Sorry, I'm kinda posting a lot. But I forgot to post about my mental health state this past week.
I thought I could handle everything without slipping away, but I couldn't. I quit eating for a few days, and then compulsively ate again. There was no purging though; no laxatives, no overdoses. I thought about OD-ing today, but I decided not to. I'm trying to transcend that.
The anxiety and panic attacks and OCD have been very bad lately. I haven't wanted to tell anyone, because I didn't want to screw with my meds again. However, I can't handle this anymore. I feel like I did four years ago when I was going in and out of dissociation and psychosis. Thinking about boredom makes me feel like my molecules are going too fast; my electrons are gaining so much velocity that they're escaping the gravity and flying off into space, grabbed by inappropriate atoms with filled valence shields, converting me into some freak anomale.
I'm doing a little better bipolar-wise at the moment, but at Civitan I resembled a yoyo on crack. There was no reason for it; everything was so spontaneous. There were no triggers to change my moods. One instant I was happy and alive and real, and the next I was dead and depressed and lost. I raged against the bipolar all week. I suppose these rapid cycles that happen when I'm on meds are way better than the extreme, longer cycles that happen when I'm off meds, but they're so disconcerting. The difference between on-med and off-med depression for me, however, is that when I'm on meds I know I'll come back up. The difference between medicated hypomania and mania is that when I'm on-meds I'm just hyper, annoying, only slightly out of control, rather than spiraling into psychosis.
However, I need to do something about the panic, the anxiety, the compulsion, the unending obsessions. Please, please, please God give me one day where I think about my ACT's and SAT's less than ten times. I just want to forget them! Please help me to stop having panic attacks when I think about boredom.
I don't want this! I don't want any of this. I took one of my mom's xanax, because when I get like this they usually calm me down quickly. I know I shouldn't self-medicate, but it's mroe appealing to me than falling into that psychosis that I went through a few years ago.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Civitan
When I started this blog, there was no one reading it, and I swore to tell the truth in its entirety. This was the only place that I was completely and totally honest about my life. I wanted to understand something: the wholeness past all of the deception. When people started reading it, it increased the cathartic effect of truth-telling. It really was complete, devoid of fabrication; people read it, which made it real.
Now, there are several people reading this, a few of whom are hopelessly entwined in my truths. But this blog began a year and a half ago as an exercise in understanding my unimpeded identity, and it will continue to be that. I will continue telling the truth. Perhaps maybe I can take this exercise and implement it everywhere in my life.
When I got to Civitan I was thoroughly numb. I saw Josh everywhere. I sat in the couch that I sat in last year when I first saw him, hovering over Jane, smiling, and so hot I thought I'd never have a chance. It was easy, though, when I found out that he was one of those unconfident boys that doesn't seem aware of how cute they are. I'm good about seducing those. I can feel confident around people that don't feel confident; it's only around those that do feel confident that I lose all of my assertiveness.
I saw Josh in the cafeteria, in the stairwells. They were these little phantom images of Josh, because he was gone now, because I could not let him go no matter what I tried.
I found Emily. Or rather she found me. I wasn't sure whether to expect her there or not, and I wasn't sure how to deal with it if she was there. I was paranoid that she wouldn't like me. I was paranoid that I would screw everything up. It wasn't about Josh when it came to Emily... it was just about wanting her (needing her in some ways) as a friend.
It was odd, meeting someone I knew a lot about. It was hard to get over how real she was, in stark contrast to those ghosts of Josh that were floating everywhere. I didn't bother trying to pretend to be someone I wasn't; I just acted liked myself and prayed she'd like me.
We have these envelopes at Civitan that people send you notes in, and after dinner on Sunday, the first night, I found a note from Josh in mine. "I'm here. I'm sorry." I don't know how to explain to you how I felt in that moment. It was as if I had been living in this dream world for three weeks. I think that I had forgotten Josh was a real person, and seeing his handwriting shook everything up for me. I didn't know what to think, feel, or do. Yet again I was trapped in an emotional situation that I was not ready for and had not prepared for. My wrist was still swollen from the last time that happened.
I panicked, I'll admit it. My heart started training for the Indy 500. My lungs felt like they were struggling with iron constraints. I had to keep trying to calm myself down from the rampant anxiety. I tried to close my eyes and imagine seeing him, and it made me feel so disconnected from reality. I had thought I would never see him again; I thought that's what his therapists said had to happen. I thought that he didn't love me anymore, and that his love for me had been part of his BPD all along. I thought that he wasn't the same Josh that came to prom a month ago. I didn't know how to handle this new person. I had just started trying to get over him (although I still thought incessently of suicide and I still knew I'd never get over him in the way Ariel told me he'd gotten over me).
When I did finally see him, sillhoetted in a doorway, the bottom dropped out of everything (I'm sorry, this sounds so dramatic, but it was dramatic). He saw me and turned around and walked away. I saw him and it was like seeing a ghost in the flesh, like seeing a resurrected being. I had almost convinced myself that there was no Josh anymore in the world, only those flimsy memories, and seeing him jarred all of my shaky resolutions that I had been struggling to build since I got that message on my cellphone.
I also knew, upon that fleeting glimpse, that I still loved him with all of the passion that I had ever loved him with, and that if there was anyway, anyway at all in the universe, that I could still be with him and that we could be healthy, I would give up everything material that I own just to have it.
That night was... awkward. I didn't know who he was anymore. From the stories I had been told, he had changed a lot, lost control. Emily sat between us and I didn't look at him, except to look at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. I didn't speak to him. I asked Emily whether I should talk to him, and she said only if he talked to me. I didn't know who he was anymore, and I was prepared to ignore him the whole week if he ignored me. I wasn't sure how I could handle loving him directly again; I didn't know if the fierceness of my emotions would be containable in that stressful atmosphere. I worried that I would explode. Every time I saw him I felt like crying, crying, crying, because I thought I had lost him forever. Having him there, seeing him... it was like someone was giving me some tiny shred of hope again, some tiny, feeble ray of light in all of that consuming darkness that threaten to destroy me. I can't blame myself for groping for it, for clinging onto it like it was the only objective thing in a subjective universe.
