It's Been One Week....

...And I'm still here. I guess.

I'm very down, right now. Last night went badly: little sleep and nightmares. I feel like I'm slowly slipping off the face of the earth, like everything tying me down is gone, and I'm going to float away. I feel like a middle thing, not really important or needed. Just there, for fun, if needed. Today I have spent most of the day very down, in this new, dull sort of way. This drifting away sort of way.

I'm concerned about my weight. I thought I was finally steadying out, but judging by the surprising bagginess of the jeans I pulled on this morning, apparently not. These are the jeans I had to buy in December to replace the ones I bought in August. I'm scared to look at the August jeans now, they must be absolutely huge in comparison if these jeans are getting too big. I don't want to see how much weight I've lost like that. The scary thing is, I'm actively trying to gain back some weight. Oh well.

I don't know. I'm tired of life. The future seems like a big empty nothing. Except maybe some pain. I still feel full of self-hate, perhaps even in increasing amounts. I don't know what to do.

An Apology

I don't know what to say. I'm sorry I didn't let you get away with it this time as you hoped I would. I'm sorry I always let you get away with anything in the past. I'm sorry I helped you believe that everything is forgivable and true hurt is never caused by your misactions. Especially not true hurt you yourself will have to feel. I'm sorry I never held your feet to the fire and made you learn that some things aren't forgivable, and so shouldn't be done. I'm sorry I let you scare me into keeping all your secrets all the time.

But don't worry. I'm sure in your future there are many girls who will be led in, and who will let you get away with murder, just as I did so often. So you won't ever have to really learn.



I'm trying to bother certain people as little possible... but it's hard, the temptation is strong. But it's part of what I get of this, and I must accept it.

Taking a Downwards Turn (Again)

That's about all I have to say. I feel like shit. I hurt. For many reasons. I'm tired again.

I Touched the World, and It Bled

I've caused a lot of pain in the past two days. A lot of hurt. For once in my life, I know it's not completely my fault. I did take my part in it, yes, and I am partially responsible, but I did not act alone. This idea grinds against my mentality, though. It's funny - when I was young, they gave me so much therapy so I wouldn't believe that my parent's divorce was my fault, even though I never did. No... instead I believe every other evil in the world is my fault.

Even if the actions were not done alone, I did decide to speak out. I know that I probably could have left it all alone, let it slide away, hope it disappeared. Hope that it stopped eating away and my brain, burning me inside. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Knowing this, I hurt - for causing so much hurt. It's probably a good thing I can't go back and undo things, because I'm weak, and I despise myself for causing pain, even if it was not all my fault, and I want to make that feeling go away. I know that, in words, I probably did the right thing. And it doesn't burn me inside anymore. No, now I have the pain of others and the pain of loss to do that.

The part that stops me short of damning myself completely is one small thing: that this other participant's anger is less at me speaking out, and more at me speaking out with hard proof. I discover the plan was to cast me as insane, as blowing things out of proportion, as not being quite in my right mind. And by bringing proof, I destroyed that plan. That hurts. It's ok to fuck with the crazy girl cuz nobody will believe her anyway, right?

Right now I feel empty. I'm hurting, quite a lot. I don't know what the future is, what it holds. My mind stops short of thinking any further than tomorrow. I've taken a tough action, accepted my punishment, and suffered deep loss. My only comfort is that I'm clean again. No more evils inside me, except the ones that always reside within.

There's a distant sadness, but mostly relief

It made me cry, because it was kind contact I did not expect at all. And it is appreciated very much... But it's too far away now, I'm sorry...

Apparently there was confusion: last night I drove around the metroplex for a long time. I guess to see what would happen. Tried some of those things you always wonder about when driving, but nothing happened. Nothing happened. My desires did not change, I did not calm. So I came back, which I said I would do. I couldn't do anything last night but drive or sit, you see, because all the stores were closed. So I had to hang around until today. No school for me today, of course, because there's no point.

