realization

 It's in the moments of loss, of detected detachment, that I become an animal.

Hungry, desperate, reckless

Goal-oriented, determined, hell-bent on survival.

In the starkest of hours, the people on the other end of the suicide hotline suggested the creation of a 'CRP' - a crisis response plan.

One of the final questions was: What is your reason for living?

What is my reason for living?

I have no pets, I take care of nothing but six houseplants and they are but houseplants. I don't want to kill my family like that. 

After days of prayer, of pondering, of self-reflection, of standing in the woods I come to a conclusion.

My purpose is companionship.

I seek it out desperately, blind and deaf. I frantically seek to make out the edges of the room, to feel and detect and identify the body, the shape and feel of my lover. Yet, they still feel so temporary so I draw my hands along their form, seeking to dedicate it to memory, to imprint their very being on my fingertips so they might always be with me.

It is not quite loneliness I fear, more so to never be known, to never be loved.

I become a pitiful and yet terrifying creature all the same.

Gnawing its own leg off to free itself, bending and sacrificing to bend into some new shape. 

To be borderline is to be trapped by my own soul, contained within the thicket around my heart. The greenery, at once so beautiful and deadly, grows beyond my chest where it took root and flowers in my lungs, in my stomach. So woven into my being that it feels like it and myself are one and the same, so inseparable that if one were to cut out the parasite, I might perish and die. 

Yet I do my best to trim the hedges. To try to fight off when it drives my form. But it and I are one and the same. 

The only salve seems to be consistency, company, balance and equality in companionship. I can't quite fathom having something like that, and perhaps that keeps it at bay.

One can only hope it gets better.

curious

I don't go inside. 

I just sit in my car for a long time.

I scroll, phone light dim. It's just past eleven.

We were watching anime and I was falling asleep. Something feels wrong, but I can't place it. The sad is creeping in and I can't erase it. I don't know why it's there but logic says it's exhaustion and overstimulation.

I'm here realizing the problem is me. It's me and it would be so nice to take a pill or do something and stop being myself for a while because it has me thinking about killing myself again. 

Taking more drugs.

I don't want to see anyone tonight or tomorrow. Brain wants Taylor. Brain wants otome game dating sim. Brain wants attention and to sleep forever but the melatonin doesn't work and I just want to not wake up preferably. 

I'm not sure what's going to happen. 

I just imagine what I was telling Aly.

It's all good. Give him time to miss you. 

Everything is fine.

Everything is fine. Everything is fine.

Dull the pain.

Eat brownies out of the pan.

Play cupid.parasite. climb into your gross ass dirty sheets and clean your room tomorrow but go home and dull the pain until it doesn't matter anymore.

He seemed to think I was upset earlier. I was just reserved. Just withdrawn. Too many moving pieces and factors. I just. I want to stare at a wall until I decay and die.

Worst part is I don't know if this will ever stop.

This may just be the rest of my life.

shame

To be a daughter of trauma 

Is such a strange thing

To crave and be disgusted by sex in equal measure

In the mess of hands and mouths and touching 

To find both torment and pleasure in climax

Disgust and horror / hunger and relish

Afterwards

I could feel the animal shape of my body 

Its own organism 

And I was repulsed 

Loathing the sexuality of it. The animalistic drives. 

Mentally barren and removed from the idea. 

I want to escape this human skin.

Being trapped in this ghastly form that has these desires is torture.

Free me from this prison.

This dastardly game that nobody ever wins, least of all my true self. 

I don't know

My head hurts from the screens.

Lightness from DCFC plays softly

I wonder how to tell you I love you. 

I think about the red string of fate.

What everything means.

I have no idea. No perspective. 

I'm just trying. I'm trying to doing my best just to survive. To persevere.

I'm realizing that's one of my greatest strengths. 

Knowing I will be more than this.

Resilience.

That is my greatest strength.

At heart, I don't want to die.

I will do a good job.

I will burn brightly.

That's just who I am. I don't have a choice in the matter.

It's the strangest thing to realize. 

I guess there are some things I really do love about myself. 

Today was easier than the others.

I had a job interview. 

I got a coffee which was good and some McDonald's 

I've been on and off I'll all day

I got a text back tonight 

And he's going on the cruise tomorrow and I judt.

Each message hurts. 

Painful. 

Very painful.

I don't know what to say.

I'm running out of words.

I just don't know.

I don't know.

It hurts. But it also doesn't. 

I don't know. 

5am wakeup

The only one here that really hurts is me

It's as if he heard we could keep talking and then he was fine 

Does he think I haven't been serious about being suicidal? I think he takes it for granted 

I thought he'd say something else before he was gone 

Something besides what he did 

How is it I feel worse

I woke up from a good dream the first in a minute

A beast man to come to my old room, the one I grew up in 

A twisted dark beauty and the beast

I wake up to that message 

As if nothing is happening 

Wishing I'd find a blessing before he returns 

Nothing about survival or being missed

Nothing about being loved

Nothing about being gone 

I still feel nauseous 

I don't know why I ate

I'm paying the price for it

I peed (normal now, which made me sad)

I put the food away so I can stop smelling it

The room is hot and I haven't showered since Wednesday

It's mother's day and I want nothing to do with my mom 

I just want to disappear 

Everything hurts and I feel so small

Why does it matter so much that he knows and cares

I wish I were dead 

.it's 5am

I have too many hours left to live for this

processing

I ate and now I feel sick.

Nauseous.

It gave me the energy for anxiety. 

