Monday, April 29, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Monday was a day of apologies.
Monday was a day to listen.
I always go on and on about feeling alone.
Praise my blessed life, I am not.
I have never known true desolation, I hope to never know it.
I've always had wonderful, beautiful strangers who have carved niches in my soul.
People who have become adopted family.
They look out for me, they leave me comments, they call or text, they send me support from all over the globe.
To you all I say thank you, thank you for never leaving my side for a second, even when I am at my most insufferable.
I've had many people talk to me on Monday and voice their concern.
They are not blind to my plight, I am not alone.
I have Depression, crippling, suicidal, isolating, wretched, awful...
My family and adoptive family have helped me see that I need to be strong, to fight.
I've been called out on my bullshit too.
"You need to be alive, I need to know I can call you. You need to be in my life."
"I'm not going to your funeral."
"Be strong, be proud, you're amazing."
"You can beat this."
"We've been here before, this is no biggie, you'll come out of this stronger, better, please don't give up."
"Please don't be sad, you're stronger than this."
"God gave this life to you, because you're the only one who can make it work."
"I look forward to talking to you, you have to be there, you have to. Don't you leave me, not now, not when it's just getting good."
Oh my lovelies, how you all move me.
I love you guys so much.
Monday, what a day.
I made the effort and tried to change, well some things.
The behaviors are still there, but I managed not to drink.
On Tuesday, I still had a bad eating disordered day.
Losing weight has inspired me, encouraged me further. Ed wants me, he needs me.
I managed on my day off to finally will myself out of the house.
I walked all over my neighborhood and mindlessly wandered by a garage.
There was a car for sale for only 900$
I called and spoke to the owner who unfortunately had sold the car, but that lit the fire in me to not give up and accept that I could make a comeback.
As depressed as I am now, I can guarantee you this, I WILL COME BACK.
There is an ember in me, a dying flame that still is lit. It is maybe my recovery; from what exactly I cannot yet say, but I know this.
My ending, my story will be great.
No matter what, I am a survivor.
I won't give up.
I am human, not perfect, I make mistakes. I am flawed.
My mistakes are not greater than my triumphs. One day, I don't know when, I will be back, I am Phoenix.
I called my boyfriend, left him texts, he was not ready yet to talk to me.
I decided to instead just try to make the most of my day.
We finally spoke and things are okay, as okay as they can be I suppose. He won't divulge the specifics of my drunker stupor and things I've said, but maybe I should respect that, it's not the most ideal thing, but what more can I ask of him.
I wish I were different, but maybe if I was he wouldn't have fallen for me. I am who I am, I'm as he says of his ownself "A work in progress."
I went almost all of yesterday without alcohol.
Monday night I had a hard time falling asleep. I've come to depend on the drink too much.
Tuesday night, I finally succumb to the drink. I've never actually admitted to being an alcoholic, but I certainly felt that way.
It was hard to just stop myself cold turkey.
Finally knowing I had to work today, I just gave in and opened the bottle. The sour taste hits me, and I'm home.
Cigarettes cloud the air, I read my novel; the drunken entry. It wasn't all bad but I deleted half of it. Now I'm ready to outline the new chapter and keep writing.
Writing, my first love, the word, the words, how it moves my soul. I must've been someone grand in a past life. No greater joy than the written word I truly do not know.
I wake up this morning late. The cats knead at my hair because their food dish is empty. They are my backup alarm clock.
I get up and shower for work. In the shower the bathroom sink clogs, my hair is falling out at an astronomical rate, I t makes me weep in my hands. My body is breaking down, maybe I am dying, maybe its had enough.
I'm anxious. I haven't truly had a panic attack in awhile.
I walk to work and my chest tightens. The closer I get, the more it escalates.
I grab coffee at McDonald's. There is a boy there who knows my face, knows how I take my coffee. No matter who takes my order, he always makes my coffee and hands it to me proudly.
My favorite pharmacist is there today, I only work five hours, I can do this.
Ten minutes early and I feel the anxiety choking me, I almost feel like calling out and heading back home, instead I face it and go inside the pharmacy.
Work is okay.
The anxiety is not.
I'm nauseous, the laxatives still working make my day hell. I try my best not to let the nausea overcome me, I try to just be like everyone else.
Say look at me, I am carefree. Little does anyone know, I am hopeless. I am not well.
I don't wish any ailment I suffer on anyone, but everyday, I wish I had someone like me, someone else that could say, yes, I hurt too. You are not alone.
