brain and I realized (this is the oddest reason to stop a suicide attempt, but odd situations bring odd thoughts) my science lab partner was depending on me to write the introduction to our Brassica report, and I couldn't die because then she'd have to do everything all on her own.
That is a miserable feeling, though, when you sit there with all that blood and that razorblade in your hands, and you realize you're a failure at life, which is why you wanted to die, but now that you're that close to death and you can't do it, you know that you're a failure at death too, and you're not alive and not dead and you're in such a crazy state of mind/body that you fade into this indescriptable existance that there are no words for, the closest concept is that of a ghost. I hate those moments.
Anyway, tonight I won't do it to kill myself, and I realize I'm crazy and irresponsible, but I really just have the compulsion to do it, and the careful deliberate control I have over my life when I know that one more cut could kill me just sounds really appealing. So essentially I'm not going to cut my wrist tonight to die, but rather for that instant when I am on the line of life and death and I know that I have absolute and complete control over my whole entire universe and existance.
My forehead is breaking out ahh I need to fix that! I hate zits they're so stupid why do our bodies have to have them?
I was supposed to be cleaning my room all day but I got very distracted and ended up sorting through pictures looking for my pictures of the world trade center and Kristin and me. And I realized I've been friends with Kristin for almost eleven years.
So I am myself again but I am wondering, who is that?
I really think I'm going to cut my wrist tonight. I'll do it in the shower... the water makes my skin soft, and I have a brand-new razorblade. I may end up dying but I don't think I will I usually am able to stop when it gets too deep.
I was looking at myself in the mirror today and all the scars all over me and total I think I have about sixty. I've cut far more times than that, but those are the ones that were deep enough to leave scars.
I'm worried about the state debate tournament because Amanda won't be there and Shea won't be there and I don't know how I'm going to cope with anything. Then again if I die tonight it won't matter.
I'm not suicidal right now I'm just a bit detatched. I don't really care if I live or die I just want to feel alive and I know that pain can do that to me, and I love that sort of adrenaline rush when I'm cutting my wrist and I know I'm on that obscene edge of life and death.
When I have tried to commit suicide by cutting my wrist I haven't been able to. Movies and books make it seem so easy but it's not, it's sawing and violence and cut after cut, no matter how sharp your blade is it takes time to get to the vein. And when you finally do you're so numb that you can't figure out what the h*ll is going on.
And the last time I attempted suicide, not the last time I cut my wrist but the last time I did it fully intending to die, was September and I sat there for a half hour or more cutting until there was SO much blood coming from me but I still hadn't cut that vein, I was still able to save myself, and I was planning on dying but then something snapped in my brain and I realized (this is the oddest reason to stop a suicide attempt, but odd situations bring odd thoughts) my science lab partner was depending on me to write the introduction to our Brassica report, and I couldn't die because then she'd have to do everything all on her own.
That is a miserable feeling, though, when you sit there with all that blood and that razorblade in your hands, and you realize you're a failure at life, which is why you wanted to die, but now that you're that close to death and you can't do it, you know that you're a failure at death too, and you're not alive and not dead and you're in such a crazy state of mind/body that you fade into this indescriptable existance that there are no words for, the closest concept is that of a ghost. I hate those moments.
Anyway, tonight I won't do it to kill myself, and I realize I'm crazy and irresponsible, but I really just have the compulsion to do it, and the careful deliberate control I have over my life when I know that one more cut could kill me just sounds really appealing. So essentially I'm not going to cut my wrist tonight to die, but rather for that instant when I am on the line of life and death and I know that I have absolute and complete control over my whole entire universe and existance.
Friday, January 21, 2005
High
Since I got a 93% on my calculus test, the best grade out of all his classes by a margin of 10% (the next highest was an 82%), my grandmother took me out to dinner and I ate. Chinese food. It felt so good to eat it... although I think my body was a bit shocked that after being starved so long I shoveled in a whole entire plateful of sweet and sour chicken, crab rangoons, noodles, mongolian beef, and broccoli pork. I'm trying to decide if it was worth it.
I came home and took 15 pills and was throwing up everything within an hour. And I was really random and high and today I am running into walls and I can't see or walk or think straight. I've had two pieces of toast all day... they were good pieces of toast though!
So I don't know if eating last night was worth the purge, which was miserable of course. Amanda pulled me through it by emailing me and the usual opressive loneliness when I purge was lost, which made things a lot easier to deal with. I got pretty crazy and jumped off our porch over and over again though at about 10 p.m. after my parents were in bed. Having sustained no injuries, unlike the other times I took the twenty-two foot plunge, I am thanking my lucky stars.
I'm going to go sleep over at Olivia's and sleep off this horrible intoxication. I think we're going to a movie. All day today I just read F. Scott Fitzgerald's "This Side of Paradise", which is very good but reminds me so much of "The Catcher in the Rye" that I wonder which stole the other's idea. Although someone I like just died in the book in a car wreck which makse me sad. Also I played Final Fantasy 10 on my playstation two for two hours during which the bad stuff in the game, "Sin", destroyed a village which was also sad. I need to read happier books/ play happier video games.
All in all it's been an okay day although I hate the slidy, shifty, unfocused mentality being high gives me, and I hate how my already dismal coordination gets even worse when I have overdosed.
I'm still not thinking clearer so most of this post can I'm sure be disregarded, but I'm looking forward to tomorrow when I'll have my intellect and coordination and vision and stomach back.
I came home and took 15 pills and was throwing up everything within an hour. And I was really random and high and today I am running into walls and I can't see or walk or think straight. I've had two pieces of toast all day... they were good pieces of toast though!
So I don't know if eating last night was worth the purge, which was miserable of course. Amanda pulled me through it by emailing me and the usual opressive loneliness when I purge was lost, which made things a lot easier to deal with. I got pretty crazy and jumped off our porch over and over again though at about 10 p.m. after my parents were in bed. Having sustained no injuries, unlike the other times I took the twenty-two foot plunge, I am thanking my lucky stars.
