Monthly Archives: December 2012


I dreamed last night that Army found an entry from this blog.  And read it.  And thought I was a horrible liar and seriously disturbed.
Then I went even crazier trying to delete posts and edit them to try and appear “normal”.

What I find the strangest is why didn’t I just delete the blog entirely?  Why did I go through this whole modification plan.  It was obviously flawed.  Seriously flawed.

I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

The nightmare was terrifying and I woke up thinking the whole world could see through my mask.

I try so hard to appear normal.

(Note: I know I’ve been dramatically absent.  The holiday season has been hard mentally as well as time-wise.  My blog really is a secret from 99% of people I deal with in person, so I only blog when I’m safely alone and I haven’t been for weeks.
Doesn’t seem like I was missed much, but I understand the nature of blogging/blog-relationships and distancing.  I do the same thing myself.)


I almost died today.

We’re having 60 MPH wind and sleet here in the Midwest and my poor car, Pete, does not handle that combo well.

I was going around the curve of a highway on-ramp when my car suddenly got caught in a nasty tailspin. I rotated 360 degrees three times before careening into a ditch. Facing traffic (so the wrong direction).

Through some divine intervention of the universe, I’ve managed to avoid the numerous poles that line either side of the road. But I can’t get my car out of the ditch.

Then a couple of good Samaritans pull over in a large boxy white truck. I am on edge at first when I see they’re grungy white trash looking men. But they sweetly ask if I’m all right and offer to help push me out of the ditch.

Their efforts are successful.

I’m still out out of it and very nervous about driving again (I already asked for assistance to get to work tomorrow).

But I am thankful for kind hearted people who stop and helped a terrified girl get her bearings again.


This weekend was hard.

It pushed me further than I’ve had to go in a long time.

I knew it was going to be rough. Some part of me had the foresight to pack only a couple pills (for medical, not mental emergencies) and make sure the blades were left at home.

It’s hard for me to talk about the trip in great detail. I think I’m still in a sensitive, semi-triggered state. I’ve been letting friends and family talk to me without talking much back. Unusual.
I did some necessary shopping today because my dramatic weight loss over the past couple weeks has left me with next to no essentials that fit.

I feel like I’m just ghosting through life right now.

I was flooded on the vacation…


They just want to go on the waterslides that are enclosed tunnels. I try to make excuses. They won’t hear it. The lifeguard only briefly checks to see we’re seated properly and holding the safety straps before shoving us into the hole.
I am shaking and shivering when they half pull me out of the pool at the bottom. My eyes blink, expression dead, as they ask if I’m cold. I plead a migraine (not a complete lie) and return to the suite to take an emergency pill and nap.


The next day it is easier to sneak away. One of the girls, we’ll call her Kritter (a nickname of her’s), finds me curled up in a giant chair away from the gaggles of children, reading a book. She sits next to me.
She decides the best topic of conversation is a mix of exes, sex, and childhood abuse. I stare as she talks about it so easily.
“So what’s Katherine up to these days?” Kritter asks.
I fracture into pieces of longing, of hate, of rage, of determined disinterest. It is the most separate we’ve been since managing to become the alliance that is Pen.
How does She always manage to split us into nastiness?


It is much later that Kritter brings up Army.  I talk about him distantly at first.  Then a realization slips into my mind in the middle of my thought.  I stop mid-sentence and she tilts her head, asking if I’m okay.
“I think…I just realized I care about him way more than I thought I did. I think…I may…” I stop before letting the flood overcome me.  Kritter smiles.
“It’s nice to realize when you’ve fallen for someone.”
No. No. No. It may be for you. It sends me into a horrified fear-induced state of panic as we struggle to force back the flood of affection and put the wall of apathy back in place.  We are hollow.  We care for no one.


There were some other incidents that I can’t really get into right now.

Things are evening out a bit, but I’m still struggling.

I know I’m slipping into that self-sabotage (Charlotte pushing to help) as Army messages me about seeing “The Hobbit” this weekend and I balk.  My reply is wary and distant.
And either it’s worked or Army’s just ignoring it because he hasn’t replied yet at all.

That’s fine.  A weekend alone sounds better anyway.

(liar liar liar liar liar liar liar)

I despise being broken and crazy.

Hollywood’s at it again….

Just read this. Ugh. Holy fuck. This sounds like a bad fucking soap opera. United States of Tara wasn’t too bad. At least it didn’t fucking make DID sound like goddamn always-violent sociopathic disease that needs constant sedatives.

Wtf, Hollywood??

Get your goddamn heads out of your ass.

(Note: vacation was triggering as fuck, so it’ll be a bit before we get back on track. Apologies or some shit for the silence.)

It all just melts away…

Every time.

I don’t know how he does it.

I just know that anytime I spend an evening with him, no matter how stressed I am, no matter how many inner demons I’m fighting, no matter if I was annoyed with him to begin with…

It all just melts away.

