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.

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.

Hell of a drug – Elavil

Since I am mainly in the mental-health blog circle here on WordPress, with the occasional floating follower from somewhere else (that I also love!) I wanted to share my brief experience with the drug Elavil.

I was actually not prescribed it for merely mental-health reasons.  It was mostly prescribed because it has been showed to be effective for migraines and chronic pain treatment (both issues I have).  It is also used as an anti-depressant, depression being something I also struggle with (surprise, surprise).

My doctor was interested in trying it because it’s main side effect is acute drowsiness, and she knows I struggled badly with insomnia.
She gave me a prescription for a 75mg dose last week (30 pills with refills) and told me to wait until the holiday weekend to test it out. She knew my previous experience with pills that cause “drowsiness”. They knock me out like a freight train within 20 minutes.

I waited until Thursday night, after I had picked at both my father’s and mother’s Thanksgiving meals.  I took it at about 9pm, stayed surprisingly coherent until around midnight.

It didn’t exactly cause drowsiness after midnight…

I was practically narcoleptic for the next 24+ hours.

Poor Shadow Dragon and Puppy had to deal with me staggering to the kitchen for water a couple times, only to almost fall asleep standing up.  I then meandered back to my room, popped in a movie to “try and keep me awake” and promptly fell asleep.

Army is texting me regularly to try and let me know what he plans for us for our two-day weekend extravaganza.  I reply every four hours or so, causing him concern.  It probably didn’t help that my texted replies were vague, riddled with typos/autocorrects, and practically incomprehensible.  He finally asks if I’m drunk or something.  I manage to tell him about the new drug I’m trying (that I am never taking it again) but that I’m worried it will not wear off by Saturday morning when I’m supposed to drive to his place.

Army calmly reassures me that he’ll pick me up if I don’t feel comfortable driving.  I don’t reply that it isn’t that I’m worried about a bit of foggy mental abilities- but the ability to remain in an upright position.

Fortunately, the sleepiness wears off by 9:30am on Saturday morning.

Unfortunately, my muscles are even more sore, tight, and throbbing than usual.  Probably because when I’m this drug-induced semi-coma, I do not move except for the awful nightmares this Elavil-demon causes, which cause me to twitch spasmodically.

Here’s a chart to help you break down how awesome (not) this drug is.  It’s a pie chart because I’m hungry.  For pie.

Notice the supposed “drowsiness” and “anti-depressant” effects have been replaced with the real effects of “narcoleptic semi-coma” and “nightmare inducing”, respectively.

Now to daydream about pie.

List of Happy

After the last post and this past weekend, I’ve decided to take stock on the things/people currently making me happy.

1. Zoe: Obviously. Even now, she is pressed tightly next to me, though upside down, and will give me kisses anytime I lean over close to her face.

2. Grey: He not only visited me over the week to break up my lonliness, but we’ve been chatting and getting along great lately.

3. My mom: She is trying so hard to do a couple huge life changes for herself, including finding a new residence and new job, and it’s super stressful I’m sure. But she always makes time for me and checks in daily to see how I am without being nosey or persistent.

4. My job: It drives me nuts half the time (especially today), but I do love it and I did get the raise I deserved. There’s also talk of finally increasing my hours. Yay, more money!

5. Finding a house: I can finally stop being a burden on Shadow Dragon, which I struggle more and more with every day. The house I’m looking at will be with my mom, which is probably very “high school” of me. However, we are close friends and have practically a “Gilmore Girl” relationship anyway.

6. Army: I struggled with putting him on this list because he drives me up the wall a lot of the time, but he also says sweet things, makes me laugh, and gets my boundaries, which is more than I can say for most of my other attempts at non-platonic relationships.

Now the trick is to keep these in mind when the going gets tough…

Adventures in Insomnia

(I am going to attempt some humor now.  I know I am not usually of that persuasion.  I’m trying to be more positive lately.)

I am struck by the hell-beast known as insomnia about 3-4 times a week on average- which I think is rather normal (or even low) for someone dealing with mental-health and depression issues.

However, normally this hell-beast simply takes a nibble from me and then departs to the greener pastures of musicians, emo-poets, addicted gamers, and computer programmers.