I'm going to go sleep over at Olivia's and sleep off this horrible intoxication. I think we're going to a movie. All day today I just read F. Scott Fitzgerald's "This Side of Paradise", which is very good but reminds me so much of "The Catcher in the Rye" that I wonder which stole the other's idea. Although someone I like just died in the book in a car wreck which makse me sad. Also I played Final Fantasy 10 on my playstation two for two hours during which the bad stuff in the game, "Sin", destroyed a village which was also sad. I need to read happier books/ play happier video games.
All in all it's been an okay day although I hate the slidy, shifty, unfocused mentality being high gives me, and I hate how my already dismal coordination gets even worse when I have overdosed.
I'm still not thinking clearer so most of this post can I'm sure be disregarded, but I'm looking forward to tomorrow when I'll have my intellect and coordination and vision and stomach back.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Me and my weirdness
So I think I take myself and my life too seriously. Becuase ultimately, although it is nice to have a meaning in life and a purpose and to live according to a rigid structure that keeps things balanced, I really just want to have fun. That's why I would want a boyfriend right now... to have fun. If I french kiss some guy, it's going to be for that reason, not because I want to marry him. Relationships are suffocating... who wants to be completely bound and tied in high school? That's not what high school is about.
And nobody my age thinks about philosophy and self-actualization and reality vs. perception and crap nearly as much as I do. It could be because of my past, because I want so badly to find myself, but I think maybe I'm also just naturally weird.
So at debate I asked Brittany what she'd do if she had no inhibitions for a day and could do whatever she wanted with absolutely no mental/physical/spiritual/whatever consequences, and she said something about robbing a bank and an English prostitute, we won't get into that, but I've been thinking a lot about what I'd do, and some of them are healthy things and some of them aren't... I think it's true that when you are told NOT to do something, it makes you even more curious about it, and makes you want to do it even more... anyway, I would:
1. Get stoned/high on everything imaginable. For a few reasons. One because I've only ever been high on prescription drugs, which just make you miserable, and I want to know what marijuana and ecstasy and all those other horrible drugs I'd never do are like. Also, just to escape.
2. Get very drunk. I was drunk once, and the alcohol tasted so good, and just the mental complication of knowing I was drinking, rebelling, etc., was wonderful, and actually I really enjoyed being drunk. The guilt that came from it, and the knowledge that if I ever drink another sip of alcohol I will become instantly addicted, have led me to the truth that I can never drink any alcohol ever again, but if I had a day with no consequences, I'd do it.
3. Do everything imaginable to hurt myself. I really do think I'm a masochist and I really do LOVE pain. This is rather disturbing but I'd probably do some horrible things to myself just for the pain... And I am fascinated with human biology. I don't want to think about what I'd do.
4. Jump off a really high building... just because I don't think anything is ever as focused as those few instants when you are falling- everything seems to be sharp and clear and make sense.
5. Have sex. Partly the same old masochism, but partly to see if it's any different now that I'm older, if I want it, if I completely know exactly what I'm getting into and consent to it. I'd have sex with someone I know well and love... maybe my brother again actually as weird as that sounds, maybe my friend Sam. Just to feel... completely safe, and free of those pathetic sexual lusts that really scare me off.
Anyway now you know how weird I am.
And nobody my age thinks about philosophy and self-actualization and reality vs. perception and crap nearly as much as I do. It could be because of my past, because I want so badly to find myself, but I think maybe I'm also just naturally weird.
So at debate I asked Brittany what she'd do if she had no inhibitions for a day and could do whatever she wanted with absolutely no mental/physical/spiritual/whatever consequences, and she said something about robbing a bank and an English prostitute, we won't get into that, but I've been thinking a lot about what I'd do, and some of them are healthy things and some of them aren't... I think it's true that when you are told NOT to do something, it makes you even more curious about it, and makes you want to do it even more... anyway, I would:
1. Get stoned/high on everything imaginable. For a few reasons. One because I've only ever been high on prescription drugs, which just make you miserable, and I want to know what marijuana and ecstasy and all those other horrible drugs I'd never do are like. Also, just to escape.
2. Get very drunk. I was drunk once, and the alcohol tasted so good, and just the mental complication of knowing I was drinking, rebelling, etc., was wonderful, and actually I really enjoyed being drunk. The guilt that came from it, and the knowledge that if I ever drink another sip of alcohol I will become instantly addicted, have led me to the truth that I can never drink any alcohol ever again, but if I had a day with no consequences, I'd do it.
3. Do everything imaginable to hurt myself. I really do think I'm a masochist and I really do LOVE pain. This is rather disturbing but I'd probably do some horrible things to myself just for the pain... And I am fascinated with human biology. I don't want to think about what I'd do.
4. Jump off a really high building... just because I don't think anything is ever as focused as those few instants when you are falling- everything seems to be sharp and clear and make sense.
5. Have sex. Partly the same old masochism, but partly to see if it's any different now that I'm older, if I want it, if I completely know exactly what I'm getting into and consent to it. I'd have sex with someone I know well and love... maybe my brother again actually as weird as that sounds, maybe my friend Sam. Just to feel... completely safe, and free of those pathetic sexual lusts that really scare me off.
Anyway now you know how weird I am.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
semesters... (blech)
Two down, five to go... Biology tomorrow, which is going to be my second hardest (calc will by my hardest).
So I guess I really am lucky. I went to italian sodas with Matt today, and we talked a lot about philosophy (I am obessessed with it), and life, and how our relationship will be. And he said he'll wait for me to be sixteen, and that he wouldn't wait for any other girl but he'll wait for me. And I gave him a Book of Mormon because he wanted one. And I felt okay again, not suffocated.
