Scar tissue that I wish you saw, sarcastic mr.know-it-all

I think I started cutting myself because my life sucked. Like seriously sucked. This might be sort of a downer folks, sorry...

I liked the feeling of absolute release I got when I would slice that blade across my skin. Lucky for me, i'm light skinned. You can barely see the scars. At least I got to see them. I saw them bleed, I had them hurt, I watched them heal. And no one had to know. They were my own secret way of letting out how I felt within. Why should anyone be able to see them? They were MINE! I blamed the ones that caused them for making me wanting to keep them secret. Why should I tell them they were hurting me? Why give them the satisfaction? Hope they're happy.

So what triggered it? Maybe it was how I was never good enough to [bio] mom. Or getting molested and making me want to stay away from all men in general for the rest of my life.So I hid behind trying to make myself  as undesirable as possible. Maybe why I dressed funny.  Didn't work... Maybe I wasn't lying  I'm so glad one day my sister decided to do something about it. I'm so glad my dad was home and caught that piece of shit. Told you I wasn't lying. Didn't believe me huh? course I wasn't good enough to begin with

Those seemed like logical reasons to do so... then it became a sort of daily activity. Like a ritual to give emotions an out. Mom didn't make it to my softball game. Dad was late for my graduation  So and so wasn't my friend anymore Got a low grade You get the picture.

 I started in sixth grade. I was a little kid. 11 years old. Probably most of the shit that was happening in my life caused me to use this as a solution. Dad was high on meth. Beat the shit out of my mom. Nobody did anything to stop him. He hated the baby, said she wasn't his. Poor baby. He got cancer. I was terrified. So unstable in life. Got evicted more than once. Beat the shit out of my older sister too. She got the worst of it. I was so glad when he went to prison. Left us on our own, but we were better off without him at this point. I was also powerless to help.

I think my sister grew resentment towards us younger kids, for not being able to help. She had to help my mom raise us, she was the oldest. I couldn't add more to her stress. So I kept on doing what I was doing, in order to survive. Stay out of the way, shut up and don't make it harder. I had to keep cutting. On and off through high school.

It got to the point where I lost the feeling in my thighs. Till this day it's mainly just scar tissue. I felt like that wasn't working anymore. I started cutting my arms too... I started real slow because I didn't want anyone to notice. A few "cat scratches" would appear. We didn't have a cat. One day in 8th grade, I decided I was going to slit my wrists. I was scared, but I was also at that point where nothing mattered anymore. At school, I took my blade and sliced. Two perfectly vertical incisions. All that pretty bright red blood flowing right out. Too bad I didn't lock the door. Spent the summer inside, wearing long sleeved shirts.

I continued with my off again on again schedule, had to go back to the discreet way of doing things, legs, stomach. I was also doing all kinds of rebellious things that took up the time I used for cutting. Partying, drinking, all that good stuff. Having a great time, right? Not really. Kind of hurting myself a whole lot more emotionally.

Right after I got raped. Well the morning of, I should say. I pretended to go to school, and ended up just going to the skate park instead. I had gotten a butterfly knife from my cousin as a present... Bad idea. He didn't know. I sat and watched the few skaters that were there that day. Eventually I called Karla, she went with me to the police. They did the rape kit, MOST AWFUL EXPERIENCE EVER, and admitted me to the hospital. For 3 days, I was in a sort of drug induced coma. It was the first rest I had gotten in years. I told my mom I was staying at a friends. She didn't even question it.

Third. Recent... Too recent. My adoptive parents (it's a long complicated story, i'll save that for another post) got me kind of the same way one gets a feral kitten. Afraid of getting close, afraid of being touched, afraid of it's own shadow. Confused about life, angry, and detached... a sort of survival mechanism. I LOVE MY PARENTS (the bio ones too, but they sort of contributed to me being this fucked up in the first place.)

[found this somewhere else, I guess I had begun to write about it some other time]
I have been cutting myself since I was 11 or 12. My dad had cancer then. It was really bad times for us. I was often ignored and I was socially awkward. I remember living with my aunt and uncle. He was using meth, but my dad was too sick to work, and my mom had just had the baby. I remember my uncle brushing up against us by "accident" so many times. He would rub my thigh in the car when we went places, and he wouldn't let me sit in the back. I remember my sister and I telling my mom about some incidents, but she dismissed it. There were more incidents here and there but we just stopped telling my mom. A few years later my dad caught him in our room, and almost threw him off the second story balcony. That was the last time I called him uncle. And so my mom was very sorry, but by then we had grown angry with her for not believing us. My sister rebelled, I just suppressed it all. But things eventually got better. And I stopped cutting.

Next time I started again was about a whole year later, in 8th grade. I was transferred to a charter school in Phoenix, almost towards the end of the school year. I was excluded from any groups with people my age. Kids can be so damned mean. I remember when I first got there I was friends with most of the girls, a few weeks later they totally ditched me, and were saying some nasty things about me. I sometimes hung out with the guys but even then, I hated that school. First attempt. I wore a lot of bracelets then, so no one really noticed. School was over, that's when I stopped. My parents felt that I was doing better academically in Mesa, so they switched me back to MPS.