Tonight, however, the hell-beast has decided I shall provide a full 8, 9, perhaps even 10 course meal.
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10:03pm: I arrive home from my lovely night with Texas and chat briefly with Shadow Dragon about our days.  Let Zoe out so she can sniff a lot of things, run around, stand around, and then finally decided “Oh yeah! I have to pee!”.  She then proceeds to drink a gallon of water.

10:50pm: Settle down in my bedroom, write a post about my night because, gosh darn it, I am turning over a new leaf and will not have a negative post at the top of my homepage any longer.  Starting texting with Army about our crazy days.
Check Facebook.
Zoe starts being slightly bothersome, then obnoxious, slowly escalating into full blown bugging-the-shit-outta-me.  I realize she has to pee that gallon she drank.

11:00pm: Go outside with Zoe to make sure she won’t bark and piss off the neighbors.  Bring phone with me, continuing my banter-fest with Army.  We are joking about me getting a tattoo that’s insulting to Obama (he’s conservative- but my opinion isn’t necessary the same) on my butt so he can have obscenely hilarious sexual antics.
I watch Zoe walk around the yard, bring me her stuffed hedgehog, then run in circles for a bit before deciding to pee.  We go back inside and I firmly tell she isn’t going out again because “Mommy has to sleep, dangit.”
Ha.

11:30pm: Technically I haven’t turned off the netbook and attempted to lay down, but I don’t feel my normal drowsy.  Check Facebook.  Check a couple blogs I follow.  Comment here and there.  Continue snark-fest with Army via text.  Our conversation is occasionally stalled by him completing a run (he’s on shift with the ambulance company he works for).  He is complimenting me on my ability to actually get him to laugh verbally.  Apparently insomnia makes me semi-funny.

12:15pm: Check Facebook. Not as many insomniac friends on as I’d hoped. Start a game of crossword puzzle on my phone.  Find a couple obvious ones before determining that words are stupid. Start looking at trashy websites such as TextsFromLastNight.  Check Facebook.
Meanwhile, since my light is still on, Zoe is attempting to be cute by rolling on my netbook’s keyboard and gnawing on my toes. After the fourth or fifth gnawing, I push her off the bed (lovingly, of course).

1:00pm: By this time I am truly frustrated.  It occurs to me however, that I have not turned anything off.  Of course! That is the problem. I check Facebook before I turn off my light and shut down my netbook.
I lay on my pillow.
I can hear my hair scratching as I breath in and out.  I adjust to a different pillow.  Nope…still scratching.  Very loudly.
I contemplate hunting down the creators of my pillowcase, which is supposed to be soft and silky, and ask them why the heck is my hair scratching SO FREAKIN’ LOUDLY ON IT??
Realize I have a dog.
Call Zoe up on the bed.  She dutifully responds, but doesn’t want to be interesting.  Instead she curls up against my side adorably and grunts grumpily when I try to pet or reach her belly for a rub.  I give up.
I grab my phone and check Facebook before opening up the crossword puzzle again.  I solve it and it informs me that it only took me 2139 seconds (my best time being 232).  I do not click “New Game”.
Roll around a bit. Zoe decides to hop back down on the floor.
Check my phone to see if Army has texted back. Nope. Must be a long run this time.

1:45pm: Decide that maybe I have to pee.  Get up and use bathroom.  Return to bedroom and sit dejectedly before deciding “To hell with it” and turning the netbook back on.
Check Facebook. Check WordPress.
Notice there’s an update from Becca over and LadyorNot! Yay! Read it.

1:55pm: Well. That didn’t take long. It did make me laugh though, which is good.  Decide to comment when less insomnia-inebriated.  Although…Army did comment that I seem to be amusing so sleep deprived.

1:57pm: Decide to write a post about my insomnia issues. Hope it will be semi-amusing. Check Facebook.

2:00pm: Write post in between texting Army.  And checking Facebook.  Wonder briefly if I have a problem. Decide I just really care about my friends and family.  And it’s not like I’m doing anything besides skimming the main news feed.  I mean, if I were truly addicted I would be looking up specific people’s profiles, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I??
…check Grey’s page specifically to see how he’s been doing since we haven’t gotten a text in a couple days.
He seems fine- innocuous update about his laptop finally getting fixed from earlier this evening.  When normal people are awake.
Wonder if there’s anyone else we could text at this hour.  Nope.  Army is pretty much the only other nightowl who will accept non-emergency middle-of-the-night texts without being mad about being “woken up” or something.