For those of you curious, I plan to go to orchestra practice tonight, because I enjoy my violin a smidgen still. And there's no rush, I have plenty of time.

I do not ask for you pity, nor your advice. I know my craziness better than anyone.

Crazy Calm, Crazy Calm. Tears and screams. Blood and pain. Oh yes, and yes. Give me all the pain, give it to me. Life your life happily, You will find out how much I can take. The answer is no, I cannot. Blood blood blood. This is too much, and I am too far gone, now. I know my answers are crazy, my reasoning mad, my actions insane. I know you all disagree, shake your heads, shake your heads in disapproval. But there's a way out and I'm taking it. I was perhaps making do with one, perhaps I could have made do with the other. But both? no no no. I'm too far gone, you see. You will not miss me. You will not. You may think so, but it's a falsity. I tried, I did. Every time I started to pull myself up, another blow came and knocked me down. Every time I felt a reason to perhaps rally once more, another blow came. I'm tired of this, and I have no strength nor mental capacity to do anything else. Stupid, I know, yes, very stupid. But I will care little for your cries of calling me stupid when I'm floated away on a cloud, and I hurt no more.

You cannot imagine with what hope I look forward to painlessness. I only first must clear up a few last sad drops of hellos and apologies.

Tonight there is no sleep, for I will drive and drive, and see how far I can go in one night. But I will come back, for driving alone is nothing but to pass the time. And action must be taken! Oh I shiver. But not in fear.

Deperation

I just had the worst dream of my life. And I'm not exaggerating to say that - God I wish I was. I awoke from it with tears streaming down my face, screams ripping from my throat, and my teeth clamped onto my pillow, which I was holding down with my arms and trying to rip apart with my mouth. A humorous picture for all of you, I'm sure, but not for me. Even now I'm crying still, and shaking from the memory. My own mind is turning against me, and I'm writing this to distract myself from the other types of distraction I long to dole out on myself in hopes of forcing my mind to seperate from my body. How do you put such distress into words? I cannot hope to succeed. All I can speak of is the utmost horror and pain I feel right now, and the desire to inflict some terrible punishment upon myself, and thus my mind, to drive it away for good. I'm deperate for something, anything.

Unlike most dreams, I am no calmer than when I first awoke, and I do not see calmness coming anytime soon. Oh God, end this please. End this please. I'm hostage to myself... and I hate myself.

My Stomach Turns Inside Out Once More

Aren't you all glad I shut up over the weekend? Hope you all enjoyed it.

I can't seem to learn the lesson that any sign that the pain might lesson for any reason at all is completely false, and I shouldn't change my plans for it, because it will fail, and I will be knocked down from whatever upwards step I've reached for. And back to the pain. Where I must learn to re-adjust all over again. Which just hurts more.

I feel like I'm going to be sick again. Excuse me.

Just a Few More Gentle Shoves...

Last night I spent the majority of the night lying in my bed staring up at my dark ceiling and crying. Horrible, horrible thoughts would not leave my head. So I spent hours and hours lying on my back in tears and being ripped to shreds by my own mind. The few hours I did drift off I had some of the worst nightmares I've had yet, and soon woke up, crying.

Look, it's not getting better. Everyone tells me to just 'hang in there,' because things must get better. Well, there's an exception to every rule, and the exception seems to be me. Even now, when it seems things could not get much worse, they manage somehow.

I had two days where I felt ok. Two days where I didn't feel rising hate (or at least not so strongly) when I passed a mirror, two days where I didn't want to die, two days when my mood was not utterly hopeless. But it was just another way of things getting worse. A reminder of what I'm not getting, what my life isn't. And then plunged back into the darkness, now with an all-the-more-clear picture of just how miserable I am. And that just makes it worse.