I'm sorry, I've started drinking tonight, I can't write anymore.
Forgive me, I'm vlogging.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
"My depression … had been a sucking thing that had wrapped itself around me, ugly and more alive than I. It had had a life of its own that bit by bit asphyxiated all of my life out of me. At the worst stage of major depression, I had moods that I knew were not my moods: they belonged to the depression…in the end I was compacted and fetal, depleted by this thing that was crushing me without holding me. Its tendrils threatened to pulverize my mind and my courage and my stomach, and crack my bones and desiccate my body. It went on glutting itself on me when there seemed nothing left to feed it. …I knew then that I could never kill this vine of depression, and so all I wanted was for it to let me die. But it had taken from me the energy I would have needed to kill myself, and it would not kill me. If my trunk was rotting, this thing that fed on it was now too strong to let it fall ; it had become an alternative support to what it had destroyed. In the tightest corner of my bed, split and racked by this thing no one else seemed to be able to see, I prayed to a God, and I asked for deliverance. I would have been happy to die the most painful death, though I was too dumbly lethargic even to conceptualize suicide. Every second of being alive hurt me.
I hate being depressed, but it was also in depression that I learned my own acreage, the full extent of my soul.
In literature, depression is often seen as a defense against sadness. But I’ll take sadness any day. There is no contest. Sadness carries identification. You know where it’s been and you know where it’s headed. Depression carries no papers. It enters your country unannounced and uninvited. Its origins are unknown, but its destination always dead-ends in you.
I should come with a consumer warning, like the labels that say “Handle with care” or “May be hazardous to your health.” I am unfit for human consumption. I struggle to articulate how awful and isolating this feels, but I can’t find the words.
All the romantic nonsense about depression somehow making one into a creature of unique sensibilities is easy to agree with when I feel good. Then I’m sharper, superior for having weathered something terribly difficult, or just plain pleased at having narrowly gotten away with something once again—like the snow day after the night’s homework I didn’t do. All of it stands up in the light, but it’s bullshit in the shadows. I don’t care about unique sensibilities. All I care about is surviving. My goal in life is just to get through the days.
That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key
Depression is a very narcissistic thing, it’s a self-involvement that is so deep and intense that it means the sufferer cannot get out of her own head long enough to see what real good, what genuine loveliness, there is in the world around her.
They don’t understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you’re wonderful just the way you are. They don’t understand that I can’t remember anyone ever saying that to me. I am so demanding and difficult because I want to crumble and fall apart so that they will love me even though I am no fun, lying in bed, crying all the time, not moving. Depression is all about If you loved me you would. As in If you loved me you would stop doing your homework, stop going out drinking with your friends on a Saturday night, stop doing everything besides sitting here by my side and passing me Kleenex and aspirin while I lie and creak and cry and drown myself and you in my misery." -DITTO
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat. “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat. “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
–Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Monday, April 22, 2013
Remember what I said about drunk dialing...
I woke up with the taste of foot in my mouth this morning.
Shit did I drink way too much last night.
Depression and Alcohol are having their way with me.
It's overcast outside, the room is cold and in the distance there is a buzzing. I can't tell what it is at first, but its the phone.
My head throbs, my ears feel like Morse code.
I manage to not drop the phone or myself answering.
What time is it?
"Yeah." I manage to say. It hurts to talk, my throat is raw, my gums feel swollen, I must've purged last night.
It's noisy on the other end of the line, I hear birds squawking?
"How's the head?" a British accent asks.
Ugh I feel like hell.
I can't remember anything after midnight I tell him.
He laughs. "Blondie, you got some mouth on you."
What? I called you?
He proceeds to tell me the most embarrassing tale. I'm red just typing this.
Omg who else did I call, why did I drink so much.
I was so out of line, and I blabbed so much. I talked so much shit someone should be wiping my mouth down with a baby wipe.
All I can do is apologize. I can't do anything else.
Fuck. What can I say. I'm a sad drunk with a hint of animosity.
He laughs again, "Hey I phoned you last time pretty sloshed, one drunk dial deserves another."
We laugh and I'm forgiven. Maybe I should just have alcoholic friends, at least we'd have embarrassing stories to swap.
Now to account for the missing time.
I sit up and Vertigo hits me. Ow my head!