He did come and talk to me that night. While we were playing games I stared at him and felt that my cardiac muscles were slowly dissolving and my heartbeat was converting to mush. I didn't know how I could go on living my life without him. I remembered all of those days in the past few weeks that I have tried to be strong but ended up in messy tears. I remember all those wondering hours when I pondered whether it was possible or worth to survive after all that had happened. I remembered my tentative resolves to keep on living, to try to find all of that worth inside of myself. I remembered looking inside of myself and being truly shocked at the strength that I found there, beyond everything. I knew that I could exist without Josh, that I could possibly learn to live someday. But I also knew that I would give anything just to have him back again, just to make it so that I and his health could coexist.
Small talk? Maybe. He stood next to me. He said something like how are you, and I answered. I asked if he was doing better, and he said somewhat. It was awkward at first. But he was still Josh. From everything everyone had been telling me, he had metamorphosed into some boy I didn't know. But when I saw him I realized that he was still the Josh he'd always been, but he had lost control, which was bad, and he had lost his masks, which was good. Of all of his masks, I like his raw and bleeding face better- bleeding from the cold, but finally exposed enough to heal.
That night we sat in a group around Dennis (the leader guy) and Josh held my hand. The whole universe was flying through my mind at that moment. I didn't know if it was healthy, or right, so I kept asking Josh, kept letting go of his hand and making sure that I wasn't the focus, that he was himself and not his standard Lindsay-mask. He insisted he was though.
Over the week I realized that he is beginning to make the changes that he needs to make. I am no longer the center of his world. One of the biggest reasons I was attracted to him last summer was that he needed taking care of, and I needed so desperately to be needed. But I understand now that we both need to change those pathologies. I need to let go of that desire to be strong by taking care of him, and find strength inherent within myself (which I am beggining to do). He needs to let go of clinging to me and being absolutely dependent on me, and give everyone in his lives the roles that are appropriate in his healing (which he is beginning to do).
On Monday he scared me by yanking me out on the roof (very against the rules) so he could talk to me alone. I was having a panic attack the whole time we were up there (I'm a little paranoid about breaking rules). He explained to me that his parents told him he wasn't allowed to talk to me for six months to a year, which I explained to him was very not true. I had thought I wasn't allowed to talk to him for at least that long. It was a miscommunication. When he asked if he could kiss me I let go of his hand. I backed up five feet across the roof (I'm amazed at my presence of mind amidst the panic attack). I made him sit there for a minute and really think about what differences there would have to be if we were involved again. I made him think about how I would just be a part of his life, not his whole life. We both thought about it.
He didn't kiss me until we were both entirely sure it was right. It wasn't exactly at that moment. I kept, over the week, constantly making both of us step back and evaluate what was going on. I kept asking if he would be okay on Thursday when I left. I kept reminding of my constancy (and me of his, as I have that symptom of BPD majorly). I kept telling him that I would continue to exist when I went home on Thursday, and he didn't need me to be with him to be happy.
I think that our relationship over the week was making some major moves towards health. I wrote him several notes, all saying that it had to be a healthy relationship, because I'd rather have no relationship than an unhealthy one. We were keeping it real. It was hard for me to try to adjust to not be the center of his life, but it was a relief to know the pressure was gone and that he was beggining to heal.
I also cannot explain to you how wonderful it felt to know that his love for me hadn't been part of his BPD, and that it still existed even when he was trying hard to contain any BPD tendancies.
I don't think we should ever be together really alone, without a social setting, for quite a while. It keeps things real. I don't think, for instance, that it will be smart to do anything like prom for quite a while. But I do believe that these babysteps are taking us to a better place. What we both made clear over the week was that things absolutely had to change. There simply was not the option of going back to the way things were, as tempting as it was. The week was constant work, constant evalution of the way things were going. However, things can be better if they have to be different. That's what I'm always trying to tell myself: as scary as change is, it's worth reaching out sometimes and grasping it, just because of the possibility that things can be better.
However, I am leaving out some majorly important parts of the week. That's how my relationship with Josh was going. But there was an equally important relationship present that I was struggling to hold on to, and totally confused about: my relationship with Emily.
Emily loves Josh. I have known that for a few months, ever since I talked to her one time quite a while ago about how I was afraid that Josh was deifying me (which he was). It was pretty obvious in that conversation. However, although I am horrible about fear of abandonment and I need to be told every day that someone loves me for me to believe it, I didn't want to be afraid of what would happen between Emily and Josh. Through all of this I have tried really hard to just trust God. I felt in my heart that Josh was the right one for me, the one I would be with forever. But I also felt that if that ever quit being true, God could handle the situation and help me pull through it.
As soon as Josh grabbed my hand on Sunday night I thought immediately of Emily and knew things were getting complicated. I knew she liked Josh a lot. So I wrote her a note about it, and she wrote back confirming my fears to the worst degree.
I didn't mind that she likes Josh. There's not really much you can do about loving someone. However, I felt totally and completely miserablet that she had to see Josh coming back to me. I think that sometimes Josh isn't really sensative of what girls aroun him are feeilng. I know that he knew Emily was hurting, but I don't think he thought really about how horrible it would be to watch what happened if he were her. I don't even think I really undrestood how horrible it was.
But my last post was about her. Every time I saw her I felt physically sick. I felt doubled over in pain. I hate hurting people. But it was such a horrible situation. I just couldn't let go of Josh because of her, even though a large part of me wanted to. This made me feel selfish, which made me angry at myself. I wanted so badly to do something that made everyone happy, but it was a lose-lose situation.
So although I was so happy to have Josh back, I was also completely and totally miserable. This misery was my fault of course, not Emily's. I want to emphasize that I'm responsible for my own feelings and reactions.
I also really do not want to lose Emily as a friend over this. She is an amazing person. Even though she was hurting all week, she helped me through it. How unselfish is that? I think it's amazing. I don't know if I could do that. I remember when Kayte and Sam hooked up, and how angry I was unconsciously at both of them. I really admire Emily's strength, and that she cares about me even though I have partially ruined something important to her.
Well, the drama continues. I went whitewater rafting yesterday on the Lochsa which was really fun, as there were quite a few large rapids (although none as big as one of the ones on the Snake that we do every year). I was FREEZING though. The water temperature was 40 degrees.
