Scab

May 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

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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.

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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.

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

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