No Water

(trigger warning- depressed and self-harming)

Due to a cockup between the county and the city water suppliers, my water got disconnected at noon today. And the county (my supposed legit supplier) refused to turn it back on today, even though I completed their auto-payment two hours before the “cutoff time”.

I informed them they should edit their paperwork so to not be blatant liars. Then they said rude things about my attitude. Then I said rude things about their ability to be forthright with their citizens.

My water will not be turned on until some vague time tomorrow because they refused to give me a specific time.

I am trying to not have a complete meltdown but it’s been really fucking hard. Grey (my brother) brought some friend home even after I texted him and told him not to have guests because we have no working water (i.e. toilets).

My fucked up coping brain decided to take a couple narcs because the common side effect is constipation. Therefore I won’t have to poop. Now I get to be high and not poop. Tonight should be unicorn farts.

Instead more self-harm is happening and time is skipping like an elementary jumprope. Skip-pa-tat-tat. Tick tock tick tock.

Hips and arm. I know it’s bad when the cuts are in multiple places.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a homeowner.

Or an adult.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Can’t even handle a little stress.

Just a little.

It’s not like I’ve been struggling to find a job without success for 6 months and my savings are dwindling to a joke of a joke. The only bigger joke is my pool of friends. Not a pool. Not even a puddle. Barely raindrops. I don’t deserve friends or jobs. Or houses. Or water.

I deserve blood blood blood.

Tick tock tick tock skip-a-tat-tat.

“Making my own road out of gravel and some wine.” -Gin Wigmore

Breaking a promise

(trigger warning for self-harm discussion)

I’m so very angry with myself.  And feeling remorse/regretful.

I broke my promise to myself last night.  I could go into which bit of me did and that it was an insider and not the “whole me”, but I feel like that’s just trying to dodge the blame.  It doesn’t matter “who” decided to do it.  It doesn’t matter.

I broke a promise.

It’s been three months since I’ve actually cut.  I’ve thought about it.  I’ve talked about doing it.  But I haven’t done it since I moved to my new place.

I’ve drank, I’ve self-medicated, and I’ve restricted.  But not cut.  Not that.  I promised myself I wouldn’t.  I promised my friends I wouldn’t.

Why can’t I just keep that one promise?  Why?  Three months is barely anything.  I feel so lost, so remorseful, so…

Sad.

I can’t wear shorts this weekend.  I’ll have to be sneaky with Army if we get intimate unless I want him to lecture me (again).

Mad.

The burn and sting of the freshly opened cuts feels so sickeningly good.  It shouldn’t.  I know it shouldn’t.  I hate that it does and I’m so mad that I would use that feeling to try and justify doing it.

Bad.

I just can’t win.  I thought the promise was something I valued.  I thought I (all of us) truly meant it.  I thought we could keep this new apartment free of that negative energy.

But blood has been spilled.  And blood stains.  It soaks in and ruins everything it touches.

I am worthless.

F-A-T

No no no no

I so don’t need this right now.

I don’t need Army to text me like everything is normal.

I don’t need him to go on about how his dad was diagnosed with cancer and that’s why he’s been an asshole lately.

I don’t need him to congratulate me on all my new responsibilities at my job.

I don’t need him to try and offer advice on the crippling and weird back/side pain I’ve been having for a couple days now.

I don’t want things to go back.

And yet…

No. No no no no no.

I stepped off that roller coaster.  I am not even on the ride anymore.  I don’t need these fucking ups and downs anymore.  I don’t need it.  I don’t want it.

I haven’t had any issues or remorse over the past three weeks.  At all.

But…I miss him when he talks to me.

Uggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. $(*$)(*$#@)(*#$)(@#*

This is just so much fucking with my head that I don’t need right now.

I don’t I don’t I don’t.

I was so close to normal and now it’s just completely fucked.
___________________________________________________

Fucking men and their goddamn pull.  Just fucking don’t talk to him.  It isn’t hard.  Just stop looking at his texts.  Block him on fucking Facebook.  Just look away goddammit.
___________________________________________________

Why can’t I?  I hate myself so much right now.  So much.  I just want the swirling to stop stop stop stop.

Oh god.

And another thought peels away from the collective.