And I've been thinking a lot, about myself, about control, about pain. My whole life I have been hurt by people. These things I think I'm doing for control, like the eating disorder, the cutting, the drugs, are truly just continuing, on a daily basis, to let the same old abusers continue to opress me. Which is not what I want. I want real freedom- real control. And the only way to achieve that is to do the one thing that defies them: LIVE. Live happily live healthily... not to sound cliche, but live Strong (which is grammatically incorrect, it should be strongly. Guess that doesn't worth with Armstrong though). And I am lucky. Because through all that I've been through, I know that I have the potential to be happy, to love, to self-actualize. I know that I have a purpose, and that because I think about these things I could be one of the lucky few on earth that actually pursues a true purpose for life.
And then there is Matt. I still think it's funny that he french kissed me three feet away from poor Amanda who was probably wondering what the heck to do, in the middle of the night somewhere in central Montana. It did feel nice I guess, making out is fun and all, but I do need to slow down, take some time. But I guess I'm lucky that I have such an awesome guy that loves me, and that I love such an awesome guy.
I drove Matt home today and his face was inches from mine, and we both knew that we wanted more than anything to just kiss eachother, and I just wanted to let myself go into his arms and his existance, but instead I took my hand and kissed it and placed my fingers on his lips and he did the same to me. Shauna may say it's limiting your horizons to believe completely in any one organized religion, but it sure has helped me.
Here is how stupid I am though: for the second week in a row I have lost an over-$50 pair of dress shoes... I keep just randomly leaving them places. I'm always so tired and stressed at tournaments that I'm never really aware of what I am doing.
About the tournament... it was my first varsity tournament, and I did okay. I got 21 out of 36. I know I can beat anyone out there's arguments and speaking skills, but apparently I lack a necessary aura of control. I know I can get it though because apparently I project it in my cross-examinations. Who knew? But according to Frankl (whose book Amanda gave me for Christmas and which I read and loved) the only way to truly acheive something is paradoxical intention- so in the instance of my debate, I have to actually try to not be in control, try not to be self-confident. It's that same old paradox that when you go to show someone something, and you try to do it, you can't.
Ah well state is in a few weeks. I don't expect myself to break or anything, but I would like to at least go 3-2. (I went 2-3 at this tournament).
So I guess I really am lucky. I went to italian sodas with Matt today, and we talked a lot about philosophy (I am obessessed with it), and life, and how our relationship will be. And he said he'll wait for me to be sixteen, and that he wouldn't wait for any other girl but he'll wait for me. And I gave him a Book of Mormon because he wanted one. And I felt okay again, not suffocated.
And I've been thinking a lot, about myself, about control, about pain. My whole life I have been hurt by people. These things I think I'm doing for control, like the eating disorder, the cutting, the drugs, are truly just continuing, on a daily basis, to let the same old abusers continue to opress me. Which is not what I want. I want real freedom- real control. And the only way to achieve that is to do the one thing that defies them: LIVE. Live happily live healthily... not to sound cliche, but live Strong (which is grammatically incorrect, it should be strongly. Guess that doesn't worth with Armstrong though). And I am lucky. Because through all that I've been through, I know that I have the potential to be happy, to love, to self-actualize. I know that I have a purpose, and that because I think about these things I could be one of the lucky few on earth that actually pursues a true purpose for life.
And then there is Matt. I still think it's funny that he french kissed me three feet away from poor Amanda who was probably wondering what the heck to do, in the middle of the night somewhere in central Montana. It did feel nice I guess, making out is fun and all, but I do need to slow down, take some time. But I guess I'm lucky that I have such an awesome guy that loves me, and that I love such an awesome guy.
I drove Matt home today and his face was inches from mine, and we both knew that we wanted more than anything to just kiss eachother, and I just wanted to let myself go into his arms and his existance, but instead I took my hand and kissed it and placed my fingers on his lips and he did the same to me. Shauna may say it's limiting your horizons to believe completely in any one organized religion, but it sure has helped me.
Here is how stupid I am though: for the second week in a row I have lost an over-$50 pair of dress shoes... I keep just randomly leaving them places. I'm always so tired and stressed at tournaments that I'm never really aware of what I am doing.
About the tournament... it was my first varsity tournament, and I did okay. I got 21 out of 36. I know I can beat anyone out there's arguments and speaking skills, but apparently I lack a necessary aura of control. I know I can get it though because apparently I project it in my cross-examinations. Who knew? But according to Frankl (whose book Amanda gave me for Christmas and which I read and loved) the only way to truly acheive something is paradoxical intention- so in the instance of my debate, I have to actually try to not be in control, try not to be self-confident. It's that same old paradox that when you go to show someone something, and you try to do it, you can't.
Ah well state is in a few weeks. I don't expect myself to break or anything, but I would like to at least go 3-2. (I went 2-3 at this tournament).
Sunday, January 16, 2005
complicated...
So we were on the bus, three feet away from my debate coach, and he french kissed me, and there were about five seconds that I was in my body... in which I thought a few things... 1. I am being french kissed 2. I'm chewing gum 3. This doesn't taste like anything 4. I'm not ready for this...
And then I was gone, dissociated, floating away and disconnecting. After about twenty seconds I came back to my body and started laughing, because everything was so screwed up, that I was being kissed for the first time, that I was chewing gum, that his mouth didn't taste like anything, that Amanda was three feet away, that I couldn't handle it. I started laughing because I couldn't cry, but it was the same response. I cried later, in bed.
And Amanda asked me, as we got off the bus, "are you okay?" and I said yes but I wasn't... I was slowly slipping away and floating off into the sky. And Matt's arms were around me, and it was wonderful, it was everything I'd always dreamed of, but it was also hellish and I wanted to cry and I was numb and going into shock.