I didn't cut again for a very long time. I was too busy with softball. My parents never came to my games or practices like other parents did. In fact, the time Bridget knocked me unconscious, Coach went with me to the hospital and my parents didn't even know where I was. This is around the time I started running away from home. To Janelle's house, to Patrick's house, to all the houses of my pothead friends who's parents didn't give a shit either. But eventually I would come home. And my parents were always too busy. I felt really unwanted. Next year I was in Varsity Softball as a sophomore. I was introduced into the Athletic training program during my off season. This was my golden year.

Hey...

 

  

D.R.S

It wasn't losing everyone that made me bitter, it was the fact that I couldn't save or help them. That's what really killed me inside in the end, being forced to watch the people I love and world fall apart around me and being completely powerless to do anything about it. I never cared about losing everything I owned, I would give it up a thousand times just for a little sense of peace, I don't even know what that is anymore. I know I was happy and positive once, it's just difficult to recall. It's as if all my good memories were never there or the life I had never existed.

Liar

So I'll be in hiding for a while. Not really in hiding, I've just got to get my head back on straight. I have taken on a new view of things... total and complete apathy. My brain doesn't work like it's supposed to. My emotions are upside down and backwards. I am, in short, crazy. I have completely lost it. I apologize to the person I used to be, that's not me anymore. I used to be so smart, so brave, so driven and so confident. That's not me anymore. I have lost any aspiration I once had. I have been stripped of every ounce of confidence I had. I have been kicked while down, one too many times. And I am coming close to just giving up. I give up on everything. If I end up stuck here in Mexico, married to a drug dealer and forced to be a housewife, my parents would be proud. I seriously am considering it. I am starting to feel worse that a little down, guess I shouldn't have stopped taking my prozac, but I don't want to be depending on drugs for my happiness. So no more happy pills for me. I'm taking on the run away approach again. Not running away from anything, other than myself... again. I feel like there's an enormous weight just pushing me way down. I don't know how to get out from under it. And I don't want to talk about it because nobody understands me. My mom looks at it from her old fashioned, sheltered point of view. My dad takes on blame. My sister wants to bully me into talking. And I am not interested in talking.
So I have become such a good liar at saying that I'm fine. Everything is not okay. I'm not okay. And I don't know what it is that keeps me from saying it out loud. I am sad, constantly. I feel like I'm drowning. Every time I catch a breath, another wave comes crashing down and takes me down deeper. I am heartbroken and I don't know how to fix it. And it's a different type of heartbreak because this time it was me who let myself down. I killed part of me. I did it, and I can't undo it, and I have to live with the consequences of my actions.Well, I'll be here for a while, to try and cure my sad. In a way, I feel like it's for my own good. Leave town, start a new life, that was the idea in the first place. When I first left to California, that was the plan. But I didn't follow through. My stupid heart made me turn around and go back. For what? There's nothing there. When I ended up at the loony bin, that was also the idea. I was ready to start all over, and instead of pacing myself, I went at full sprint and burned myself out. I keep burning myself out. Because I thought I was going to be okay, I was going to be loved. Wrong again. Do me a favor and stop telling me you do. It only hurts worse. I just don't want to love anymore. I don't want to care. It's easier that way, when you don't feel. Right now I am being forced to feel and I don't like it. Because it's exhausting. I can't handle any negative emotion, because it is just intensified. Geez, does it have to suck so much? I have met some people who enjoy their crazyness. As much as I try to embrace mine, it's more of a life sucker. Lifesavers and lifesuckers. People in life are one or the other.
That missing piece. That something I lost. Or someone. I lost me. It's me. So how do I find me? I can't even string two thoughts together, let alone try to find myself. I'm trying to get away from me. The me that keeps trying to kill who I am. I keep trapping myself, to fit into all these molds because I just want to please everybody. I am starved for attention, starved for love. I am so good at confusing one for the other. Because I keep on thinking that I am being loved, when really it's just the attention while somebody gets something out of me. When there is no more for me to give, it's so easy to just say nevermind, I can't, I won't. And all this time I thought you loved me. You wanted me to learn to love? How, because if that's how you love then no thanks. I rather not. And you want the best for me? Wow. If that's the best, you sure have low standards for me. But then why drag it out so long. I called you my family, and you couldn't ever be that, without something in return. Thanks for loving me, then again no thanks. Because instead you made me feel like a cheap whore. And that's how much I feel is my worth. Because before you got me, I was fine. I didn't know I was neglected, unloved. I at least looked for happiness then, now I don't want anything to do with it.
Who taught me how to lie, who taught me how to be a hypocrite, who taught me how to hate myself? Maybe I had to teach myself, to stop from looking so stupid while you laughed in my face. I became one of the crowd. I killed myself, for you.  Not that you ever cared. You were just pretending. Liar.