There are razor blades in our desk still…

No no no no no.  I’ve been so good.  I’ve been so good.

Doesn’t matter.  Badgirl always needs punished.  Always.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I don’t need this today.

I need help.

I can’t ask for help.  I’m a lady.  Ladies handle it themselves.

Gotta keep it fucking together.

“Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart”
-Miranda Lambert, Mama’s Broken Heart

Fat (TW)

I hate having to deal with the aftermath of a self-harming episode.  I hate dealing with the withdraw from Middi’s pill popping. I hate dealing with the stinging of Daria’s mutilation whenever clothes or above-tepid water touch the tiny cat-like scratches.

But what I hate the most is having hide Victoria’s crazy self-mutilation. She cuts and burns actual words into my skin. Not something I can pass off as a dog or cat scratch after a week of healing. Nope. Something I have to hide for months until the scar fades enough that it can’t be read.

It’s been almost a year since she last tried to do this. And someone was able to stop her before she managed anything resembling readable English.

Not this time.

I’m so ashamed.

All it does is give power to her desire to starve us to death.

Every time I look down and see those three letters, I believe them.

It doesn’t matter what others say. Even a completely unbiased (and well-meaning) friend of Shadow Dragon who was over last night said “Where’s the rest of you?” and some other comments about my supposed dramatic weight loss. But it’s so hard for me to see it myself.

Why? Why?

Why do I only see flab and fat? I just try not to be as bad as Victoria. But I see it. Every day.

And now those three letters carved into my skin whisper to me that I’m not good enough. I’m not there yet. Moremoremore.

I don’t want to die. I know parts of me do, but most of me wants to live. Why can’t those parts be stronger? Why do the negative parts get away with so much? How do they get so much power? Why does insecurity always slip back in instead of the compliments I hear from friends and family?

I don’t understand.

Sweet sweet sabotage

I don’t deserve happiness.  I don’t deserve healthiness.  I don’t deserve love.

None of the glittering candy-spun things in the world are meant for a worthless girl.

I shatter the pieces of my already fractured life further.  What’s the point? The fates, the angels, the gods, the demons, they all whisper the same thing.

worthlessuglyliarnastycrazy

I feel crazy. The shadows curl around me like a mantle and I wear it with my smiling lacquered mask of acceptance.

Worthless Shadow Girls should not be receiving support or love.

I pushpushpush Army away. I know the perfect insults, the chinks in the armor.

I always know.

He refuses to hear me.  He says he won’t listen until I’m sober.

I know what he really means.

crazyworthlessuglyliar

My skin is too tight. 

scratchitchgouge

I glance at the two small boxes on my nightstand.  Their innards wink at me in shining steel.

What a worthless way to start the new year.

But that self sabotage tastes so sweet.

Worthless

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.

Breakdown

(Trigger warning: we had a complete, unexplainable, weird breakdown that we’re going to attempt to explain. There may or may not be mentions of past abuse, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts. Hopefully this flows with minimal confusion despite multiple alters composing it.)

This complete breakdown was a long time in coming.  It probably shouldn’t be that surprising due to all the shit that’s been piling and piling and piling.  Only so long before we drop the tray.

I don’t think the buildup is important in this entry. It’s pretty obvious from past entries on this blog that this have been circling a metaphorical toilet for weeks now.

Last night wasn’t anything terrible, horrible, mean, violent, etc.  It wasn’t even malicious.  It was a lovely evening spent with Jeff, Sleeping Dragon, and Puppy (SD’s husband).  We are still hyper-cycling due to some weekend activities combined with the past couple week’s buildup.

SD tosses a remote towards us.
A mild mention should be made that we’re having some sort of allergy issue or something that’s caused our left eye to become all but blind. Not that it has great vision to begin with, but normally we can manage contacts. At the moment, we can’t even put one near our left eye without excruciating pain.

Basically, depth perception is shot to hell.

And catch is a game He liked to play.

We’re triggered immediately and while Rika tries to control it with an angry retort, SD’s sharply annoyed reply only further instigates the blender-brain we’ve got going on.  Rika foresees a breakdown and quickly bails the body to our back bedroom.