It feels so heavy, I think it soaked up most of the wine. I stagger to the bathroom, stepping on the black fat cat who matches the black carpeting perfectly. The little grey one almost trips me running to the kitchen, yes kitty I know! the food bowl is empty, you have a horrible mother who hasn't fed you yet.
Stupid cat, you'll kill us both, almost hit my head on the TV stand. God how tragic would that be, I have the worst ensemble on to be found dead.
I look horrible. My skin pale, my face swollen. Now to pee and weigh.
Well I'm down a pound.
Ed pats me on the back.
"See Girlie, Discipline! It pays off. Keep it up, there may be hope for you yet."
Fuck. He's right.
Yes, evidence of purging, my sick all over the porcelain throne. I start cleaning it immediately.
It's 8:30 and my ex didn't call me.
He didn't pick up my daughter's uniform, I was at the laundromat still when he took her yesterday, said he'd be back in the am. I wonder if she missed school today?
I scroll through texts, yikes!
Well I see texts from my ex, cussing me out last night, going on and on about how I told my kid she's poor. Fucker. God this man is endless.
Every week it's something, why doesn't he plot to murder me already if hates my guts so much, cut the brakes in my car and..oh wait.
Well he was drunk too so maybe that accounts for the no show.
I texted way too much. Oh shit my boyfriend!
Omg I spoke to him last night for a long time the call log says.
What did I say. I can't remember it all, I think I said I wanted to slit my wrists, or something like that. I probably broke up with him too as usual. I almost always do that, push him away.
He hasn't texted me or called, he must be so angry.
Well I won't call him today. I don't deserve him.
The poor guy must be just about bald, losing his hair in sheer frustration with me. I know he loves me but I can be too much drunk.
Not happy drunk lou, depressed drunken lou.
That's the lou nobody likes. The one that lets it all out, all that inner turmoil.
I can just imagine him on the other end of the line.
|This Weekend with my boyfriend..|
|Last weekend with my boyfriend..|
Usually seeing him every weekend makes the disappointing prior mundane days fade away.
My eyes prick up just thinking about never being able to talk to him again.
I hope he can forgive me, if you're reading this I'm very sorry. You're my boyfriend not a punching bag. Well, now ex boyfriend as I'm pretty sure I dumped you in my drunken rage.
I'm sorry again, you didn't deserve that. I love you.
I have a full bottle of wine in the fridge. I'm not touching it. I need to give the liver a break. I need to find another way of coping.
God I feel so embarrassed. I'm turning into my mother. She was a mean drunk, very mean. Drinking should be fun, not sad.
I miss my therapist. I have too much stuff going on right now.
Its early and I still feel drunk. I wash my face, brush my teeth and get dressed. I don't have time to shower its already nine. I reek of Alcohol, I spray myself down with perfume.
I grab the Manila folder on my desk and head out. I have to go to school.
Must try to enroll my daughter in this new school. I hurry trying to beat the clock, registration stops at ten. The walk feels longer, if I had to this everyday time needs to be calculated carefully.
My kidneys throb, my chest aches. Definitely need to stop drinking.
I make it in time and head into the office. The office is cold, staff in and out, trophy cases filled to capacity. Hmm, lots of Miami Heat memorabilia adorn the walls. I smile and think of my boyfriend.
Just as quickly I remember last night and stop smiling, my stomach is in knots.
This is an A school, Michelle Obama approved too. She lobbied for a salad bar here, that's great healthy eating, no more sloppy joes.
The woman who helps me out looks and sounds like this, I swear! I had to look down at some point. Her voice is so raspy, hmm a smoker?
Maybe I should cut back on smoking too. This could be me in a few years.
*Lil Miss B. voice* "Seriously?"
I want to cry.
She doesn't see her Dr. until MAY 6!
The slot may be filled by then, I'm running out of schools here.
There's a huge lump in my throat and I nod to everything she says, I can't talk or my voice will crack and I will cry in front of her.
"Don't worry, she'll get in." The raspy voice says softly.
I give her a tight smile and bolt out the door.
This school is very close to McDonald's. I head straight there and order enough food to eat away the sadness, the frustration, the disappointment, my failures.
At home and I binge, when I've had enough, my stomach doubles in size, my heart hurts from the strain. I waddle my ass to the bathroom, and weigh. I've eaten 6lbs of food. Time to purge it all out.
"All of it, all of it out! Girlie, you can't do anything right, just look at you. Pathetic." Ed shakes his head in Disgust. "Why don't you just die already, useless fat cow. Purge harder, maybe your heart will give out finally, broken silly thing that beats, keeps you alive for what? Look at you!" he screams.