My stomach makes terrible sounds as it registers what I've done, a sleeping beast now awakened.  How am I supposed to want to keep it sated when it goes like this?

I don't feel good. 

Seeing text messages makes me worry. Makes my stomach churn.

I want to be able to keep the food inside me for longer than it wants to be when I get nervous like this. 

I was so worried it would help me feel better but now I'm realizing eating just helps me feel. It helps me get more distracted and have a little more stardust yes, but it also makes me want to eject all of my food into the toilet bowl and lie on the floor and stop existing.

I had just enough to dedicate towards downloading some old ROMs. Trying to do something fresh, something inner child with no connects to anybody. And now that we've messaged, it's just like it was before. 

There's not that vacancy.

There's not the absence.

Which is better? 

Which is worse?

He leaves tomorrow and I don't know how I'll handle this week. I don't want to handle this week. 

I don't want to think about it so I won't.

The Aurora is on tonight. 

I still wish I was dead but a little bit less.

That's the damn effect f to be having on me.

Nothing makes sense in the way I want it to.

Hayleigh was right. This does help, I think. It gets the chaos out. It directs the pain and helps it subside a little. It makes the beast. 

I'm cold still. I have goosebumps.

I should really go see the Aurora but I'm so cold. 

I wish he would miss me more.

I wish he would long for me.

I wish he would see me again.

He seems like he's doing so much better.

No more sad texts. No more missing me.

No more crying.

I'm the one left picking up all the pieces (again)

I told him I'd be open to a blessing but he suggests my grandfather or bishop.

I don't want to talk to family and I certainly don't want to talk to my bishop.

I don't want to talk to anyone else. 

The only people I'm talking to are Jeff and the suicide hotline.

It seems like I can't text the warmline which is unfortunately. 

My voice is soft due to not talking. I like it. It feels validating. I sound how I feel.

Even after eating, I feel raw and sensitive and soft. Vulnerable and wounded.

It's validating.

Part of me wants to kill myself before he gets back.

That'll show him I think. Then he'll feel it for sure

But I don't want to do more damage. 

So instead I'll think about it.

I'll plan it.

I'll keep talking to the crisis hotline.

I'll continue avoiding my family.

I'm going to curl into a ball like a prey animal and suffer this. 

I'll write out the methods and the dates and times and where to get the materials.

It's calming. It's a sign that things could stop. They could get better. 

I'll eat less than I was in an attempt to taunt that. In self harm. But I probably won't kill myself that way. It's scary to watch it happen over time.

It's scary to start to die.

I can't decide whether to stay up as late as I can or let life happen. I hate that I'm thinking about him leaving at 3:30am. I wish he didn't tell me that. I wish I didn't have to think about it. 

I wish I didn't know.

I wish the crisis hotline didn't ghost me.

I wish I felt different than this. But also not? 

I could barely manage much of my dinner. It's interesting how much appetite goes away.

Man. I really wish I was dead. 

I wish I could stop thinking about all this stuff. 

I wish I could just... Let go.

I wish I wanted to talk to somebody else but I don't.

Part of me is tempted to play an otome game but I also don't want to be driven further to wanting to kill myself in that way. That's straight up torture.

I don't know what I'll do.

Help me shut out the demons just enough but also not too much.

Please let him miss me.

Please let him hurt in the way that he can understand. 

Please, God. Please.

observations

The smell hits me and rather than being irresistible, it makes me almost nauseous. I open the lid. It's piled high with food. 

For the first time, I think I understand what people mean when they've had eating disorders and see a plate of food and think 'oh no'. 

Oh no.

My first bite: macaroni salad

Second bite: white rice

You'd think I'd be less picky about rice given that I've been starving, but it's bland.

I sample everything and then guzzle down one of the Hawaiian sun drinks like it's been much longer than 24 hours of going without water. 

It occurs to me this is the first substantial meal I've been able to keep in me since Wednesday or Tuesday.

Life seems to snap more into focus now.

I'm aware for the first time that I'm cold. My vision still seems almost cloudy and my attention isn't there, but things are focusing.

Do I even want them to focus on the first place?

Probably not.

I observe.

I worry about what I'll tell my therapist come Monday. 

I think about tomorrow and if he'll text me back.

About how I felt the need to say a reluctant prayer before I ate. Strange. God and I are on pretty poor terms at the moment. He's like a second cousin from across the country and I haven't written in a while. (I excuse it because the things they tell me about him don't sit right with me - they must have different beliefs and standards over there and I feel okay with how I'm living my life. I'm doing my best.) 

I put on a sad movie and then think twice about it. Do I really want to feel this way?

Why am I asking myself?

I leave it on in the background. 

I consider the suicide hotline ghosting me today. This is the second time they've done this mid conversation. Maybe it's because I brought up religion. Maybe Alex from 988 didn't think he could help someone that's been angry about not wanting to die enough.

Who knows. 

It's now I realize that this is one of the coping skills Hayleigh and I talked about in our conversation on Thursday night. She was my favorite of the people I talked to. She was engaging and professional but actually felt like she cared and had helped a lot of people before. 

(I hope she's having a good night tonight. I hope she knows she's changed my life.)

This falls under step 2 of my CRP (Crisis Response Plan) : coping skills. 

Specifically under Emotional Awareness.

I'm blogging. I'm noting my emotions. I'm feeling them. I'm engaging with them.

Maybe all this nonsense means something after all. 

Maybe it's actually worth something considering I'm not sure I'll do it. 

Die, I mean. Kill myself specifically. 

Not right now. Not tonight. 

There's always tomorrow, but not tonight.