Tomorrow I'm leaving to go to church camp for a week, and then rafting for a week. I'll be back on July 2nd because I have a college class starting on the 3rd (the writing one). I have to drive back from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, all by myself, which is like six hours. I am excited partially because it means I am growing up and can be responsible enough to drive home alone, but I am unhappy because I really hate long-distance driving.
Now, there are several people reading this, a few of whom are hopelessly entwined in my truths. But this blog began a year and a half ago as an exercise in understanding my unimpeded identity, and it will continue to be that. I will continue telling the truth. Perhaps maybe I can take this exercise and implement it everywhere in my life.
When I got to Civitan I was thoroughly numb. I saw Josh everywhere. I sat in the couch that I sat in last year when I first saw him, hovering over Jane, smiling, and so hot I thought I'd never have a chance. It was easy, though, when I found out that he was one of those unconfident boys that doesn't seem aware of how cute they are. I'm good about seducing those. I can feel confident around people that don't feel confident; it's only around those that do feel confident that I lose all of my assertiveness.
I saw Josh in the cafeteria, in the stairwells. They were these little phantom images of Josh, because he was gone now, because I could not let him go no matter what I tried.
I found Emily. Or rather she found me. I wasn't sure whether to expect her there or not, and I wasn't sure how to deal with it if she was there. I was paranoid that she wouldn't like me. I was paranoid that I would screw everything up. It wasn't about Josh when it came to Emily... it was just about wanting her (needing her in some ways) as a friend.
It was odd, meeting someone I knew a lot about. It was hard to get over how real she was, in stark contrast to those ghosts of Josh that were floating everywhere. I didn't bother trying to pretend to be someone I wasn't; I just acted liked myself and prayed she'd like me.
We have these envelopes at Civitan that people send you notes in, and after dinner on Sunday, the first night, I found a note from Josh in mine. "I'm here. I'm sorry." I don't know how to explain to you how I felt in that moment. It was as if I had been living in this dream world for three weeks. I think that I had forgotten Josh was a real person, and seeing his handwriting shook everything up for me. I didn't know what to think, feel, or do. Yet again I was trapped in an emotional situation that I was not ready for and had not prepared for. My wrist was still swollen from the last time that happened.
I panicked, I'll admit it. My heart started training for the Indy 500. My lungs felt like they were struggling with iron constraints. I had to keep trying to calm myself down from the rampant anxiety. I tried to close my eyes and imagine seeing him, and it made me feel so disconnected from reality. I had thought I would never see him again; I thought that's what his therapists said had to happen. I thought that he didn't love me anymore, and that his love for me had been part of his BPD all along. I thought that he wasn't the same Josh that came to prom a month ago. I didn't know how to handle this new person. I had just started trying to get over him (although I still thought incessently of suicide and I still knew I'd never get over him in the way Ariel told me he'd gotten over me).
When I did finally see him, sillhoetted in a doorway, the bottom dropped out of everything (I'm sorry, this sounds so dramatic, but it was dramatic). He saw me and turned around and walked away. I saw him and it was like seeing a ghost in the flesh, like seeing a resurrected being. I had almost convinced myself that there was no Josh anymore in the world, only those flimsy memories, and seeing him jarred all of my shaky resolutions that I had been struggling to build since I got that message on my cellphone.
I also knew, upon that fleeting glimpse, that I still loved him with all of the passion that I had ever loved him with, and that if there was anyway, anyway at all in the universe, that I could still be with him and that we could be healthy, I would give up everything material that I own just to have it.
That night was... awkward. I didn't know who he was anymore. From the stories I had been told, he had changed a lot, lost control. Emily sat between us and I didn't look at him, except to look at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. I didn't speak to him. I asked Emily whether I should talk to him, and she said only if he talked to me. I didn't know who he was anymore, and I was prepared to ignore him the whole week if he ignored me. I wasn't sure how I could handle loving him directly again; I didn't know if the fierceness of my emotions would be containable in that stressful atmosphere. I worried that I would explode. Every time I saw him I felt like crying, crying, crying, because I thought I had lost him forever. Having him there, seeing him... it was like someone was giving me some tiny shred of hope again, some tiny, feeble ray of light in all of that consuming darkness that threaten to destroy me. I can't blame myself for groping for it, for clinging onto it like it was the only objective thing in a subjective universe.
He did come and talk to me that night. While we were playing games I stared at him and felt that my cardiac muscles were slowly dissolving and my heartbeat was converting to mush. I didn't know how I could go on living my life without him. I remembered all of those days in the past few weeks that I have tried to be strong but ended up in messy tears. I remember all those wondering hours when I pondered whether it was possible or worth to survive after all that had happened. I remembered my tentative resolves to keep on living, to try to find all of that worth inside of myself. I remembered looking inside of myself and being truly shocked at the strength that I found there, beyond everything. I knew that I could exist without Josh, that I could possibly learn to live someday. But I also knew that I would give anything just to have him back again, just to make it so that I and his health could coexist.
Small talk? Maybe. He stood next to me. He said something like how are you, and I answered. I asked if he was doing better, and he said somewhat. It was awkward at first. But he was still Josh. From everything everyone had been telling me, he had metamorphosed into some boy I didn't know. But when I saw him I realized that he was still the Josh he'd always been, but he had lost control, which was bad, and he had lost his masks, which was good. Of all of his masks, I like his raw and bleeding face better- bleeding from the cold, but finally exposed enough to heal.
That night we sat in a group around Dennis (the leader guy) and Josh held my hand. The whole universe was flying through my mind at that moment. I didn't know if it was healthy, or right, so I kept asking Josh, kept letting go of his hand and making sure that I wasn't the focus, that he was himself and not his standard Lindsay-mask. He insisted he was though.
Over the week I realized that he is beginning to make the changes that he needs to make. I am no longer the center of his world. One of the biggest reasons I was attracted to him last summer was that he needed taking care of, and I needed so desperately to be needed. But I understand now that we both need to change those pathologies. I need to let go of that desire to be strong by taking care of him, and find strength inherent within myself (which I am beggining to do). He needs to let go of clinging to me and being absolutely dependent on me, and give everyone in his lives the roles that are appropriate in his healing (which he is beginning to do).