I had to juggle my schedule a bit in order to meet with Army last night.  He didn’t give me much notice, but he did make a big deal about it being his only time off work before I go on vacation.

We went to an early dinner first and just sort of joked around, which was nice.  I still felt all stressed about the impending vacation and struggling with some self-image issues.  I didn’t really open up about it until we were back at his place and settling down to watch a movie (“The Woman in Black”: and I found it very enjoyable).

I don’t want to go into too graphic detail about our physical adventures or mindless conversation, but…

There were these moments where he just spent time telling me how wonderful I look.  How he can’t stop looking at me or touching me when I’m near him.

How I am perfect just the way I am.

I’ve heard other people say that, hundreds of times; it always just rolls off my back and breaks into thousands of shards at my feet.
Somehow it sounds meaningful from him.  His kisses and caresses are like a cleansing fire, burning away those inner demons that whisper all my insecurities.

I know it will only last a little while- being that we don’t see each other often and I can only hold the echos of his words and touch in my mind for so long.

But maybe it will carry me through this weekend.

Mini-vacation = stress

Months ago, one of my friends managed to secure a great deal on a hotel suite at a local waterpark resort.
It’s for the middle of December and back then I thought it would be a fun pre-Xmas break.  Especially since I knew I wouldn’t be making it to Chicago at all this year.

Well, the dates are this Sunday-Tuesday (Decemeber 16th-18th).  There are four or five of us going (it’s a big suite).  Due to other people’s work limitations, we’re only staying Sunday night and during the day on Monday.  We’ll drive back Monday evening.

I already took Monday and Tuesday off work.  So I get to have a lovely day off on Tuesday doing whatever the hell I want.

So far, this is the only thing that makes me smile about the vacation.  The part involving other people scares me.

First of all, I hate eating around other people.  Hate hate hate hate hate.  Especially for multiple meals.  It gives them an opportunity to notice how much I don’t eat, and then I get lectures (or jokes…) about eating disorders and blah blah blah.  Yeah.  I’ve heard it all before.  But do you see this flab???  It’s not like shoveling down junk food is going to melt it away.

Which leads me to the next point.

There’s the whole waterpark aspect.  I don’t want to wear a bathing suit.  There’s the fact that I’m the size of a whale, yes.  But also, the scars and marks on my thigh would be there for all the world.  There’s a reason I picked above my knee all those years ago.   Because unless I wear something super slutty (and then I wear stockings) I don’t show a thing.  But a bathing suit makes it impossible to hide those marks.

I don’t want anyone to see them.

To see how broken and messed up I am.

I really don’t want to go on this vacation.  I want to just stay home.

But I already paid and they’re counting on me and I hate to be that person who “flakes out”.  So I’ll wear that mask tightly and do the best I can at pretending to eat and have fun like a normal girl.

Aren’t vacations supposed to be de-stressing?

Letter to Army

(Note: trigger warning for self-harm and dark thoughts)

Dear Army,

I don’t need you.

I don’t need these feelings of helplessness.  I don’t need this terrified semi-triggered state where I curl into a ball in my bed at 6pm and wish wish wish sleep would claim me. 

I don’t need to dream of you.

I don’t need to start compulsively keeping that bottle of sleeping pills on my nightstand again.  I don’t need to reach for them when a mere hour has passed without sleep.

I certainly don’t need to take two. Or three. Each day adding one more because, hey; they don’t ‘effin work anyway

I don’t need to have the blade ready.  I don’t need to toss a promise made in a moment of delusion when I thought I had actual courage and strength. What a silly idea. A stupid idea.

I don’t need to be in charge of the beautiful life of a perfect and devoted dog who only gives love and acceptance and doesn’t see me as the broken shell of a person I am.

I don’t need to think about those days when I was dependant on a whole other person. Those days I didn’t have a thought of silver blades and sweet aching hunger sated by putting a cigarette to my lips and inhaling to see the sweet sparkles behind my eyes (way better than food anyway).
I don’t need to remember that it was so easy to fall into being the other half of someone’s soul. A soul that can be ripped out and grown again because I am silly and stupid and not important and codependency is a real problem. Why can’t I learn that and that I better learn it because I am a wounded bird and she’s so done being my white knight.

I don’t need reminded of my joy in “being domestic” and having meals ready, a house to clean, laundry to do. I don’t need to be reminded of the loss that you don’t give a damn about that may have robbed me from my heartfelt desire of being a mother.

I don’t need you to be the first person I think about telling when I have something happy- sad- scary- funny- happen to me. I don’t need to start daydreaming about a day where you’ll want me to be domestic for you and you’ll say I’m yours and yours alone and the thought of being without me physically pains you. 

I don’t need support because a lady is to stand alone and face the world as just me because a lady is strong, silent, and doesn’t ever complain. A lady can go through life with that mask always firmly in place. A lady never ever shows the world pain or fear.