The breakdown is almost immediately as Daria breaths out into the body.  The rest of us fall far, far away until Jeff requests entry at our door.  Claire scrabbles and manages to verbalize permission before Daria takes control again.

(technically none of the “regular” alters remember much of last night, so next part gets to be a stream-of-consciousness thing while we try to figure it out enough to write it down)

no game. don’t wanna play any any games. bad badgirl didn’t catch the ball. we lose the game. badgirl deserves to lose the game. bad bad bad.
no hide and seek. please please please. only little punishments for losing catch but the prize for him winning hide and seek is bad bad bad. and he always wins. always.
but no punishment is happening. wait. maybe if badgirl does the punishment, then he won’t. badgirl should just do it.

There is a moment of coherency as Charlotte attempts to push the self-harm thoughts aside with her own ways.  Jeff sweetly accepts and for a moment, Charlotte sighs in relief.

dirty dirty whoreslut needs punishment

Charlotte flickers bad at the sharp blow, surprised at the vicious attack.  We haven’t had anyone who actually hurt alters in the system in years.  It’s either themselves or the body. Most of us don’t even know how.

good. dirty whoreslut goes bye-bye. now badgirl can punish in peace. badgirl needs the tool. tool tool tool. sly-hands will help.

Victoria manages to slip some control into the body’s limbs and slyly grab her stash of razors she has near the bed.

nice sly-hands. sly-hands is good helper. easy easy to slice-slice the stupid badgirl flesh.
boy keeps talka-talking. trying to soothe. stupid boy. boy needs to understand we aren’t good. we aren’t trustworthy. only bad. he only likes dirty whoreslut and stupid dreamer-dingbat anyway. if only he knew all the dirt dirty thoughts and needs whoreslut thinks about. no more.

Rika snaps out when our hand feels wet, warm, and slick as she quickly tries to ascertain the damage. She cusses at Victoria, but determines it isn’t anything that will require stitches before she’s forced down again.

nasty foul-mouth needs to stop policing. bagirl needs this punishment. foul-mouth is stupid and wrong. always wrong wrong wrong. badgirl should just get rid of all of them. stupid crazy-talkers make everything worse. everything always worse. we should all just give up. go bye-bye.

Rika has picked the lock though, and the hyper-cycling happens, smoothly pushing Daria and Victoria away until we fall asleep.

They are surprisingly strong.  Charlotte hasn’t uttered a word since then.  We can vaguely sense her but she shies away the moment we try to coax her.  We can’t lose another…

Trigger Loop

So we’ve been caught in a trigger loop that’s caused uncontrollable crazy cycling for the past couple days.

Obviously it’s caused some issues. Including publishing the last post, which was intended to make us smile, ground us, and think of Germany when we’re down, but had some harsh consequences.

Shadow Dragon is a good person.  She is a wonderful friend that we care about and cannot ever thank enough for digging us out of the hole and saving us from being forced to live with our father again.

How she was painted in that brief conversation with Germany was out of a dark place and a dark alter that dislikes any “advice” and considers it all “manipulation”.

After realizing our horrible selfish mistake last night, we tumbled a bit further out of control and Victoria did a sort of meld/temporary integration with the newer alter who now calls herself Daria (formerly “badgirl”) and did some awful self-harm last night that we’re still trying to recover from.  They were further wounded by an attempt to reach out that complete backfired, but that’s only our fault and no one else’s.

Victoria is getting better and better at stealing bits of time.  We didn’t even notice her sneaking some after work yesterday and swinging by a small store to pick up a new package of razors (since Rika got rid of her last ones).  And now she’s hidden them well.

Her alliance with Daria is frightening because when Daria downs a couple painkillers, it gets us floaty enough for Victoria to do her self-harm deep without realizing it.  And the feeling of guilt and self-loathing just overrode any attempts by Rika or the others to try and get out.

We seem to be able to sort of have control today, but Victoria has still snuck out a couple times during the work day to go in the the bathroom and at least pick at the scabs, though sometimes creating fresh slices.

I’m terrified and worried about hiding all this and seeming normal and being a lady and a good citizen a good member of society a normal woman who can earn a wage and be productive and contribute.

I don’t want to go back to the psych ward.

We won’t go back there. Whatever it takes.