2:20pm: Oh yeah, I was writing a post.

2:36pm: Finish up post.  Check Facebook one more time.

2:40pm: Hope doing this will somehow get rid of the insomnia hell-beast….

2:45pm: Laugh waaaaay to hard at this picture:

Laughing for like, 4 whole minutes. That tired.

Decided to add to post and share the funny.

The end.

Hopefully.

God I just want to sleep.

Good Ol’ Texas and Tattoos

I’m feeling much better.

Had a lovely evening with Texas where we got quotes on our tattoos we shall be getting (more on that later) and talked about the Germany email.  I’ve come to realize a couple things:
1. Germany is a whole continent away.  She isn’t in the situation like the rest of us.  Obviously she can’t completely understand
2. Though I didn’t make the stupid choices she implied I did, I have made stupid choices the past couple weeks.  I need to be responsible for that.
3. I decided days ago (with input from Texas and Shadow Dragon) to stop dwelling on this whole Jeff situation and what I could have done, how I could fix it,  how I could have changed it, etc., etc.- and move on with my life.  I shouldn’t let comments relating almost entirely to that bog my whole week down.
4. I have some fantastic friends right here in this zip code that are being perfectly supportive and I don’t need to be that doormat people-pleaser I desperately tried to be most of my life.

So I am just going to forget about it.
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Moving on- Texas and I are getting tattoos next week.  It will be merely the second one for me and the….I’ve lost count for Texas (they’re all beautiful and able to be tastefully covered though).  There are a couple various reasons as to why we’re getting them together, even though they aren’t technically “for” each other or anything like that.  I don’t like “memorial”-type tattoos.

(side note: Army actually has one written in Latin on his forearm that’s for his crazy cheating-abusive ex-wife.  Sometimes I tease him about it.  He takes it [always a good sport] because he’ll be the first to admit it was a dumb tattoo to get.)

Anyway, Texas’s idea is charming. I discovered a picture that is pretty much what she’s getting.

Couldn’t find a better version of this quote and illustration…

I don’t think it’s specifically for me- she’s a big fan of Winnie the Pooh and has many friends.

Mine’s smaller, but a bit more complicated.  I’ve always been a been “symbology” sort of person.  My fox and butterfly tattoo has multiple meanings (some only 2 or 3 people even know).

This is getting touched up too- the butterfly was *supposed* to be a “forest green”. Not yellow.

My second tattoo shall be no exception.  I do not have a mock-up of the actual design that will be going onto my body, as a lovely artistic friend of mine is still working on that, but it is going to incorporate the following symbols:

The rune Algiz (also known as Elhaz). Simple, obviously.

A treble clef- pretty self-explanatory. It’s a music symbol.

The idea is to sort of “entwine” this two symbols together in a very organic way (like a vine or tree).  It’s going on the inside of my right wrist.  To remind me of my support and strengths when my thoughts go to dark places.

I shall upload pictures of the actual tattoo once I get it done!

Apparently I’m trash (or The Email’s reply)

It took a couple days for me to get the courage up to write this post.

Germany technically replied to my email Saturday, but I’ve been dwelling and dodging and playing that ostrich-head-in-the-sand that I do so well.

She’s upset.

Yay, I’m clairvoyant.  Texas said she wouldn’t upset because we’re best friends and best friends are supportive.  But my tummy-guts-feeling wins again.  She’s pissed.

She said I’m trash.

I’ve never had anyone call me that.  Not even when Texas probably thought something close to that last year when she was angry we got pregnant.  But she never called us anything like that.

And to have Germany call me that….

I was a mess Saturday night.  And I was very ill most of Sunday- at least partially psychosomatic I’m sure.

It’s sort of surprising who first brought me out of a thought process that was going to turn self-damaging.  Army.  I know, right?  Mr. Emotionally Void and Unavailable.  It’s like he’s a different person since we stopped living together.
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This was our text exchange:
Me:  Well, Germany thinks I’m a she-devil that’s ruined Jeff.  it’s a surprisingly hard blow to have a best friend think you’re trash.
Him: What happened?
Me: I emailed her briefly, updating her on my life, like I normally do, and apparently now I’m horrible. I dunno.  You don’t think I’m garbage, do you? Is that why you didn’t ever really want more than FWB?
Him: I do not think you are garbage. And the FWB thing is because of me and what I’m capable of. Not you.
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Obviously not some amazingly romantic talk, but at least encouraging.  And then Shadow Dragon and Puppy were nice enough to watch a movie with me Saturday evening (“Identity”, appropiately, lol) and that helped a lot.