I hate myself, I hate who I am. I'm not the Emma most of you became friends with long ago. She's just gone. I can tell you the story of how she's slowly died over the past few years, but it would be ruled false I'm sure, and what I deserved. What matters is that she's completely gone now. All those traits are no longer there. If you are thinking back and objecting, you're wrong. It's called a façade. I can still imitate, to a point, who I once was, but it's nothing but empty words because I feel bad for those who have to be around me, and don't want to subject them to the blackness I feel all the time. I'm ashamed of who I am now, and I feel I'm shaming the memory of the Emma that once was. I know that when people tell me that they like me, that they'd miss me, and all that, they're talking about the old Emma, or the façade, and it hurts, because that's not really me anymore.

I'm drained. I'm tired. I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired of lack of happiness. I'm tired of 'hanging in there' only for things to get worse. I'm tired of being reminded of how swimmingly it seems everyone else's lives are going. It's an exhaustion I don't expect anyone to understand. I'm ready to quit. All that did matter is broken, desecrated, or taken away. I'm not strong enough to sit and be ok while all of this goes on. It hurts too much, and it has hurt too long.

Last weekend I gave the world a second chance after I had planned not to come back. And for those two days it seemed like maybe it was worth it, even if for all the wrong reasons. From what people tell me, staying alive for the wrong reasons is still better than dying. But it all comes crashing down, and now I just want the weekend to come again, but for all the wrong reasons. I gave it a week, I gave it a chance, and I got a taste of happiness, then a slap in the face and a chorus of mocking laughs.

I don't really understand why people get so upset about me going away. Your lives will go on, the good things will continue, you will still reach your goals and have your loves, you will move on. Life will still be good for you, so why be upset? I honestly don't comprehend...

Dear Emma:

You fool, why are you still here? What tiny hope do you yet cling to in that pulpy mess that used to be a heart? Let go, you idiot. There is no hope. Accept the truth. Accept that happiness is not coming, that good things are not going to happen. Just let go and give up. Why can't you do it yet? It's been long enough. You hurt and you cry, but you won't take care of it all. You're still too damn scared. Look, you've been over this a hundred times before. It hurts too much. There's a limit to how many tears and how much pain anyone can suffer - why won't you just reach it and die. But I see those tiny tapes of wavering hope you play in the dark nights to help yourself fall to unconsciousness. I see the lies you tell yourself to trick your brain into thinking there's something worth waiting around for. What?! What is it?! Nothing! Give it up, bitch. You're alone in your pain - everyone else got their happy ending. And that's not going to change. The dice have been rolled, the cards are down, the votes are in, and you lose. Hope will only get you hurt. Everything will only get you hurt. Look at the past - draw your conclusions right there. After three months of shit in your face you really think tomorrow you're suddenly going to get rainbows and puppies? Ok, so let's say things are going to get better. When exactly? A year? Five years? Oh, well then. Only an eternity of pain between now and then. And exactly how? What could this world give you that would make you feel better? Nothing you give yourself makes you feel better. Nothing anyone else can offer makes you feel better. You're broken, Goddamnit - just fuck off. You're making everyone miserable. Give up the minuscule drops of hope that only guarantee you more hurt when they too fail. And they will fail. They always do. And you know this.

God, whore. I hate you more than anyone.

My Wish for an End

I've spent most of today crying.

I go back and forth between an eerie calm emptiness and a distraught flood of tears. There's a constant ache in my chest and my stomach. The present, past, and future dance around me with twisted smiles to remind me of all that I want to forget. My old hopes and wishes for a happy ending of any kind flash before me and crumble to dust.

There is a lot of happiness out there. There are a lot of people who are sleeping soundly at night. There are a lot of people who don't cry all day. Who decides whether what hits a person next is going to be something normal, decent, and ok, something good, or something heart-breaking? There are people smiling and laughing right now, looking forward to the future and wondering what will happen.

My future is this evening. My wondering is whether I'll be able to keep down any food between now and then. Whether I'll be able to take a nap without having horrible nightmares after only half an hour. Whether I'm going to do ok, or turn in desperation to friends who are as sick of me as I am sick of life.