On Monday he scared me by yanking me out on the roof (very against the rules) so he could talk to me alone. I was having a panic attack the whole time we were up there (I'm a little paranoid about breaking rules). He explained to me that his parents told him he wasn't allowed to talk to me for six months to a year, which I explained to him was very not true. I had thought I wasn't allowed to talk to him for at least that long. It was a miscommunication. When he asked if he could kiss me I let go of his hand. I backed up five feet across the roof (I'm amazed at my presence of mind amidst the panic attack). I made him sit there for a minute and really think about what differences there would have to be if we were involved again. I made him think about how I would just be a part of his life, not his whole life. We both thought about it.
He didn't kiss me until we were both entirely sure it was right. It wasn't exactly at that moment. I kept, over the week, constantly making both of us step back and evaluate what was going on. I kept asking if he would be okay on Thursday when I left. I kept reminding of my constancy (and me of his, as I have that symptom of BPD majorly). I kept telling him that I would continue to exist when I went home on Thursday, and he didn't need me to be with him to be happy.
I think that our relationship over the week was making some major moves towards health. I wrote him several notes, all saying that it had to be a healthy relationship, because I'd rather have no relationship than an unhealthy one. We were keeping it real. It was hard for me to try to adjust to not be the center of his life, but it was a relief to know the pressure was gone and that he was beggining to heal.
I also cannot explain to you how wonderful it felt to know that his love for me hadn't been part of his BPD, and that it still existed even when he was trying hard to contain any BPD tendancies.
I don't think we should ever be together really alone, without a social setting, for quite a while. It keeps things real. I don't think, for instance, that it will be smart to do anything like prom for quite a while. But I do believe that these babysteps are taking us to a better place. What we both made clear over the week was that things absolutely had to change. There simply was not the option of going back to the way things were, as tempting as it was. The week was constant work, constant evalution of the way things were going. However, things can be better if they have to be different. That's what I'm always trying to tell myself: as scary as change is, it's worth reaching out sometimes and grasping it, just because of the possibility that things can be better.
However, I am leaving out some majorly important parts of the week. That's how my relationship with Josh was going. But there was an equally important relationship present that I was struggling to hold on to, and totally confused about: my relationship with Emily.
Emily loves Josh. I have known that for a few months, ever since I talked to her one time quite a while ago about how I was afraid that Josh was deifying me (which he was). It was pretty obvious in that conversation. However, although I am horrible about fear of abandonment and I need to be told every day that someone loves me for me to believe it, I didn't want to be afraid of what would happen between Emily and Josh. Through all of this I have tried really hard to just trust God. I felt in my heart that Josh was the right one for me, the one I would be with forever. But I also felt that if that ever quit being true, God could handle the situation and help me pull through it.
As soon as Josh grabbed my hand on Sunday night I thought immediately of Emily and knew things were getting complicated. I knew she liked Josh a lot. So I wrote her a note about it, and she wrote back confirming my fears to the worst degree.
I didn't mind that she likes Josh. There's not really much you can do about loving someone. However, I felt totally and completely miserablet that she had to see Josh coming back to me. I think that sometimes Josh isn't really sensative of what girls aroun him are feeilng. I know that he knew Emily was hurting, but I don't think he thought really about how horrible it would be to watch what happened if he were her. I don't even think I really undrestood how horrible it was.
But my last post was about her. Every time I saw her I felt physically sick. I felt doubled over in pain. I hate hurting people. But it was such a horrible situation. I just couldn't let go of Josh because of her, even though a large part of me wanted to. This made me feel selfish, which made me angry at myself. I wanted so badly to do something that made everyone happy, but it was a lose-lose situation.
So although I was so happy to have Josh back, I was also completely and totally miserable. This misery was my fault of course, not Emily's. I want to emphasize that I'm responsible for my own feelings and reactions.
I also really do not want to lose Emily as a friend over this. She is an amazing person. Even though she was hurting all week, she helped me through it. How unselfish is that? I think it's amazing. I don't know if I could do that. I remember when Kayte and Sam hooked up, and how angry I was unconsciously at both of them. I really admire Emily's strength, and that she cares about me even though I have partially ruined something important to her.
Well, the drama continues. I went whitewater rafting yesterday on the Lochsa which was really fun, as there were quite a few large rapids (although none as big as one of the ones on the Snake that we do every year). I was FREEZING though. The water temperature was 40 degrees.
Tomorrow I'm leaving to go to church camp for a week, and then rafting for a week. I'll be back on July 2nd because I have a college class starting on the 3rd (the writing one). I have to drive back from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, all by myself, which is like six hours. I am excited partially because it means I am growing up and can be responsible enough to drive home alone, but I am unhappy because I really hate long-distance driving.
Friday, June 16, 2006
What happens when everything is lying on the ground... Do you pick up the pieces all around? And if the world should fall apart hold on to what you know... take your chances turn around and go.
I don't know what to think or feel at the moment. Civitan was pretty amazing in a lot of ways, and totally completely miserable in others. I will write more later, as I've been whitewater rafting all day an am exhuasted right now.
One time, when I was fourteen, I fell totally in love with this boy named Sam. Every time I saw him my heart would skip ten beats. I loved him for a year. Then we had our eighth grade graduation dance. When he danced with me, I felty like I had escaped my body somehow and transcended all of my misery. He held my hand and I thought I had it made.
The next week I watched him kissing one of my best friends. I'll still remember the way my stomach felt in that instant, knowing that I was just one dance. He went on to be in love with her for two years... I loved him secretly. Some part of me probably still loves him, but I let it go as much as I could, as it hurt so, so badly.
em·pa·thy
That's what Civitan was. There was a small amazing spark of happiness exploding inside of me. But every minute there was that suffocating punch of empathy. So much I felt like crying a lot.
I didn't eat part of the time, not much anyway; I was cycling like crazy from hyper to really depressed; I felt like everything was spiralling out of control. But I got my hope back, when I thought it was lost.
I can't say it wasn't worth it, to get him back. I can't lie. But it did hurt- more, I think, than anyone will know. I kept remembering watching Kayte kiss Sam at morp in ninth grade and the way my stomach dissolved in that instant...
and it hurt so much.
