An attempt to udate

A lot has happened. I don't really know how to update.  I am still living with Nick who is now my amazing boyfriend. I had some friends who weren't so great for me. I had another suicide attempt which almost succeeded. I have been approved for disability which is great since we are always beyond broke with only Nick's disability. We are waiting to get the payments. Nick is my payee because they wouldn't let me be my own payee due to all of my hospitalizations. I have to get my doctor to sign off on me being my own payee before they will let me. I'm extremely happy living with Nick, Dora lives with us too. More later.

A poem that I wrote in the hospital

Vanishing Particles

Watch me as I drift away,
I'm floating in the galaxy.
Stars for eyes,
Planets for brains,
enigmas for hair,
I'm so far gone.

Watch me as I break,
I'm crushed into dust,
pinpricks of blood as I dance
I'm laughing at pain,
Peals of fullness,
I'm so miserable.

Watch me as I imitate,
I'm your very best puppet,
extremities clicking together as I put on a show.
See how my smile is a millisecond off?
I'm not real.

Watch me as I slit my wrists,
I'm too tired,
Pretty red streams running away from me,
Drops of bile,
Happy thoughts,
I'm serene at last.

update 2

I was hospitalized for the 8th time, and spent almost a month there. Then went to the homeless shelter in Norman, I met nice people at both places, and am now staying with this guy, Nick, that I met there. He is super nice and I'm trying to figure out what I want to do from here.

update

I went to treatment. I spent about three months there.  I loved it.  I was hospitalized twice while I was there.  I got discharged in late February.  I've been in a motel room in Oklahoma.

I tried going to PHP a partial hospitalization program.  Which is basically a day program. But after a week they kicked me out saying that I need a higher level of care.  Basically I got too suicidal for them. I had a wrist cut that required staples and I was hospitalized for five days.


I have enough needs for now. I'm not seeing a therapist.  Im trying to remember to attend dbsa. My ED is difficult but I'm getting by.  I need to get a new social security card.  My car aligned. Find an apartment in Florida. And I'm running out of money. But cie la vie

totally unedited ranting, bear with me

She walked at a steady clip, arms crossed around her, and an ear bud in one ear. The sky was gray, the morning quiet, and all around her wind played with fallen leaves.  Nausea from not eating enough over the last few days was starting to set in, but she ignored it as determinedly as ever.  Feeling cut off from all of her friends, nay from people as a whole, she trudged on leaves crunching underfoot. 

Her soothingly sad music pumping through the lone working ear bud was a background to her thoughts.  The wind picked up around her, a flurry of dead leaves swirling, bumping into her and skittering away.  The sky looked on impassively as she wondered if maybe she could be lifted up and taken away with the wind.  Her stocky overweight frame solidly reminded her that this could not be.  She passed a sad thought for the lost opportunity to play with the wind.

 The leaves were partway through changing, reds and browns littering the ground.  How could she go back to that cage?  How could she go back to feeling that way?  She couldn’t stay walking around with bare legs and a thin jacket forever could she?  What if she stayed until all the leaves had fallen, what if she gave up eating and drinking, and just waited for the coldness of winter to kill her?  She hadn’t succeeded with her many suicide attempts, maybe they had been too active, maybe she just needed to stay still and wait for death to find her.  Play hard to get as it were. 

She started as she noticed a man on a nearby roof drilling; she had forgotten that she wasn’t in fact the only person on these quiet streets.  She then saw another man, and a car driving too fast, and remembered that it wasn’t them who didn’t belong.  It was her.  This wasn’t her place, and it had never been.  She had tried once long, long ago, to fit in.  Others had tried to hold a spot for her.  It wasn’t working.  She wished they would just follow her lead and give up.  It was of little importance anyway.  In the grand scheme of things what mattered she?  For she had nothing left to give, and had stopped caring long before people noticed.  Now all she wanted was some peace in which to pass quietly from this world.

  The bright leaves fell around her, the only spot of color in so much gray.  She paced onwards, listening to her music, a lifeline to feeling anything but the familiar numbness.  She felt like she didn’t exist.  Can she be a figment of her own imagination?  Imagining walking and not leaving a step, breathing and not making carbon monoxide, she almost smiled. 

No part of her was still real, this was all just window dressing, and even that was too tired to go on.  How long until people realized that they couldn’t keep carrying her like this and let her go?  She had lain on her back, arms folded over her chest, pretending.  She wanted to go to a graveyard and lie down on the grass, not out of disrespect, but longing.  She longed to know what it was like, to rest.  How she wanted to join the inhabitants in their eternal sleep.

She couldn’t trust anyone.  They all wanted to help until things got really bad then they were all too small against the bigness of her crazy.  No one could help; she wanted them to stop trying.  Making big promises, about being there, and her getting better, then ultimately just not being able to rescue her, for she couldn’t be rescued. Maybe she couldn’t be rescued from the darkness because she was the darkness.

Scars on her wrist, scars all over her skin, but the ones that hurt the most invisible to the eye, unnoticed by most.  The people who had inflicted the scar tissue blaming her for the symptoms of her illness, and choosing to ignore the root of the problem, for surely it is all because she is bad. The people who want to get to the root of the problem merely human and unable to withstand the ugliness, and pain involved.  They are well meaning, but idealistic.  Nowadays she is the first to admit that she is bad.