My hope now is that my mind will continue to fall and fall until it reaches a point where it snaps in some way, and I go into a catatonic state, or perhaps suffer complete amnesia. Then you can all reshape my memories, and I'll be happy because I won't know better. And if you want me as your friend, I'll be your friend. And if you want me to never remember I knew you, I'll never know you. Wouldn't that be hilarious. It will probably take a while yet to get to this point. The mind is very resilient, unfortunately.

How can I express what 'life' is like right now? I can't. I have no focus, no drive, no passion, no desires. My concentration span is about 15 minutes, and after that reality kicks back in. I can't keep myself distracted. Can't sleep. Can't eat. Can't work. Can't play. I have no urge to do anything at all, even things I like. I tempt myself, to try and illicit some response. Promising myself an hour of reading a good book, playing Zelda, buying a gadget... All just to try and get myself to feel some sense of excitement, some kind of looking forward to the promised activity. Sometimes I do feel a small stir, but by the time I turn on my Wii, pick up a book, or head towards my car... the desire is gone, and I have no interest in continuing through the motions. I try and set myself goals, assign myself interesting projects... but the result is the same.

I've lost any desire I had to get to tomorrow. Nothing anyone has told me yet tempts me quite enough to make me view it as a reason to wake up to another day of this...

Somebody... please... tell me what you do to keep going when distraction doesn't work, desire is gone, and the reasons you're alive are those of convenience and people getting mad. What do you do...? How do you continue...? Should I bother at all...?

Makes Bad Decisions, Can't Envision a Future

My psych-person (yes, he made me come in twice in a week... he cares so very much) told me on Saturday he thought he knew 'why':

His theory is that my pre-frontal cortex is decently atrophied. This means it doesn't do it's job. The sending the receiving of signals and such. The pre-frontal cortex is the part of your brain that helps you decide good and bad, better and best, and forming ideas of the future, picturing the future, and making good decisions towards the future. He says this did not happen suddenly, but over a long period of time. Repairing and growing more functional during the times when things were going well, and growing more atrophied during the darker times. Probably going back to my young childhood. This depression probably pushed it to the point I'm at now, which is not a good point.

I did some of my own research and read some stuff that suggested this kind of weirdness seems to be caused by lack of adequate connections forming. We humans, we learn by reward and punishment, even in brain function and growth. It's complicated, go read a book. But anyway, this weirdness seems to be caused because good and bad decisions are not adequately rewarded and punished, trust relationships are not adequately rewarded (by being proven trustworthy), and future plans/visions are not adequately rewarded (instead, being punished by being proven to be worthless because they go awry).

The interesting thing about the pre-frontal cortex is that those damaged in this area can often pass written or theoretical tests on good-decision making, but then, in real-life situations, display bad judgement and ability to see to the future. So, when asked out loud about what decision should be made, and when looking back in retrospect, people can make the right decision, but when actually taking action, they'll make the wrong decision. Sounds like the story of my life, doesn't it: Regret.

So. Long story short: I'm pretty much fucked. Too bad the whole result of the damage is that I don't care.

I Trusted You.

You know when someone gets brutally mutilated and injured, and is lying there motionless, with blood pouring out of all their wounds, in excruciating pain, with a group of their attackers standing around them, looking down. Then suddenly a man pushes his way through, looks at the injured man, and cries, 'He's still alive, for god's sake! Put him out of his misery!' And they finish him off with a single shot to the head.

I'm still alive, you bastards.

I Trusted You.

Today my psych-person told me
He'd seen a lot of people who resisted parts of treatment. Anorectics, bulemics, cutters, people with severe depression and problems. But he'd never seen anyone who wasn't desperate to do anything, or willing to try anything, to at least get rid of the sadness (if not cure their disorder). He said he'd never met anyone so accepting of such sadness.

Acceptance does not beget ability to cope.