Gasoline spills

May 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

My neck is exposed, head thrown back off of your thigh. I used to be terrified exposing my throat. Holding it with my hands, I could squeeze through the tendons and bones, I’m a rubber doll, mold me into a pretzel, discard me with your old pizza boxes.

Mascara tears run down my face, I lick the kohl with my tongue, like blood from a nosebleed. I curl into your body, your stomach, holding your arm, I can feel all of our hearts. Your cigarette embers fall into my hair and the wool holding my body together. I want to hold my mouth open and swallow the ashes from your breath. I want to hold all of you inside of me, fill me with you.

I know you don’t want me. I create histories and futures in my brain, weaving together the coulds and shoulds. I’ve made an imaginary life. You will leave and I will continue on. I want to feel life from someone, anyone. I find it where I can. I want to feel someone touching me, telling me I’m so lovely, and leave before they realize. Before it is undone. I never manage to stick to the plan. I stay too long, become too attached. I break and there is no one to pick up the pieces, except for me. I never do.

Pieces of me scattered across the country, across the globe even. I am a poorly made sculpture, chipped away through time. Phantom limbs wake me in the night, I think you’re there but of course you’re not. You’ve long since left, but I still have print memories of your fingers running down my chest, click, click, click, across my sternum. Breath and lips touching the skin by my ear. Teeth holding skin of my hip.

I walk in the dark, fucking streetlights disturb me, can’t be helped. I like the country back roads, no lights but the sprinkle stars. I fall into the corn fields, light as a feather, floating up into the smoke from the bonfire of a family, maybe a stag and doe that I will not experience, no one to answer to or feel for, much easier to disappear.

Advertisements

May 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

10557464_10153160250468206_5636051219451188530_n

Sad baby off all her vices. It’s going to be a rough go kids. Cheers.

Scab

May 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

33665_10150097447308206_5858453_n

Typical..This was a few years ago, I generally tend to pass out and hermit away when I get pilled up and/or pissed these days. I hate myself more and more and even more so around people.

10696383_10153160248843206_7298393380879381299_n

Instead, I hang out and pretend not to be a drunk mess by making fancy drink recipes like sangria, which I’ve already documented having a very strong and positive association with. And obv reading tomes that I like to think will help me, but really, who the fuck are we kidding?

Currently, I have two very sexy tiny blisters by the thumb of my hand from some burn that I must have gotten from who knows where. I also have a bit of a black eye on the left side of my face. It hurts more to touch than visibly appearing like what I’ve called it. Bruises all over my legs, scraped up both knees and I’ve gotten costochondritis again, or more likely, since I don’t puke as much anymore (well…that’s relative I guess), I fell or hit my sternum and bruised (Cracked? Hypochondria)? my sternum. It’s getting better to breathe, but sneezing, hiccuping and quick, deep breaths still hurt me. As does moving around when I’m horizontal. That was the worst when I had costochondritis a couple years ago when I was an around-the-clock bulimic and literally tore my entire rib cage, sternum, manubrium away from its para cartilage. That was also after my broken foot healed. Which I broke from tripping on the side walk. Because my bones were shot and my immune system and entire body from starvation and, as I said, my very day-filling bulimia habit. Oh and I still drank and pilled myself up with the various painkillers I could get my hands on and most fondly missed, all the Adderall-Vyvanse-Ritalin I bought from kids on campus. Hmm…

You’d think I’d learn. But when you first fall into the hole of life ruining behaviours, it’s hard to see yourself being able to dig yourself out. After your behaviours begin to leech out and affect everyone around you, various other parts of your life, it becomes increasingly harder. I still feel as though I’m too fucked up and broken, that I’ve ruined so much already, how do I really live with myself?  How do I get out? What’s the point? Everyone will still begrudge me and hate me afterward, forever.

Anyway, this all began with my little recount of my injuries from this past Monday. I really do want to get better, but for all the reasons I’ve already stated above, it’s hard to think that I ever could, or should. I was planning on going to some kind of rehab for my eating behaviours and addictive shit because…I really might need to (It’s hard finding inpatient services in the area, but that’s another issue, boring logistics, whatever). I was waiting to run out of money or just…something. So I was going to detail my plan for going cold turkey on ALL of my meds, pill habits, drinking, kleptomania, my horrendous dieting behaviours. And beforehand, I was going to outline all of my horrible tricks of the trade, the mess I’ve made for myself, while getting piss drunk and high and eating and vomiting for days and days.

I fast-tracked on that.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I was going to be celibate in my cold-turkey phase too. I like attention, people who don’t know me, who don’t know how fucked up I am (natch, that never lasts). So I went on a very ill advised date on Monday. For drinks…hmm on a patio with Netflix at his place. And I was really nervous about it, and in accordance to my plan to get all my vices in before my rehab or cold-turkey’ing, I took some Klonopin with some wine. Always a good idea of a drug-booze mixture, jesus christ. And I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t feel the nerves anymore.

62097_10150097445643206_6177381_nOH IF ONLY. I see this in my dreams.

All I’d eaten earlier in the morning was some pasta and sauce I’d quickly whipped up, a HUGE bowl. Family size, obviously. Vomitted my guts out, feeling very empty and high on endorphins, when I then began to treat my sore throat with the healthy cure of wine. Kidding, obviously. I’m an idiot.

So I made a fun and eventful date. More like terrifying, because apparently I just went down at the table. Passed out cold. He had to carry me, in his arms, to his car. He was obviously worried, being an RN as well, and already having heard me discuss my various bouts with mental illness, because I hadn’t bothered to cover up the ugly scars that were actually visible.He took me home, completely catatonic and had to get my father to help carry me into my bed. My father told me I felt like I was made of rubber, my body was completely shut down.

Good thing this guy (first time meeting) didn’t do anything else to me, but worriedly take me home.

People are always too good for me.

I always think I can keep going the way I do. I can use something or someone to save me. All of my shit relationships begin that way. Obviously, since I just recounted this date with someone new, my previously mentioned (once) boyfriend is now my ex. Why? I haven’t an idea. It could be the obvious things that are wrong with me, but he had his own issues and I really thought we understood each other. He also went through something of a personal tragedy in the month before he stopped contact without contacting me. I wonder if he was having a hard time and if he cheated on me? The night he stopped texting me, he was out in Toronto partying with a friend. It seems to make sense? If it was me, wouldn’t it have made sense to make up some kind of excuse, being too busy at work, blah blah. I don’t know. I will write another relationship post at another time.

Ugh. Sober, healthy me is beginning though. It’s necessary. I’m going vegan, no purging, no substances of any kind (maybe caffeine), going off my meds. I’ve written too much now I think, so I think I’ll save this for next time. Or after I purge a bit more to get all this off my chest. I actually feel better now for doing so.

11084836_651565491637926_1004290770_n

Mmm F. Essie nail polish in “For the Twill of it” and my lovely Jurassic Park ring. Harr.

Where Am I?

You are currently viewing the archives for May, 2015 at the Bulimic Baker.