And I came home and sat in bed and stared at the ceiling but not really at the ceiling through it because I was so far away... and I couldn't sleep. And I spent all day today trying to work things out in my head, floating farther and farther away from the world, disconnecting myself, shutting off the pain, cutting my legs with razor blades.
And I've decided I can't handle this, and I need to be honest with him, and tell him the truth... first of all that I don't want to do anything serious until I am sixteen because that is the age at which my religion allows me to date and I really do want to follow my religion... second of all that even then I'm going to have to take it slowly. And maybe he won't want to wait or go slowly, but if he's as wonderful as I think he is he will, and if he really does love me he will. I don't wnat our relationship to be entirely based on lust and sexual passion. I didn't feel any sort of sexual desire when he kissed me. Probably because I was in shock... also because I was being a masochist again... also because I just wanted to cut myself off from the world and any sort of emotion.
I think that with Matt's help though eventually I can have a good relationship with him, if he's willing to help me...
And then I was gone, dissociated, floating away and disconnecting. After about twenty seconds I came back to my body and started laughing, because everything was so screwed up, that I was being kissed for the first time, that I was chewing gum, that his mouth didn't taste like anything, that Amanda was three feet away, that I couldn't handle it. I started laughing because I couldn't cry, but it was the same response. I cried later, in bed.
And Amanda asked me, as we got off the bus, "are you okay?" and I said yes but I wasn't... I was slowly slipping away and floating off into the sky. And Matt's arms were around me, and it was wonderful, it was everything I'd always dreamed of, but it was also hellish and I wanted to cry and I was numb and going into shock.
And I came home and sat in bed and stared at the ceiling but not really at the ceiling through it because I was so far away... and I couldn't sleep. And I spent all day today trying to work things out in my head, floating farther and farther away from the world, disconnecting myself, shutting off the pain, cutting my legs with razor blades.
And I've decided I can't handle this, and I need to be honest with him, and tell him the truth... first of all that I don't want to do anything serious until I am sixteen because that is the age at which my religion allows me to date and I really do want to follow my religion... second of all that even then I'm going to have to take it slowly. And maybe he won't want to wait or go slowly, but if he's as wonderful as I think he is he will, and if he really does love me he will. I don't wnat our relationship to be entirely based on lust and sexual passion. I didn't feel any sort of sexual desire when he kissed me. Probably because I was in shock... also because I was being a masochist again... also because I just wanted to cut myself off from the world and any sort of emotion.
I think that with Matt's help though eventually I can have a good relationship with him, if he's willing to help me...
Thursday, January 13, 2005
You can sure tell I'm bipolar!
Not just from the fact that I went from suicidal to hypomanic in about .2 seconds (I've always wanted to be able to pinpoint the exact transition, but I guess the point of bipolar is that there is no in-between), but because I went from thinking love was not possible to loving a boy in about a week. This would normally make me think it wasn't really love, but just the initial shock of lust or passion, but I've grown up cynical enough to tell the difference between love and the fake equivilent.
This is the most shocking of all: I am suddenly looking forward to school, and sad that I am leaving my pre-calc class completely behind for calculus next semester. I know what you're thinking- it must be because I find pre-calc so incredibly fascinating and school to be such a worthy investment of my time... but you're wrong! *gasp, shock*!
I love Matt. I don't know why... it's something deep inside of me. For my whole life I've always assumed that I would just one day meet the perfect guy, and I would know, immediately, and love him immediately. And every one kept telling me that was impractical, and would never happen, but now it has. And of course I'm weary of it, weary that I have suddenly fallen in love, but to be in love is such an awesome feeling, to be told that I am beautiful, brilliant, wonderful, by a boy that is in love with me in return, whose hands and lips are so soft...
And he asked me yesterday, why aren't you confident of yourself? And I basically told him because I have been sexually and physically and emotionally abused my whole life, and he is so incredible, he is such an amazing guy... he said he wanted to light something on fire, he was so nice, he is so nice...
Anyway, in have come upon the conclusion (can you tell I'm hypomanic? I'm in such a good mood! I feel on top of the world... too bad it won't last long! I'm cycling so rapidly because I have been taking my meds) that none of my teachers think anything I say is of merit. Like in math today, Ms. Richard's asked what an inverse function was, and I kept saying (I said it fifty times), a function reflected over the line y=x, and she heard me (i know she heard me), but everyone kept staring blankly at her, and she kept asking, and I get really frusterated. Ms. Richards finally said, anyone besides Lindsay? Which is what all my teachers say when they ask a question, whether I am paying attention or not (which I am more often not, because my time is infinitely more valuable than my peers, and I don't wnat to spend it looking stoned and getting force-fed facts that I've known for years).
And my teachers hate my actual questions, because more often than not they don't know the answers, like in science yesterday I asked why reptile cells didn't respire more rather than less, to keep their blood and enzymes at an optimal temperature to produce more ATP, and she just acted like she didn't hear me and went on to the next question.
GRR!!! School is SUCH a waste of time!!! I honestly never learn anything because the rest of the idiot population needs to be told things ninety times before they can understand it. I keep transferring into higher and higher classes and I'M STILL NOT LEARNING!
I should drop out of school and jsut homeschool. At the rate my high school's going, I could finish high school and be enrolled in college by next year. Not because I'm smart, but because 1) I am not permanantly stoned like most of hte HHS student body and 2) I know how to apply myself, love to learn, and love to ask the questions nobody else dares think about.
This is the most shocking of all: I am suddenly looking forward to school, and sad that I am leaving my pre-calc class completely behind for calculus next semester. I know what you're thinking- it must be because I find pre-calc so incredibly fascinating and school to be such a worthy investment of my time... but you're wrong! *gasp, shock*!