Love this song

"Dig" by Incubus

We all have a weakness

Some of ours are easier to identify

Look me in the eye

And ask for forgiveness

We'll make a pact to never speak

That word again, yes, you are my friend

We all have something that digs at us

At least we dig each other

So when weakness turns my ego up

I know you'll count on the me from yesterday

If I turn into another

Dig me up from under what is covering

The better part of me

Sing this song

Remind me that we'll always have each other

When everything else is gone

We all have a sickness

That cleverly attaches and multiplies

No matter how we try

We all have someone that digs at us

At least we dig each other

So when sickness turns my ego up

I know you'll act as a clever medicine

If I turn into another 

Dig me up from under what is covering

The better part of me

Sing this song

Remind me that we'll always have each other

When everything else is gone

Oh, each other when everything else is gone

If I turn into another 

Dig me up from under what is covering

The better part of me

Sing this song

Remind me that we'll always have eachother

When everything else is gone

Oh, each other, sing this song, when everything else is gone

Oh, each other, when everything else is gone

<3

this...

"Hi, I'm Annel, and I'm addicted to cutting. I haven't cut in two days" - me, on my first group session

So for those of you who didn't know, I was in the loony bin for 7 days. While there, I learned a thing or two. 


First things first Cal takes the cake for being the best friend ever. Seriously I think he came to visit more than anyone else did. I do believe he made my day every time he came to see me. Brought me Mickey D's sweet tea, Hello Kitty stuffs and snackies as well as all kinds of good hugs. Best fraand evar!!!


Also, I managed to get scared straight, regarding drug use. I met some very interesting characters, but that's a story for another day. Also I learned that I needed help. I didn't understand why I was in a place with a bunch of addicts until I realized this is my addiction. A terrible addiction that consumed me as well as put me one step closer to the grave. All it takes is going too far. So now that I got some help, some support, and some meds, I feel better (even though I hate the meds.)


I feel like I should apologize to those who I hurt. I'm sorry for swearing you to secrecy, I'm sorry for giving you the burden of making this something you had to keep secret, I'm sorry I wouldn't stop when you would ask me to, I'm sorry that now you feel guilty, please don't, I'm sorry I kept doing it, I'm sorry.

My world got turned upside down, maybe for the better. I have a new perspective of life. Mr. Brightside called it the death card. In tarot, when you get the death card, it actually means new beginings. I lost my job, my car, my so-called family, my home, my sanity... oh and my phone. I'm back to square one. Where I can start to rebuild all over. Maybe this isn't a bad thing. It's just what I make of it from this point forward. I now have to face the consequences of my actions, but I had forgotten that I am not alone. It's surprising who will step to the plate when you need them the most. And the ones who stood by and did nothing, they are the first to blame everyone else. On the plus side, I don't know if it's the Prozac talking but I have zero stress right now. All it took was 7 days away from everything. I think I should stop bottling things up. It's difficult because it's a habit, albeit a bad one. Same as my cutting. I have less urges but it doesn't mean they're gone. What used to be things I would bottle up and let them eat at me, now it's more out of guilt. Guilt and habit. I feel guilty because it's just something so taboo. My biological family rarely speaks about feelings out loud.


My sister said the best thing we can do is try and laugh about it. It is a serious problem, but it's amazing how much laughter can make it less powerful. Almost like when you are being bullied, and you give them a dose of their own medicine. It humiliates them, takes away their power. And so, every day we try more and more to laugh about it. Not because it was funny, but because it's something that I can beat. So I have found a few coping mechanisms. For one thing, being around those who care about me is very therapeutic. My cats seem to know I'm a little off and have been a bit extra lovey these past few days. I write in my journal as much as I can when I'm feeling anxious. I still have a few mood swings, but for the most part they have been manageable.


I have been sort of flying under the radar. Refused to see a therapist many times, and made it seem like something else. Cat scratches. It's an addiction. Now I realize I need to stop. Not just for me, but for all those who are concerned for me. I can't keep hurting someone they love. So it's time to stop, I'll need some encouragement along the way, but I do know I'm a tough bird. Which leads to one of my all time favorite quotes:


"Let me tell you something you already know. The word ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place, and I don't care how tough you are: it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is going to hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard you hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward: how much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done! Now, if you know what you're worth, then go out and get what you're worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hit, and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you are because of him, or her, or anybody. Cowards do that and that ain't you. You're better than that! I'm always gonna love you, no matter what. No matter what happens. You're my son, you're my blood. You're the best thing in my life. But until you start believing in yourself, you ain't gonna have a life." -Rocky in Rocky Balboa.

For some reason I picture God saying this. Hmmm.

Well as for me, my sleepy pills are kicking in, so good night. Also a very graphic post is coming up. I feel the need to warn you. There is a bit of a misconception I want to clear up, between my cutting and suicidal thoughts and actions. I guess this one is more for me and my therapist, who is now a reader (Welcome Doc!)  So, it probably will be on here in the next day or two. It's actually strange because I actually started this blog intending to post it (it's been lurking in my drafts folder) but I didn't want to let out my secret. Nothing good ever comes from keeping a secret. I have only told two people. One is also a member of my peanut gallery here. I'm so sorry for putting the burden on you, but I love you all the more for actually staying by my side. You are more than a good friend.