I hate myself when I cause pain.
I don't know what to think or feel at the moment. Civitan was pretty amazing in a lot of ways, and totally completely miserable in others. I will write more later, as I've been whitewater rafting all day an am exhuasted right now.
One time, when I was fourteen, I fell totally in love with this boy named Sam. Every time I saw him my heart would skip ten beats. I loved him for a year. Then we had our eighth grade graduation dance. When he danced with me, I felty like I had escaped my body somehow and transcended all of my misery. He held my hand and I thought I had it made.
The next week I watched him kissing one of my best friends. I'll still remember the way my stomach felt in that instant, knowing that I was just one dance. He went on to be in love with her for two years... I loved him secretly. Some part of me probably still loves him, but I let it go as much as I could, as it hurt so, so badly.
em·pa·thy
- Identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings, and motives.
That's what Civitan was. There was a small amazing spark of happiness exploding inside of me. But every minute there was that suffocating punch of empathy. So much I felt like crying a lot.
I didn't eat part of the time, not much anyway; I was cycling like crazy from hyper to really depressed; I felt like everything was spiralling out of control. But I got my hope back, when I thought it was lost.
I can't say it wasn't worth it, to get him back. I can't lie. But it did hurt- more, I think, than anyone will know. I kept remembering watching Kayte kiss Sam at morp in ninth grade and the way my stomach dissolved in that instant...
and it hurt so much.
I hate myself when I cause pain.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
what I'd say to him
Well I'm off to Civitan. I do believe it will hurt a lot; I'll see him everywhere, us, last year, so full of hope.
I was listening to this song the other day and it seemed so appropriate... it's everything I say to Josh inside my head that I'd never tell him:
"Behind These Hazel Eyes" (Kelly Clarkson, although I doubt she wrote the words)
Seems like just yesterday
You were a part of me
I used to stand so tall
I used to be so strong
Your arms around me tight
Everything, it felt so right
Unbreakable, like nothin' could go wrong
Now I can't breathe
No, I can't sleep
I'm barely hanging on
Here I am, once again
I'm torn into pieces
Can't deny it, can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up, deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes
I told you everything
Opened up and let you in
You made me feel alright
For once in my life
Now all that's left of me
Is what I pretend to be
So together, but so broken up inside
'Cause I can't breathe
No, I can't sleep
I'm barely hangin' on
Here I am, once again
I'm torn into pieces
Can't deny it, can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up, deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes
Swallow me then spit me out
For hating you, I blame myself
Seeing you it kills me now
No, I don't cry on the outside
Anymore...
I was listening to this song the other day and it seemed so appropriate... it's everything I say to Josh inside my head that I'd never tell him:
"Behind These Hazel Eyes" (Kelly Clarkson, although I doubt she wrote the words)
Seems like just yesterday
You were a part of me
I used to stand so tall
I used to be so strong
Your arms around me tight
Everything, it felt so right
Unbreakable, like nothin' could go wrong
Now I can't breathe
No, I can't sleep
I'm barely hanging on
Here I am, once again
I'm torn into pieces
Can't deny it, can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up, deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes
I told you everything
Opened up and let you in
You made me feel alright
For once in my life
Now all that's left of me
Is what I pretend to be
So together, but so broken up inside
'Cause I can't breathe
No, I can't sleep
I'm barely hangin' on
Here I am, once again
I'm torn into pieces
Can't deny it, can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up, deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes
Swallow me then spit me out
For hating you, I blame myself
Seeing you it kills me now
No, I don't cry on the outside
Anymore...
Friday, June 09, 2006
What is it in us that finds the strength to live when everything has fallen apart and it seems as if there is no hope? That odd rejuvination at the end of everything has been one of the most amazing things in my life. When it seems like nothing's left, when it seems like everything has liquified and run away, I find this rock-solid place within myself, at the bottom of everything.
Yesterday was the last day of school. I survived my junior year, somehow. This is the first year since eighth grade that I've had really stressful outside circumstances that justified my depression. The past few years I've pretty much just made myself miserable. But, it means another year has gone by during which, miraculously, I have managed to keep my 4.0 GPA through the bulimia and cutting and debilitating depression. Maybe there's something wrong with that. Maybe it's bad that I will let everything else go before I let my grades go. I know that for a lot of really depressed kids grades are the first thing to go. I'm not sure why they are the last for me. I'm not sure why they matter so much. They probably shouldn't. I should probably care more about being happy than having A's. But it does make me feel better that no matter what happens to me, I will fight to have that consistency in my life, those A's on my report card. I think that ultimately what keeps me hanging on to my grades is that they are the last thing separating me from my brother, and years ago when I swore I would never be like him, part of that promise was that I would always care about my grades and do well in school.
I feel so weak. I don't know how I'm doing this. Every day I keep getting these urges to do things like cut, but somehow I don't. I don't understand where my ability to keep breathing is coming from. I don't understand why I suddenly want so badly to live. There's been so many times where I've thought my life was so unfair, because there were so many people dying of cancer and car accidents that wanted to live when I was healthy and all I wanted was to die. The funny thing is though that even when I was that depressed, I think that if I got cancer I'd want to live. I think that if I ever die young I want it to be that I chose it, that I killed myself, not that something else killed me. Something in me always fights. Something in me can't give in when it's the outside forces hurting me. I'll let the inner deterioration run its course, but the second you try to hurt me or try to force me into something, I will fight you. I'm the only one allowed to hurt me. It's control. It's safety.
But I'm alive. This summer will be busy. I have to work five hours a day on my PCR and southern blots in the genetics lab. I'm going to read a lot. I'm going to practice violin a lot. I'm going to understand why I want so badly to live. I'm going to make it so I'm not miserable next year. I'm going to do something, anything, to uncover that rock place inside of me and build all of my hopes on it instead of the shiftiness they're built on now.
I haven't forgotten, either, that the rock is God.