I love Matt. I don't know why... it's something deep inside of me. For my whole life I've always assumed that I would just one day meet the perfect guy, and I would know, immediately, and love him immediately. And every one kept telling me that was impractical, and would never happen, but now it has. And of course I'm weary of it, weary that I have suddenly fallen in love, but to be in love is such an awesome feeling, to be told that I am beautiful, brilliant, wonderful, by a boy that is in love with me in return, whose hands and lips are so soft...
And he asked me yesterday, why aren't you confident of yourself? And I basically told him because I have been sexually and physically and emotionally abused my whole life, and he is so incredible, he is such an amazing guy... he said he wanted to light something on fire, he was so nice, he is so nice...
Anyway, in have come upon the conclusion (can you tell I'm hypomanic? I'm in such a good mood! I feel on top of the world... too bad it won't last long! I'm cycling so rapidly because I have been taking my meds) that none of my teachers think anything I say is of merit. Like in math today, Ms. Richard's asked what an inverse function was, and I kept saying (I said it fifty times), a function reflected over the line y=x, and she heard me (i know she heard me), but everyone kept staring blankly at her, and she kept asking, and I get really frusterated. Ms. Richards finally said, anyone besides Lindsay? Which is what all my teachers say when they ask a question, whether I am paying attention or not (which I am more often not, because my time is infinitely more valuable than my peers, and I don't wnat to spend it looking stoned and getting force-fed facts that I've known for years).
And my teachers hate my actual questions, because more often than not they don't know the answers, like in science yesterday I asked why reptile cells didn't respire more rather than less, to keep their blood and enzymes at an optimal temperature to produce more ATP, and she just acted like she didn't hear me and went on to the next question.
GRR!!! School is SUCH a waste of time!!! I honestly never learn anything because the rest of the idiot population needs to be told things ninety times before they can understand it. I keep transferring into higher and higher classes and I'M STILL NOT LEARNING!
I should drop out of school and jsut homeschool. At the rate my high school's going, I could finish high school and be enrolled in college by next year. Not because I'm smart, but because 1) I am not permanantly stoned like most of hte HHS student body and 2) I know how to apply myself, love to learn, and love to ask the questions nobody else dares think about.
Monday, January 10, 2005
touch
This was the craziest weekend of my life. To put it all in a few sentences, mainly I rode in a frozen school bus to Powell, Wyoming, and a debate meet. I was apparently doing really well when I broke into quarterfinals, I'd won five debates, lost one, and was in third place out of about twenty I think. But that same old monster was with me, and I was more depressed than usual and more confused than usual because Matt had just asked me out, and I was convinced that I was doing horribly and my mind kept whispering, you're a failure, you're a failure. And I got second place speaker but I didn't know any of that all I knew was that I could barely walk because all I'd eaten in three days was a piece of celery.
At quarterfinals, I felt the most dejected, discouraged, and hopeless that I've felt for a very long time. Everything horrible that anyone has ever said to me kept replaying in my head, mainly my mother's words. And I thought, I'm pathetic. And I thought, I'm never going to win. And I thought, I'm not worth it.
And I lost. Not by much, and my opponant did cheat a little in her final speech, but I lost, because I debated badly, because I had no confidence. And as the judges disclosed, as I walked out of that room, I felt so incredibly numb. Like every nerve in my body had been boiled and turned off. And I knew life wasn't worth it anymore. My addictions welled up within me. I felt like dying. I wanted to die. But there was Matt. There was Amanda.
The only real thing was the razor in my backpack. The only real thing was me in the bathroom. And I was torn open and apart. I was raw and confused and numb. I was leaning against the door physically, but in actuality I was floating near the ceiling. There was only me and the pain, far off, and the fact that I was a total and complete failure and would never amount to anything.
Amanda was there. She should have run away. She should have but she didn't. She saw the cut, the blood. More than that, she saw how far away I was. It doesn't make sense that she cared but she did and she came to me where I was and she brought me back and that meant more to me than anything ever has.
On the way home the bus was so cold and Matt was there beside me, and we were talking, and suddenly his hands were in mine and his head was on my shoulder and his lips were a centimeter away from mine. And there was terror in me but there was also this yearning, this joy, this need for this touch, this closeness. And I moved closer to him (that was the hardest part, the moving closer, the fighting with the thing inside my head that screamed "stop" and suppressing it and moving closer to what I most feared) and I felt my whole body against his and my universe stopped and I thought, SO THERE MICHAEL (because that was my cousin's name). And I knew, that though my mind was fighting, what was real was the softness of Matt's hands, the strongness of his fingers stroking mine, and what was dead but never gone was that panic inside of me.
I was so afraid. Of what I don't know. Being raped maybe. That dirtiness maybe. All the irrational things in the world. But I let myself fall into that moment, the craziness, that such a torn-open, crazy weekend could end with that sensuality. And it wasn't (for once) masochism, it was desire. To be healthy. To be happy.
He fell asleep on my shoulder with his hands in mine. And Amanda was behind me with her hat and her scarf and I thought, this is enough, to make me happy forever, just moments like these and this stillness.
At quarterfinals, I felt the most dejected, discouraged, and hopeless that I've felt for a very long time. Everything horrible that anyone has ever said to me kept replaying in my head, mainly my mother's words. And I thought, I'm pathetic. And I thought, I'm never going to win. And I thought, I'm not worth it.
And I lost. Not by much, and my opponant did cheat a little in her final speech, but I lost, because I debated badly, because I had no confidence. And as the judges disclosed, as I walked out of that room, I felt so incredibly numb. Like every nerve in my body had been boiled and turned off. And I knew life wasn't worth it anymore. My addictions welled up within me. I felt like dying. I wanted to die. But there was Matt. There was Amanda.
The only real thing was the razor in my backpack. The only real thing was me in the bathroom. And I was torn open and apart. I was raw and confused and numb. I was leaning against the door physically, but in actuality I was floating near the ceiling. There was only me and the pain, far off, and the fact that I was a total and complete failure and would never amount to anything.