But still….a best friend calling you trash is hard to swallow.

Maybe I am trash and I should just accept it.

Babysitting Experiences

Last night I had the pleasure of watching Shadow Dragon‘s lovely boys while she had a well-deserved night out with Puppy.

I learned some things…

– Children softly singing along with Disney movies is pretty much the cutest thing ever.

– Conversation #1:
(Chatterbox [the older boy] is playing with his hotwheels. I am on Facebook…talking about airsoft guns.)
Chatterbox: You like this? *holds car up*
Me: That’s a cool gun.
Chatterbox: What? A gun?
Me: No. Wait. No. Car. Cool car. Not a gun. Crap. Sorry.

-Spitfire [the younger boy] will throw a tantrum at the drop of a hat. Or car. Best solution is to just ignore him.

– Conversation #2:
Chatterbox: Your dog licked me.
Me: She does that.
Chatterbox: Inside my mouth.
Me: Yeah…she’ll do that too.
Chatterbox: I let her.
Me: …uh. Ok then.
Chatterbox: It was gross. It tasted gross.
Me: I bet.

-Chatterbox’s response to Kryten on an episode of “Red Dwarf”:
“Why does his head look like that?”
“Well, he’s a robot…”
“A robot?”
“Yes.”
“….but why does his head look like that?”
“Hahaha. Yeah. It’s just supposed to be silly.”

Shaped like a novelty condom

– Chatterbox insisted on trying a Flaming Hot Cheeto.  He then proceeded to run to the kitchen for a drink.  Kids are brave little bugger.

-Putting them to bed wasn’t as hard as I expected- besides Spitfire trying to sneak out of their bedroom a couple times.
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All in all, it was a fun experience.

And SD and Puppy came back in a great mood which made me happy.  I love being able to feel like I’m finally beginning to pay them back for all their help.

And the kids are pretty adorable.

Healing

(Trigger warning for talk of suicidal thoughts and sex. Not at the same time…)

We’re doing better now.  Kit’s not hanging around much anymore, but I’m not really surprised by that.
I never thought I’d be the one running the show for longer than an evening, but everyone seems to have decided I should indefinitely, especially after this weekend.

Let me explain a bit.

We got a surprising amount of support after Friday.
Partly from my mother and Texas, who sweetly made sure I wasn’t left to my own devices for long after the Friday night disaster.
Texas was mad at me for not calling or texting her, but when I explained that though I was technically suicidal, my true goal of that night was just getting drugged enough to not feel emotions.  Which is what happened. She wasn’t happy, but she forgave me.  She doesn’t normally do that, so I was floored.  And much nicer to her than I usually am, not usually being a “girl’s girl” myself.

However, due to the fact that it’s been a long time since I’ve taken that many narcotics, I was extremely sick/hungover most of Saturday morning and fought nausea, shaking, and dizziness for most of the day.  I managed though, and by the evening was completely fine.
Well enough, in fact, to help run a Halloween-related booth at a local downtown Halloween store event.  It was fun and healing to enjoy my favorite holiday.

Then Sunday I went to lunch with my mother and Texas and just talked about life, men, friends, careers, and girly crap.  It was great.  Strange that I enjoyed it.  Rika and Roms think I’m evolving or something.  Fuck if I know.

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I also got constant texts from Army throughout the weekend.  Starting Friday night, actually.  I didn’t reply until Saturday due to my state-of-mind, but we chatted amicably Saturday morning.  Then in a rare moment of emotional-mental-semi-psychic/understanding, he figured out something was bothering me Saturday afternoon.

Being that Army and Jeff are very good friends, I didn’t elaborate.  That wouldn’t be fair.  And despite being told otherwise, I do care about and respect Jeff enough to not fuck-up friendships.
Army was a bit upset that I wouldn’t talk to him about it, but when I explained vaguely that it had to do with Jeff and I didn’t want to be unfair to their friendship, he understood.

Then he started pestering me Sunday to hang out.  After Monday night, I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but when I said I was going to see “Hotel Transylvania” with Texas and her boyfriend, he said he’d love to join us.