Yesterday was the last day of school. I survived my junior year, somehow. This is the first year since eighth grade that I've had really stressful outside circumstances that justified my depression. The past few years I've pretty much just made myself miserable. But, it means another year has gone by during which, miraculously, I have managed to keep my 4.0 GPA through the bulimia and cutting and debilitating depression. Maybe there's something wrong with that. Maybe it's bad that I will let everything else go before I let my grades go. I know that for a lot of really depressed kids grades are the first thing to go. I'm not sure why they are the last for me. I'm not sure why they matter so much. They probably shouldn't. I should probably care more about being happy than having A's. But it does make me feel better that no matter what happens to me, I will fight to have that consistency in my life, those A's on my report card. I think that ultimately what keeps me hanging on to my grades is that they are the last thing separating me from my brother, and years ago when I swore I would never be like him, part of that promise was that I would always care about my grades and do well in school.
I feel so weak. I don't know how I'm doing this. Every day I keep getting these urges to do things like cut, but somehow I don't. I don't understand where my ability to keep breathing is coming from. I don't understand why I suddenly want so badly to live. There's been so many times where I've thought my life was so unfair, because there were so many people dying of cancer and car accidents that wanted to live when I was healthy and all I wanted was to die. The funny thing is though that even when I was that depressed, I think that if I got cancer I'd want to live. I think that if I ever die young I want it to be that I chose it, that I killed myself, not that something else killed me. Something in me always fights. Something in me can't give in when it's the outside forces hurting me. I'll let the inner deterioration run its course, but the second you try to hurt me or try to force me into something, I will fight you. I'm the only one allowed to hurt me. It's control. It's safety.
But I'm alive. This summer will be busy. I have to work five hours a day on my PCR and southern blots in the genetics lab. I'm going to read a lot. I'm going to practice violin a lot. I'm going to understand why I want so badly to live. I'm going to make it so I'm not miserable next year. I'm going to do something, anything, to uncover that rock place inside of me and build all of my hopes on it instead of the shiftiness they're built on now.
I haven't forgotten, either, that the rock is God.
Monday, June 05, 2006
why am i being positive when i feel miserable?
I found this word today...
cic·a·trize (s
k
-tr
z
)
tr. & intr.v. cic·a·trized, cic·a·triz·ing, cic·a·triz·es
To heal or become healed by the formation of scar tissue.
Everything is kinda falling apart. Josh has borderline personality disorder. I cried tonight, harder than I have since I was little. It was one of those sessions of heaving sobs, when your whole diaphragm contracts, tight as a fist, and pained noises. At first I was alone, but then my mom came out and held me.
Because I'll probably never see him again. Because his love for me was a part of some disorder, it wasn't real like my love for him. Because that hurts like all hell.
In the end, though, what has always mattered more than anything is that he gets better, that he heals, finds happiness somewhere. Never in me, I guess. Now, all I can really be is some distant friend, some memory of a horrible time of his life.
I trusted him so much, and he left me in the end. It's not his fault, and I don't really blame him, although I am irrationally angry with him for not loving me the way I loved him, for being able to move on while I sob uncontrollably and live in this haze on a daily basis. Still, he has proven to be like everyone else in my past- damaging, painful, and in the end, always abandoning.
How can I just let go of him? I thought I would be with him forever. I don't have a choice now, for his sake, and I guess mine in some way. I have got to let go. I have got to let go somehow or I'll be miserable forever...
Right now that seems the plausible outcome, the misery. I can't imagine living, really, without talking to him, without his emails, without everything...
There are memories, so many memories. I will write them all tomorrow as the first step of letting go. Right now they rush through me and make my dry eyes wet again. They hurt more than the memories of being raped do.
I'm not sure how I'll be okay. I can imagine being better, someday, but I can't imagine getting better. However, I believe I can go to sleep in a few minutes, and wake up, and live through tomorrow. When eternity is too huge a chunk to handle (especially when the boy I imagined spending it with is now completely lost), I'll just have to live for tomorrow, live for the day. Tomorrow, I will find something to make me happy, if only for an instant, if only something small, and it will be the first step.
I like that word a lot. Cicatrizing. Creating scar tissue. Healing.
cic·a·trize (s
k-trz)tr. & intr.v. cic·a·trized, cic·a·triz·ing, cic·a·triz·es
To heal or become healed by the formation of scar tissue.
Everything is kinda falling apart. Josh has borderline personality disorder. I cried tonight, harder than I have since I was little. It was one of those sessions of heaving sobs, when your whole diaphragm contracts, tight as a fist, and pained noises. At first I was alone, but then my mom came out and held me.
Because I'll probably never see him again. Because his love for me was a part of some disorder, it wasn't real like my love for him. Because that hurts like all hell.
In the end, though, what has always mattered more than anything is that he gets better, that he heals, finds happiness somewhere. Never in me, I guess. Now, all I can really be is some distant friend, some memory of a horrible time of his life.
I trusted him so much, and he left me in the end. It's not his fault, and I don't really blame him, although I am irrationally angry with him for not loving me the way I loved him, for being able to move on while I sob uncontrollably and live in this haze on a daily basis. Still, he has proven to be like everyone else in my past- damaging, painful, and in the end, always abandoning.
How can I just let go of him? I thought I would be with him forever. I don't have a choice now, for his sake, and I guess mine in some way. I have got to let go. I have got to let go somehow or I'll be miserable forever...
Right now that seems the plausible outcome, the misery. I can't imagine living, really, without talking to him, without his emails, without everything...
There are memories, so many memories. I will write them all tomorrow as the first step of letting go. Right now they rush through me and make my dry eyes wet again. They hurt more than the memories of being raped do.
I'm not sure how I'll be okay. I can imagine being better, someday, but I can't imagine getting better. However, I believe I can go to sleep in a few minutes, and wake up, and live through tomorrow. When eternity is too huge a chunk to handle (especially when the boy I imagined spending it with is now completely lost), I'll just have to live for tomorrow, live for the day. Tomorrow, I will find something to make me happy, if only for an instant, if only something small, and it will be the first step.
I like that word a lot. Cicatrizing. Creating scar tissue. Healing.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
It seems like every day I just do what it takes to live for ten more minutes, and that's it. I used to be alive... now I'm just surviving mostly.