Amanda was there. She should have run away. She should have but she didn't. She saw the cut, the blood. More than that, she saw how far away I was. It doesn't make sense that she cared but she did and she came to me where I was and she brought me back and that meant more to me than anything ever has.
On the way home the bus was so cold and Matt was there beside me, and we were talking, and suddenly his hands were in mine and his head was on my shoulder and his lips were a centimeter away from mine. And there was terror in me but there was also this yearning, this joy, this need for this touch, this closeness. And I moved closer to him (that was the hardest part, the moving closer, the fighting with the thing inside my head that screamed "stop" and suppressing it and moving closer to what I most feared) and I felt my whole body against his and my universe stopped and I thought, SO THERE MICHAEL (because that was my cousin's name). And I knew, that though my mind was fighting, what was real was the softness of Matt's hands, the strongness of his fingers stroking mine, and what was dead but never gone was that panic inside of me.
I was so afraid. Of what I don't know. Being raped maybe. That dirtiness maybe. All the irrational things in the world. But I let myself fall into that moment, the craziness, that such a torn-open, crazy weekend could end with that sensuality. And it wasn't (for once) masochism, it was desire. To be healthy. To be happy.
He fell asleep on my shoulder with his hands in mine. And Amanda was behind me with her hat and her scarf and I thought, this is enough, to make me happy forever, just moments like these and this stillness.
Monday, January 03, 2005
back to Hell...
Waking up at 5:45, going to seminary, going to school... it was like earning a sabbatical from Hell, and having to go back again. I was somewhat numb, plodding through the day. And right now I should be working on my huge project in music theory that's due tomorrow, or studying my AP bio test book, which I am going to flunk, or doing my math homework, but I am not, I am here.
I am still amazed at how much Virginia Woolf thinks like me. I've found so many fantastic quotes in her book that I've wanted to post but I keep reading and forget where they are... This one I really need to post though:
She had a sense of being past everything, through everything, out of everything... as if there was an eddy... and one could be in it, or one could be out of it. It's all come to end, she thought.... And meanwhile she waited, passively, for someone to answer her, for something ot happen. But this is not a thing, she thought... that one says.... She felt, more and more strongly, outside that eddy; or as if a shade had fallen, and, robbed of color, she saw things truly.
The harder I try to reach out, to interact, the more I yearn to just withdraw into myself forever, the more convinced I am that in the end it isn't worth it. I try to feel a part of life, try to feel a part of the cosmic journey my friends seem to be on, but I only feel as if I am standing on the sidelines, confused, watching, and content with being alone and unnoticed. I guess that's why I'm a wallflower. Because I don't even participate in life anymore, as most people do. Nobody will ever marry me or have a relationship with me at this rate.
Even the thought of relationships, of having to be friends with people, or to be someone's girlfriend, even thinking about it is exhausting. I want to curl up in my bed with a thousand books and just read, write, and listen to music forever and ever and never have to get up or leave or talk or try to act normal.
I guess this is depression. And my new year's resolutions include an attempt to start taking my medicine regularly, not just overdosing, so I can try to be normal again, not bipolar. Of course I will always to an extent be bipolar, there is no median to my emotion, but I can make the poles closer together. I do feel the slight twinging in me that means I am about to (after these weeks of depression) bounce to mania for a few days. Which sounds very inviting, because I usually get very happy (occasionally I just get angry and annoyed), but I think that mania is more terrifying than depression because of the delusions and hallucinations and psychosis, and all the things that seem rational when I'm manic that seem crazily irrational now, such as jumping off the roof or driving very fast, thinking that I am invincible.
On a different tangent, Stevie wrote me this note with my Christmas present:
I want to say thank you. For being you. I have always trusted you. You are such a fantastic person. You've so many things to do, but you always have time to be a great person. You make me laugh, and you can help me with anything. I feel like just meeting you has made me grow so much as a person. Lindsay, I LOVE YOU!
And I suppose that note should make me feel good about myself, and the countless notes identical to it basically that I have recieved in the past two years since I have forced myself to develop friendships and stop reading so much, but they don't. I just feel like a liar, like I have made my friends believe something about me that isn't true.
I don't know. I don't know anymore. I just feel so guilty all the time. I know I need to let go of the guilt, because until I move past I can make no improvements emotionally, but I almost feel as if I need the guilt, I deserve it, and if I ever do manage to move past it, it will all really just be a lie, because I deserve to live forever in this hellish pergatory.
Anyway I really must get back to my music theory project now. I'm just feeling a bit socially discouraged. How do most people find it so easy to maintain friendships and a grasp on the world? My therapist told me I'll never truly have healed until I can say that the world of clothes and objects is just as real to me as the world of emotions and guilt that I live in. Right now, the world I live in is still more real. But I'm trying to reach out, I'm trying to break this dissociation. It's just hard.
I am still amazed at how much Virginia Woolf thinks like me. I've found so many fantastic quotes in her book that I've wanted to post but I keep reading and forget where they are... This one I really need to post though:
She had a sense of being past everything, through everything, out of everything... as if there was an eddy... and one could be in it, or one could be out of it. It's all come to end, she thought.... And meanwhile she waited, passively, for someone to answer her, for something ot happen. But this is not a thing, she thought... that one says.... She felt, more and more strongly, outside that eddy; or as if a shade had fallen, and, robbed of color, she saw things truly.
The harder I try to reach out, to interact, the more I yearn to just withdraw into myself forever, the more convinced I am that in the end it isn't worth it. I try to feel a part of life, try to feel a part of the cosmic journey my friends seem to be on, but I only feel as if I am standing on the sidelines, confused, watching, and content with being alone and unnoticed. I guess that's why I'm a wallflower. Because I don't even participate in life anymore, as most people do. Nobody will ever marry me or have a relationship with me at this rate.