I do purge harder, so hard, urine runs down my legs.
When I can't anymore I stop.
My face is red, my eyes too. Little white dots cover my forehead. I blow the snot from my nose and wash my face. I wash my hands and mouth.
I hold the sink for support.
That took a lot out of me I need to lie down, but first laxatives.
I open a box and pop several little orange pills. This should get the stragglers out.
Now I'm done.
I can lie down and cry and continue to feel miserable.
If I feel better I'll workout.
To all my drunker dialer's out there, cut the phone off when there are cocktails present.
friends don't let friends drink and dial.
To all of the ones I dialed, I'm so sorry, please feel free to hand me my ass today, I deserve it. What I don't deserve is any of you fine people putting up with a sad, skinny, neurotic drunk.
Love you all.
Talk again soon.
I'll leave you with my what's currently on repeat via Ipod.
"This is what it feels like.." Armin Van Buuren
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Friday, April 19, 2013
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Work was good today.
Made Cherry Cheesecake for my coworkers. They all loved it and have requested Monday I bake something else..maybe I'll make Monkey Bread?
Stick in the Ass didn't bother me at all today.
Chatterbox and big boobs went on and on about losing weight.
Chatterbox commandeered the cheesecake, eating most of it, she's getting married soon and wants to drop ten pounds to fit in her wedding dress. Big boobs suggested she take laxatives and not eat. Chatterbox thought that was funny, why not throw in some puking up your food for good measure too.
These two idiots went on and on making fun of this horrible affliction I secretly face daily, the thing that may one day altogether take my life, as it almost did a long time ago.
With each remark they made, my heart sank, I cringed internally and felt small.
It mad me really sad, I felt like a bad joke.
It makes me sad still.
Sometimes I feel like no one will every truly know me. Maybe it's better no one really does.
I ate today before work, but couldn't take it anymore and purged after showering.
Feeling drained and lightheaded I went to work, where I sipped on a diet coke, and ate nothing.
My head throbs now and its filled with self loathing chatter.
I wish I could just lose weight.
Binge on laxatives.
More importantly I wish I could just wake up and not feel anything,
Not express the tiring myriad of emotions I face daily.
I wish I could just get away from myself.
I'm so tired, it hurts to breathe, to talk, to live.
I don't want to pretend I'm okay. I want to hurt myself, because I deserve it.
I want to cry, and yell and throw shit and rip my brittle hair out.
I want to yell,
"I AM NOT OKAY!
Somebody help me, I don't know how to help myself."
Instead I say nothing, I feel full, and its words this time, not food.
My stomach hurts, has hurt all day since I purged.
I feel cold, and hot.
I get home and turn on my laptop and TV..
The laptop monitor lights up!
*throws hands in the fucking air, hysterical, maddening laughter ensues*
I give up.
I think I have a poltergeist, it lives in my laptop.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Okay I was going to do this differently but I'm effing pissed right now so will vent a bit.
I've just been to the laundromat.
There are only two working dryers, there's a third but it blows only cold air (of course I get stuck with the dud.)
Anyways, there are three large washers and three small ones that work. Two are broken.
I get to the laundromat and there is this Spanish couple with a toddler and a daughter that's maybe five yrs old.
My kid immediately starts playing with her which is fine.
My original plan was to just drop my clothes off, time it and return only to put in dryer.
I didn't bring my phone or even a book.
The woman is the one in charge of the laundry it seems, her husband stands idly by trying to not piss her off.
She took all the little washers.
My game plan consisted of two large washers and one small one.
This bitch wanted the whole lot.
So I figure I would cut her off at the past and stake my claim on the two large washing machines.
The third washer that sits in the middle, I already know has a problem with the door latch so I steer clear of it.
She decides to claim all the little washers so I'm fucked.
I decide to wait then, I just needed a little machine to wash my bathroom rugs which the cats have pissed on sometime while I was at work.
She made a crucial error choosing the little ones first thus stuck with the wonky large washing machine.
I can tell this lady is a huge cunt because as I was loading the first washing machine, she told her husband to stuff every piece of clothing they could in all the other machines.
After I see what's she's done, I don't bother taking out the rugs. I need a little washer and I see this will be a long ass night.
I bp earlier but that's another tale for Friday..
Shit I have carpul tunnel from writing all week.
It hurts to type this.