Yesterday I got invited to two parties, went to neither. I couldn't stand the thought of standing around and getting hit in the head every once in a while with a frisbee. I felt like cutting my other wrist, but after some internal debate I decided to do the responsible thing. My parents and I went to Tropical Snow. Erin was working. Just seeing her helped. But not enough. I still felt all crazy, so I went to a movie with Brittany. (The Da Vinci Code). That got me through until 11 p.m., which got me through until I went to sleep, which got me through until this morning. And then there was church which pulled me through until noon. I came home and I made a collage about Josh, which tortured me but kept me alive until 2. Then I tried to do some homework and I started losing it again. Everything fuzzes in and out. I can't stop and think because I start panicking and hyperventalating. I can't think. I think about the past and it's like this bittersweet hole that consumes me. I think about the future and I get that fluttering sick feeling again. I think about now and I want to kill myself, because I'm not really here, I'm doing the one thing that I hate- surviving, turning off the feelings, breathing for ten more minutes.
I think my parents think I'm handling this Josh thing. I think everyone does. But I'm just good at swallowing it all, at dealing with crap when I have to. It just works to get me through. It's all building up though, inside of me, and the craziness is coming back. I feel crazy crazy crazy. I want to feel but I don't want to feel. I finally quit feeling about Josh and everyone seeing him but me and talking to him but me. I finally just shut it all off because I couldn't handle it anymore.
Erin says I feel things more deeply than everyone else. I guess she's right. I don't really know why. I wish I didn't sometimes, and sometimes I'm so glad I do.
Tonight I was starting to get all panicky and weird again so I watched another movie (Redeye). I've realized that watching movies is the only thing that connects me, grounds me, when I'm floating away. So I do it a lot when I'm trying to keep my heart beating for just two hours. Then I can do something else.
Every once in a while I stop and I just cry, although I don't really understand that because all the feelings keep getting shut off. I don't know what I'm crying about. Everything.
You know why I'm writing this? To live five more minutes. Because while I'm typing this, it doesn't matter that Josh is somewhere, happy and alive, and I'm just surviving because I'm lost without him in some way I could have never expected. While I'm typing this it's okay that I feel totally alone and hollow and eaten-up inside. While I'm typing this it's okay that I'm numb and can't feel and that everything starts going black when I think about that girl that kissed Josh. While I'm typing this, I can be sure that I am safe.
But in a few seconds I will hit "publish post" and everything will be variable again. It's kinda late though. I might read, and that might get me to bed. And then I will sleep. I love sleep. Last night I had a dream about Ariel, even though I've never seen her, and she was holding me on a couch as I cried, and I felt so safe. I can't feel like that in real life. So I guess those dreams are the only times I'm really alive right now.
That's so messed up, isn't it? I want this to go away but I don't know how. I'm losing control again in a bad way. I can't look at anything or it starts swirling. I can't think becuase there are too many voices in my head. I wouldn't want to think anyway.
I feel so horrible... I want to throw up all this pain and misery and anger. No, anger is what I need. I realize that I feel the most lucid when I'm angry. Not angry enough to cut, not angry at anyone or anything, bust just angry at the world. But I don't want to have to be angry or asleep to feel alive. I just feel safer when I'm angry, I guess. When I'm sad so much can hurt me.
Am I sad? Not in the conventional way. But yes, I am sad, horrible sad. So sad that everything is melting away.
Yesterday I got invited to two parties, went to neither. I couldn't stand the thought of standing around and getting hit in the head every once in a while with a frisbee. I felt like cutting my other wrist, but after some internal debate I decided to do the responsible thing. My parents and I went to Tropical Snow. Erin was working. Just seeing her helped. But not enough. I still felt all crazy, so I went to a movie with Brittany. (The Da Vinci Code). That got me through until 11 p.m., which got me through until I went to sleep, which got me through until this morning. And then there was church which pulled me through until noon. I came home and I made a collage about Josh, which tortured me but kept me alive until 2. Then I tried to do some homework and I started losing it again. Everything fuzzes in and out. I can't stop and think because I start panicking and hyperventalating. I can't think. I think about the past and it's like this bittersweet hole that consumes me. I think about the future and I get that fluttering sick feeling again. I think about now and I want to kill myself, because I'm not really here, I'm doing the one thing that I hate- surviving, turning off the feelings, breathing for ten more minutes.
I think my parents think I'm handling this Josh thing. I think everyone does. But I'm just good at swallowing it all, at dealing with crap when I have to. It just works to get me through. It's all building up though, inside of me, and the craziness is coming back. I feel crazy crazy crazy. I want to feel but I don't want to feel. I finally quit feeling about Josh and everyone seeing him but me and talking to him but me. I finally just shut it all off because I couldn't handle it anymore.
Erin says I feel things more deeply than everyone else. I guess she's right. I don't really know why. I wish I didn't sometimes, and sometimes I'm so glad I do.
Tonight I was starting to get all panicky and weird again so I watched another movie (Redeye). I've realized that watching movies is the only thing that connects me, grounds me, when I'm floating away. So I do it a lot when I'm trying to keep my heart beating for just two hours. Then I can do something else.
Every once in a while I stop and I just cry, although I don't really understand that because all the feelings keep getting shut off. I don't know what I'm crying about. Everything.
You know why I'm writing this? To live five more minutes. Because while I'm typing this, it doesn't matter that Josh is somewhere, happy and alive, and I'm just surviving because I'm lost without him in some way I could have never expected. While I'm typing this it's okay that I feel totally alone and hollow and eaten-up inside. While I'm typing this it's okay that I'm numb and can't feel and that everything starts going black when I think about that girl that kissed Josh. While I'm typing this, I can be sure that I am safe.
But in a few seconds I will hit "publish post" and everything will be variable again. It's kinda late though. I might read, and that might get me to bed. And then I will sleep. I love sleep. Last night I had a dream about Ariel, even though I've never seen her, and she was holding me on a couch as I cried, and I felt so safe. I can't feel like that in real life. So I guess those dreams are the only times I'm really alive right now.
That's so messed up, isn't it? I want this to go away but I don't know how. I'm losing control again in a bad way. I can't look at anything or it starts swirling. I can't think becuase there are too many voices in my head. I wouldn't want to think anyway.