Even the thought of relationships, of having to be friends with people, or to be someone's girlfriend, even thinking about it is exhausting. I want to curl up in my bed with a thousand books and just read, write, and listen to music forever and ever and never have to get up or leave or talk or try to act normal.
I guess this is depression. And my new year's resolutions include an attempt to start taking my medicine regularly, not just overdosing, so I can try to be normal again, not bipolar. Of course I will always to an extent be bipolar, there is no median to my emotion, but I can make the poles closer together. I do feel the slight twinging in me that means I am about to (after these weeks of depression) bounce to mania for a few days. Which sounds very inviting, because I usually get very happy (occasionally I just get angry and annoyed), but I think that mania is more terrifying than depression because of the delusions and hallucinations and psychosis, and all the things that seem rational when I'm manic that seem crazily irrational now, such as jumping off the roof or driving very fast, thinking that I am invincible.
On a different tangent, Stevie wrote me this note with my Christmas present:
I want to say thank you. For being you. I have always trusted you. You are such a fantastic person. You've so many things to do, but you always have time to be a great person. You make me laugh, and you can help me with anything. I feel like just meeting you has made me grow so much as a person. Lindsay, I LOVE YOU!
And I suppose that note should make me feel good about myself, and the countless notes identical to it basically that I have recieved in the past two years since I have forced myself to develop friendships and stop reading so much, but they don't. I just feel like a liar, like I have made my friends believe something about me that isn't true.
I don't know. I don't know anymore. I just feel so guilty all the time. I know I need to let go of the guilt, because until I move past I can make no improvements emotionally, but I almost feel as if I need the guilt, I deserve it, and if I ever do manage to move past it, it will all really just be a lie, because I deserve to live forever in this hellish pergatory.
Anyway I really must get back to my music theory project now. I'm just feeling a bit socially discouraged. How do most people find it so easy to maintain friendships and a grasp on the world? My therapist told me I'll never truly have healed until I can say that the world of clothes and objects is just as real to me as the world of emotions and guilt that I live in. Right now, the world I live in is still more real. But I'm trying to reach out, I'm trying to break this dissociation. It's just hard.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
I'm not crazy...
I'm reading another book by Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse. I'm addicted to her writing. And I tried to get my friends to read her stuff last year, and they said they didn't get it, they said she was crazy. But books like hers, like Sylvia Plath's (is it Slyvia or Cinthia?) The Bell Jar, like Edgar Allen Po and e.e. cummings, people that my friends don't get and don't like to read, are the books I love most. I love the fluidity, the surreal writing. My friends say, too much detail. But to me, the universe is detail. There is the concrete- but the concrete means nothing without the smaller parts that make it up, without the characteristics.
I remember when I was seven and I told Olivia to read my favorite book, The Clearing, and she said she didn't get it, and that it was boring. Looking back, that was when I first started realizing that I was different, that the way I thought and felt and looked at the world was perhaps far too mature for my age. I wrote a poem in third grade about how life is like a sledding hill, you go up and you run into trees and you get lost and you break your legs, but in the end you have to try again, because sledding's fun. I also wrote a poem in third grade about how my brother's life was a glass house, and the drugs were dynamite, and he'd blown it up, but he was trying to rebuild. In kindergarten I told my counselor that my family was like a puzzle and my brother was the missing piece.
The adults around me were shocked. I'm not proud of the maturity I had- in fact, if that is my only reward from the instances that made me mature, I'd take immaturity and ignorance any day.
And I remember watching The Hours in seventh or eigth grade and I loved it, I could relate to the characters so much, and I read Michael Cunningham's book that it was based on. And my grandma and my uncle and my parents just said after the movie was over, "Well, they were all crazy."
And there are lots of instances like this, I could go on, when the things and people I relate to and love most are the things and people everyone else thinks are crazy. And I think that even now I still think way too much and way more than my friends, and that I have understood things most adults haven't.
Does this make me crazy?
I remember in the summer before eigth grade when we were in Hawaii and I was psychotic for the first time. And I couldn't read or concentrate, I couldn't sit still, i couldn't sleep, all I did was cry and pace around for a week and the walls were waving and I kept seeing things that I knew couldn't possibly be real and hearing these voices that I knew weren't there. It was horrible. And I came home and I thought, "I'm going crazy," and I thought how sad it was to be thirteen and going crazy.
And I remember in eigth grade when my dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder) started coming out of me, and how crazy I thought I was, and how scared of me my parents were, until it went away.
It will come back though, my counselor says.
Incidentally, I can talk to my counselor about a lot of things, but not about the things that really matter. I've been seeing her since I was seven. Before that it was this horrible counselor that I saw when I was three. I've been in counseling for a very long time and I hate it. I quit for two years between fifth and seventh grade, but then my fifth grade teacher started emotionally abusing me and screaming at me in class all day long and calling me stupid. And she eventually got fired but it really tore down everything I'd worked hard to build up. But I can't talk to my counselor about the things I really need help with because she'd tell my parents, and they'd ship me away to some island like they did to Craig, and it wouldn't help, I know it wouldn't help because I know I'm not ready for some crazy drastic thing like that. It didn't help my brother. It just made him worse and ate up a lot of my parents' money.
Anyway, I was so worried that I was going crazy. Until I finally just accepted that I was. And I still didn't accept the things that were wrong with me until lately.
And now I've decided that being bipolar and DID and having OCD GAD ADD and PTSD are all either a genetic part of me or things that my past did to me. And I can't make them go away. And if people think that I'm crazy because of the psychosis that goes with mania in bipolar, or because I'm all split up into different people inside, too bad. I don't care anymore. I know I'm not crazy and that's all that matters. Even if I do hear voices and have hallucinations. I'm a human being just like everyone else in the world and I don't deserve to just be called crazy and forgotten.