So much crazy in her brain, it forms a cage around her.  Holding her captive, and in its thrall as it were.  The difficulty in being a fairly intelligent talented person, who can’t even feed herself, is an unimaginable hardship.  She is often treated like a slow child, looked down on, judged, and invalidated.  She can’t explain how hard it is to be intelligent, possibly more intelligent than some and yet unable to control herself.  She always loses to the crazy, and acts like an irrational child.  She can’t seem to help it, yet she knows she should be able to. 

See she is extremely weak, she broke, she got sick, and she can’t get better. She is wrong.  Everyone tells her not to give up, but no one feels what she feels, or goes through what she does.  It’s so easy to say not to give up, but maybe someone should have said that to her years ago.  Maybe then it would have done some good, but now it’s much too late.  She can’t stay here.  She is too weak, then why torture her making her stay?  Wouldn’t it be more merciful to let her go?  She has nothing left, she is nothing.  She’s so tired.

I beg everyone to just let me go, I’m done with the pretty, dark poetry that was the last 11 years of my life.  Now I’ll say it bluntly, I don’t see it as an end of my life; I see it as a natural end of something that was gone long ago.  Don’t tell me it will get better, I don’t care if it’s a fucking Disney ending, I don’t want it.  Don’t you dare tell me that’s the depression talking, I know what depression is I’ve been living with it for over a decade, at this point fuck off. I care about you, but you guys don’t care about me.  You care about who I could be, but I’m not her, and I may never be. 

Eventually you are going to have to give up because this is too big, it’s too dark, if you believe in God you may want to pray because I honestly believe that he’s the only one left who could help.  That is if he really exists and cares, but why would he?  If I mattered wouldn’t he have cared at any point in my life thus far?  I didn’t just wake up this way, it took years.  So everyone shut up about hope, and how sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.  Welcome to every day of my life the last 11 years, as I had to stay alive, but my hope died bit by bit.

Just go away, and trust in God if you do and my lack of skills with a razor if you don’t.  Don’t you see?  This has to be me, it can’t be you, so give me space, either I will die or I won’t you can’t make life do what you want all the time.  Stop controlling me!  When it comes down to it how are you any better than the people who originally abused me?  Fuck off.

Jewelry!

Jewelry! Sorry the pictures are a bit crap, but phone isn't the best camera and I've lost my other camera charger. 

Crazy

Sometimes I wonder about being "crazy'.  Obviously people always ask what "normal" is and I heard a really good answer once from a guy in a hospital, but I don't remember it.  I guess I don't know, but I do know that I feel crazy a lot of the time.  I bet most people do though.

I love the book "Crazy" by Amy Reed, and if you haven't read it I STRONGLY recommend it.  It is my current favorite book, and Amy Reed is definitely my favorite author.

Sometimes I feel like I can be a person.  That I can take care of myself, and maybe even try to imagine a future.  You know, my fun career, the work I would do to help other mentally ill people, especially the ones who are first diagnosed.  How I would wait until I was in a good place for it then adopt a British embryo, hopefully to have a little girl who I would then name Emma Rose Brooks.  Of course Melinda and I would make her an adorable Gryffindor themed nursery and be a happy single mom with my group of friends around to make sure I don't fuck her up.  Although I can't really see myself being old.

Most of the time though even thinking about this coming Christmas is hard, it just seems so long and painful.  When I was younger my friends would joke about "Kumari time", which was the way time passes for me.  See five minutes in kind of long, and a week feels like an age, a year an eternity.

Most of the time I don't feel like I can be a person.  I cry because I can't even make myself eat.  I feel so helpless and pathetic, being so utterly unable to care for myself.  I sit in a small dark place and cry, clawing at myself with my nails, feeling like I need to rip my body apart.  I feel like my head is going to explode from all of the wrongness of me being alive.  My head pounds, and my heart hurts, as I imagine ripping my head open, my face apart, so my broken brain can spill out.

I feel so crazy.

I don't think that I should be allowed hopes or dreams, I feel so wrong.  I'm broken, and I was wrong to break.  I should have been more resilient, or less selfish.  I don't deserve to be taken care of, or to be okay.  I'm a drain on my friends, and really what is the point of someone who wants to die so much?  Why keep my alive, at such a personal cost? It's not worth it, and won't pay off.

I know I have a choice, and I chose not to.  I'm pretty sure that blade that I cut through an artery with was my saying that I choose not to live, and not to try.  I don't think I can get better, and frankly I don't see the point.  I'm nothing special, all of the things I could contribute can be contributed by 20 people, all better equipped and more skilled.

I think the craziness is deep in my brain and cannot be gotten to with therapy.  I'm pretty sure it will take a sledgehammer.  Here see, I'll lay down, and you smash my skull.  It will be fun. I think that I have to cut myself deep enough until I run out of blood.  Because maybe then the crazy will run out.

I cannot convince people that this is a lost cause.

Kill me.