I feel so horrible... I want to throw up all this pain and misery and anger. No, anger is what I need. I realize that I feel the most lucid when I'm angry. Not angry enough to cut, not angry at anyone or anything, bust just angry at the world. But I don't want to have to be angry or asleep to feel alive. I just feel safer when I'm angry, I guess. When I'm sad so much can hurt me.
Am I sad? Not in the conventional way. But yes, I am sad, horrible sad. So sad that everything is melting away.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
cacoon
I'm getting in that mood again. I always think there's something wrong with me when I'm like this. This tingling spreads inside of me and the whole world seems to swirl and slip a notch, and float away. I think it is Josh. I think it is what happens when I think of him. I know I am not supposed to have my life connected to him at all, but everything in me revolves around my memories of the way he laughs, the way his hair sticks up when it's not perfect and he's too distracted to care, the way I fit into this perfect pocket next to him in the night.
It makes everything surreal...
I took the SAT's today. I tried to focus on reality, on the calculator beneath me, see-through and laced with electronics, on the people around me, chewing on pencil erasers and glaring at me when I dropped things. It couldn't be real. And neither could Josh.
They told me he's out of the hospital. Is he really out there, somewhere, breathing and wearing socks and pants and sitting on a couch? Is he thinking of me? Why didn't his parents tell me he was out of the hospital? I know that I'm supposed to be letting go of him. But do they assume it happens automatically like that, like somehow I can stop myself from thinking about him several times every day?
Everything clashes like that. I went out to lunch and I ate a lot and I laughed a lot and I tried to connect myself to all that is real, but I got really confused about what's real and what's in my head, what's allowed to exist and what I have got to destroy.
Fuzz creates this little package around all of the objects, the staplers, the keyboard, the wood paneling on the walls, like I couldn't handle the edges without the softness, like the splinters would somehow tear me apart. The stitches on my wrist pull, desperately trying to remind me of the reason for all of this loss.
If I could touch you, I would. I sit here, reading, clutching the phone. When the reality of the world around me becomes redoubtable, I pull myself into a small envelope of confused philosophies and I read until the world in my book and the world of softened edges become so close that the similarities overwhelm the differences with their calming washes of real and unreal light. Yesterday in English class my teacher gave away books, and I collected them like tickets to a place where there is no fear. I stacked them up on my desk in stolid towers and worshipped their indifference. They were the catalyst, the final key to the reaction, carrying me from the lucidity I fought for last week to the daze I sink into now.
I don't know what's real anymore. All I know is that I love him, and it's not the way I thought love would be. I thought love would be this amazing fusion of passion between two people, this never ending fountain of connections too thick to sever with small annoyances. Now, though, love is something animal, something uncontrollable that perforates my defenses and allows the emotion to seep out the cracks. However, even if I could choose to control it I wouldn't, just for the instants that make it real, just for the moments in which life is chaotic yet complete.
My phone just rang, vibrating against my fist, and there was Stevie inviting me to a party. I laughed and said I might be there. Now, however, I think about what it would be like, the boys laughing and joking, boys I don't know or don't like, the girls acting that way they do around boys they think are hot, the glacial surface that melts underneath, warping reality with fakeness, and I just don't think I can handle it. I might get in bed, grab my book, and sink a little farther into this cacoon. As confused and fuzzy it is in here, as striped with guilt and pain and loss, it is warm.
It makes everything surreal...
I took the SAT's today. I tried to focus on reality, on the calculator beneath me, see-through and laced with electronics, on the people around me, chewing on pencil erasers and glaring at me when I dropped things. It couldn't be real. And neither could Josh.
They told me he's out of the hospital. Is he really out there, somewhere, breathing and wearing socks and pants and sitting on a couch? Is he thinking of me? Why didn't his parents tell me he was out of the hospital? I know that I'm supposed to be letting go of him. But do they assume it happens automatically like that, like somehow I can stop myself from thinking about him several times every day?
Everything clashes like that. I went out to lunch and I ate a lot and I laughed a lot and I tried to connect myself to all that is real, but I got really confused about what's real and what's in my head, what's allowed to exist and what I have got to destroy.
Fuzz creates this little package around all of the objects, the staplers, the keyboard, the wood paneling on the walls, like I couldn't handle the edges without the softness, like the splinters would somehow tear me apart. The stitches on my wrist pull, desperately trying to remind me of the reason for all of this loss.
If I could touch you, I would. I sit here, reading, clutching the phone. When the reality of the world around me becomes redoubtable, I pull myself into a small envelope of confused philosophies and I read until the world in my book and the world of softened edges become so close that the similarities overwhelm the differences with their calming washes of real and unreal light. Yesterday in English class my teacher gave away books, and I collected them like tickets to a place where there is no fear. I stacked them up on my desk in stolid towers and worshipped their indifference. They were the catalyst, the final key to the reaction, carrying me from the lucidity I fought for last week to the daze I sink into now.
I don't know what's real anymore. All I know is that I love him, and it's not the way I thought love would be. I thought love would be this amazing fusion of passion between two people, this never ending fountain of connections too thick to sever with small annoyances. Now, though, love is something animal, something uncontrollable that perforates my defenses and allows the emotion to seep out the cracks. However, even if I could choose to control it I wouldn't, just for the instants that make it real, just for the moments in which life is chaotic yet complete.
My phone just rang, vibrating against my fist, and there was Stevie inviting me to a party. I laughed and said I might be there. Now, however, I think about what it would be like, the boys laughing and joking, boys I don't know or don't like, the girls acting that way they do around boys they think are hot, the glacial surface that melts underneath, warping reality with fakeness, and I just don't think I can handle it. I might get in bed, grab my book, and sink a little farther into this cacoon. As confused and fuzzy it is in here, as striped with guilt and pain and loss, it is warm.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
I don't want to feel empty anymore. I don't want to feel alone. I don't want to feel vulnerable, helpless, and lost. I don't want a cavity in my chest. I don't want to cry about how beautiful a pink flower is against the sky.
There is something missing here. There is more to life.
I want to do something about the world. Having thought about it a lot lately, I might join the peace corps for a year after college. I need to at least try to make a difference.
There is something missing here. There is more to life.
I want to do something about the world. Having thought about it a lot lately, I might join the peace corps for a year after college. I need to at least try to make a difference.
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