Today I ate the whipped cream off my italian soda for the first time ever. I couldn't eat breakfast, I just sat at the table and watched everyone eat french toast, trying not to think food was horrible or dirty, trying not to be disgusted with even the thought of eating. And it made me feel really fat and monstrous to eat that whipped cream in Hastings, but I did. And at breakfast this morning my mom just went on and on about how proud of me she is for keeping my weigth down. And last summer my grandma who doesn't love me said, "I thought you were going to be a porker, but you're so thin!" and it seems like all my mom ever talks about is how she doesn't eat much, but then I watch her at dinner and she eats a lot more than I could ever handle (psychologically) eating without later getting it out of me. And I wonder how people are okay with eating that much. How they can not hate themselves for it.
And I remember when I was very little, three or so, my mom started putting me on the scales every day. And I remember hating the numbers. And I remember my mom saying, You need to lose a little weight Lindsay. And I grew to hate it. But it was a routine of my childhood, my mother weighing me, telling me I needed to lose weight. And she put me on diets as I was growing up. And all I ever wanted was to lose a little weight, make those stupid numbers go down, because I thought maybe if I was thin, she'd be happy. And I thought maybe if I was perfect I could be happy.
And now my mom's so proud of me because I finally lost a little weight, and it's enough for her. But now the problem is it's not enough for me.
I remember when I was seven and I told Olivia to read my favorite book, The Clearing, and she said she didn't get it, and that it was boring. Looking back, that was when I first started realizing that I was different, that the way I thought and felt and looked at the world was perhaps far too mature for my age. I wrote a poem in third grade about how life is like a sledding hill, you go up and you run into trees and you get lost and you break your legs, but in the end you have to try again, because sledding's fun. I also wrote a poem in third grade about how my brother's life was a glass house, and the drugs were dynamite, and he'd blown it up, but he was trying to rebuild. In kindergarten I told my counselor that my family was like a puzzle and my brother was the missing piece.
The adults around me were shocked. I'm not proud of the maturity I had- in fact, if that is my only reward from the instances that made me mature, I'd take immaturity and ignorance any day.
And I remember watching The Hours in seventh or eigth grade and I loved it, I could relate to the characters so much, and I read Michael Cunningham's book that it was based on. And my grandma and my uncle and my parents just said after the movie was over, "Well, they were all crazy."
And there are lots of instances like this, I could go on, when the things and people I relate to and love most are the things and people everyone else thinks are crazy. And I think that even now I still think way too much and way more than my friends, and that I have understood things most adults haven't.
Does this make me crazy?
I remember in the summer before eigth grade when we were in Hawaii and I was psychotic for the first time. And I couldn't read or concentrate, I couldn't sit still, i couldn't sleep, all I did was cry and pace around for a week and the walls were waving and I kept seeing things that I knew couldn't possibly be real and hearing these voices that I knew weren't there. It was horrible. And I came home and I thought, "I'm going crazy," and I thought how sad it was to be thirteen and going crazy.
And I remember in eigth grade when my dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder) started coming out of me, and how crazy I thought I was, and how scared of me my parents were, until it went away.
It will come back though, my counselor says.
Incidentally, I can talk to my counselor about a lot of things, but not about the things that really matter. I've been seeing her since I was seven. Before that it was this horrible counselor that I saw when I was three. I've been in counseling for a very long time and I hate it. I quit for two years between fifth and seventh grade, but then my fifth grade teacher started emotionally abusing me and screaming at me in class all day long and calling me stupid. And she eventually got fired but it really tore down everything I'd worked hard to build up. But I can't talk to my counselor about the things I really need help with because she'd tell my parents, and they'd ship me away to some island like they did to Craig, and it wouldn't help, I know it wouldn't help because I know I'm not ready for some crazy drastic thing like that. It didn't help my brother. It just made him worse and ate up a lot of my parents' money.
Anyway, I was so worried that I was going crazy. Until I finally just accepted that I was. And I still didn't accept the things that were wrong with me until lately.
And now I've decided that being bipolar and DID and having OCD GAD ADD and PTSD are all either a genetic part of me or things that my past did to me. And I can't make them go away. And if people think that I'm crazy because of the psychosis that goes with mania in bipolar, or because I'm all split up into different people inside, too bad. I don't care anymore. I know I'm not crazy and that's all that matters. Even if I do hear voices and have hallucinations. I'm a human being just like everyone else in the world and I don't deserve to just be called crazy and forgotten.
Today I ate the whipped cream off my italian soda for the first time ever. I couldn't eat breakfast, I just sat at the table and watched everyone eat french toast, trying not to think food was horrible or dirty, trying not to be disgusted with even the thought of eating. And it made me feel really fat and monstrous to eat that whipped cream in Hastings, but I did. And at breakfast this morning my mom just went on and on about how proud of me she is for keeping my weigth down. And last summer my grandma who doesn't love me said, "I thought you were going to be a porker, but you're so thin!" and it seems like all my mom ever talks about is how she doesn't eat much, but then I watch her at dinner and she eats a lot more than I could ever handle (psychologically) eating without later getting it out of me. And I wonder how people are okay with eating that much. How they can not hate themselves for it.
And I remember when I was very little, three or so, my mom started putting me on the scales every day. And I remember hating the numbers. And I remember my mom saying, You need to lose a little weight Lindsay. And I grew to hate it. But it was a routine of my childhood, my mother weighing me, telling me I needed to lose weight. And she put me on diets as I was growing up. And all I ever wanted was to lose a little weight, make those stupid numbers go down, because I thought maybe if I was thin, she'd be happy. And I thought maybe if I was perfect I could be happy.
And now my mom's so proud of me because I finally lost a little weight, and it's enough for her. But now the problem is it's not enough for me.
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