I was surprised, to say the least.

First of all, Army is not really into hanging out with other people, especially couples.  Secondly, he isn’t a big fan of animated movies.

I pressed him on why he was so insistent, and he said he just wanted to spend time with me.  This again, surprised me.  This weekend was just Surprise Central, obviously.

The movie was good.  A father-daughter movie, which made me a bit uncomfortable, but still enjoyable.  I had ridden to the theatre with Texas, so as we were leaving, I mentioned this to Army and he said he’d be happy to take me home.

We ended up making a detour to my mother’s law firm….because…ahem, despite my “evolving”, I’m still Charlotte.  And there wasn’t really anywhere else private for Army and I at 10pm on a Sunday. And I have keys to the small office and knew no one was going to be there.

I learned a couple things.

First of all, desk-sex is not as easy as porn and erotica would have you believe.
And floor sex is effin’ painful.  My back is killing me and I have rugburns in places a woman should not have rugburns.
And Army did this thing that…normally would have me uber-triggered (I won’t elaborate), but actually didn’t bother me at all.  If anything, I enjoyed it.

I never thought time with Army would be healing.  We actually spent most of the time just talking.

He was kind about the recent cuts on my thigh, which in the past he’s flipped out about.  I talked about some of my insecurities and all the ways I’m obviously a fuck-up and not a normal woman.  I talked a bit about James The Stranger.

He spent way more time that I thought he ever would in reassuring me that there’s nothing wrong with me not being able to do a lot of normal emotional things, and certainly nothing wrong with me physically (see Victoria??).
He only lectured me on driving into the middle of nowhere unsafely when it came to James.  When I joked about wishing he’d just murdered me in his creepy house in the middle of nowhere, Army got angry.  But then…he actually read my body language and emotional distress, and comforted me instead.  It’s like he’s possessed by an alien.

Afterwards, we went to Shadow Dragon’s.  He was supposed to just drop me off, but he said he really wanted to see Zoe if he could.  I hesitated, as I don’t like being a rude roommate and having people over without warning.

But Zoe is our weakness, so I caved and let him in, making him promise to be quiet.  Zoe was ecstatic to see him, which made me smile.  They played outside and then we sat on the couch together and talked a little bit more.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve actually just talked to Army.  Since before…yeah.  I even mentioned the whole miscarriage thing being part of what had me so depressed lately and he showed a surprisingly caring side.  I don’t want to talk about it in too much detail.  It was private and my moment and I don’t want to share it with the others.
The moment it’s written about in this blog, all the others have access to it.

I dunno why I feel possessive about Army.  I suppose to be fair, he’s always been mostly “my relationship”.  Kit and Audrey handled him for moments at a time, but it was usually me that spent time with him.

I just never thought I’d get so touchy-feely that I’d need some sort of healing.  And I never, ever thought he’d be the best one to provide it.

Ephedrine is Magic

I shouldn’t take ephedrine.

It raises my normally high blood pressure to scary amounts.

However, as Shadow Dragon has mentioned in previous posts of her’s, I have been very very sick for going on about 3 weeks now.  I’m tired of it.  I’ve missed way too much work, I haven’t been able to be social much at all, I’ve been a terrible doggy-mommy to Zoe.

It got to a point Monday where I just couldn’t handle it anymore.  Fortunately, I also saw Army on Monday and he was nice enough to give me some of his “wonder drugs” he keeps on hand.  No worries, they aren’t illegal, and they’re technically over the counter.  They’re just restricted.

Because they have ephedrine.  Which if you didn’t know, can be used to make meth.

Basically it’s Speed in simple pill form.

I took some Monday and felt fantastic.  I skipped yesterday because I don’t want to die of a stroke or kidney failure.  Then yesterday I felt awful, threw up a couple times, had a headache (and had some emotional/friends crap I soooooo didn’t need to deal with, but that’s not something I really want to talk about), so it was a disaster anyway.  So today I took another dose.

I am freakin’ Wonder Woman.  Yes. I feel like I can do fucking anything right now.  I could stop a speeding train with the flick of my wrist.

Ok, maybe not.

But I can multitask at work without dying and pretend to be friendly towards my coworkers.  And that’s a big step forward.

Ephedrine is magic.