I don’t need.

I don’t need.


All the love in my heart that is crushing me (killing me),


(Note: I recently changed my display name without realizing it’s going to have all of you re-approve my comments as acceptable.  Sorry for the inconvenience!!)

Today I focused on little sensations that give me strange pleasure.  Just to give me something semi-positive without dwelling on how my life is going right now.

Here’s a little list of what I’ve done so far:

1.  The way the brush stops a bit earlier than I remember, as I got my hair cut last night.  Not dramatically (I freak out if my hair is too short- and I consider shoulder-length short), but enough that the brush stops before I expect it to.  It isn’t a terrible sensation, disconcerting yes, but comforting.  Small changes are good.

2. Gently placing the tips of my fingers right by the bottom of a running faucet.  Right where the pile of bubbles are.  It’s like water giving you a cool raspberry and it always makes me smile.

3. The automatic way I can shift my car to get going in the morning.  Some aspects of automatic driving scare me, but I like the way the shift clicks from reverse into drive smoothly and my foot moves pedals without thinking.

Unfortunately, then I had to go to work.  Work is not a place I feel comfortable or happy at right now, so not a lot of pleasant sensations there.

Hopefully more will happen soon.


Tonight is hard.

Today was hard.

The past couple days have been hard.

My mask has been tightly in place until I am behind closed doors.

Thank goodness that skill was learned well.

I just feel like giving up so much right now. It’s so hard to stay postive with these crushing thoughts and constant insomnia.

I tried opening up a bit to Army about feeling down Friday. Via text, because texting is so magical in it’s security to allow deeper confessions without face-to-face or even verbal interaction.  Army used the phrase “we’ll figure it out”, which has just completely thrown my whole system for a loop. 

Somehow that simple phrase triggered a whole codependency fear I have. My issues should be solved by me alone (well…alone-ish, har har).

And now he hasn’t said a word to me since Friday night. He’s been active on Facebook, so it isn’t his job getting in the way. I’m sure I’m reading too much into it but I can’t stop.

I can’t stop.

Even when I unwrap a fresh blade, I notice how it says “made in USA” and my insides twist because I want to joke with him about of course the US still manages to make their own razor blades.

But I can’t.

I won’t seem needy. Or clingy. Or crazy.

So instead I break a promise.

Over and over I break that promise, the red lines multiplying.

My word isn’t worth shit.

I’m not worth shit.

I should just finish the bottle or bring the blade somewhere higher than my knee.

This is so hard.

My life is worthless.

My Personal Angel: Zoe

Trigger warning for description of self-harm.

I’ve tried so hard to be good to myself.

We all made that promise weeks ago. And we followed through for a good while. Long enough for the constant ridge of barely healed slashes above my left knee to attempt to become scars.

But the stress piles and piles.

Work is becoming too much with my demi-boss’s passive-aggressive bitchiness. This time she actually managed to be bitchy about my bronchitis and lack of ability to communicate verbally for most of the week. I have a feeling she’s going to drag me into another “you-need-to-shape-up” meeting with our department supervisor.

Most of me doesn’t give a shit. I’m not going to roll over this time. I’ve done nothing wrong or unprofessional. She’s the one creating fucking drama that isn’t there.

But my second stresser makes me want to roll over and take my lashings because I can’t afford to lose this job.

Shadow Dragon just told me yesterday that her landlord sent her a stern letter basically saying I can’t live here and must be out by the end of January.
Now, this change in situation could work out because Army is possibly about to have his lease broken (due to his roommates divorcing, not anything he’s responsible for) and he’s asked me to live with him again.

Again I’m torn.  I’ve talked it all up to my mom and friends when they ask about how I feel about moving back in with Army. But truthfully….I’m not sure. My relationship with him has changed so drastically over the past two months that I’m scared to change it even further. I don’t want to tear down more walls. I can barely build them strong enough to keep him out.

I know I can’t be trusted to live alone. Look how badly I just backslid today, with just simple stressers and multiple sources of support.  I spent a chunk of my evening chatting with Shadow Dragon and Puppy, which relaxed me at the time.

But once I’m alone in my room and the insomnia beast sets in….I spiral. Down, down, down.

I take a strange focused pleasure in tracing the lines of the scars, opening the same slashes from weeks ago.  That focus and pleasure lasts until a soft jingle distracts me and Zoe noses closer.

She licks the thinly bleeding lines.

My heart breaks.

From my leg her tongue moves to my arm, my hand, my face. Then she settles her head firmly in my lap so I can’t bring my knee up to my hand holding the razor blade.

And all I can do is hate myself so hard, so deeply. How did someone so weak, broken, and selfish as me come to have such an angel of a dog to walk this path with me?

I don’t want to be here anymore.

And yet, when I look down into those golden eyes of devotion- I don’t want to be anywhere else.