I don’t fear death or dying. I realized that when I stopped wearing my seat belt and looking both ways before crossing the street. Or double checking for cars when I’d stop at a stop sign. When I stopped counting the pills, whether it be asprin or pain meds. I stopped caring about what neighborhoods I was in and if I was wearing the wrong colors. I stopped caring about going into dark alleys and my dark court yard in my apartment complex to break up a fight or tell some loud ass people to hush the fuck up, not worrying that I’m a white female, living by myself and on the ground floor. When I stopped worrying over the relocation tows we do and the threats that people make or when someone pulled a gun out on me and I said “Do it, you’d be doing me a favor. ” That certainly changed the tone quickly.
I want to die. I don’t necessarily want it at my own hands because I’ve failed so many times before. I just started thinking that if I’m going to die, it will just happen and I’m not going to do anything to change it. But I will stop taking the precautions I used to to stay alive. If the universe and Gods/Goddesses (yes I am pagan and before you become a cunt and assume what that means, look it up because I don’t eat babies or sacrifice anything, nor do I worship Satan. No I’m not going to hell but thanks for asking) want me alive, then it has to be for something. I don’t know what and I can’t say I’ll try to find out but I’m sure I’ll live long enough for them to throw it at me and see where I may land.
The Ativan is weird. It takes me through my emotions in a weird way. As being Borderline Personality (fucked mentally per say), I feel emotions more intensely then other people. I react differently or more intensely then other people would, more then normal people because I don’t know how to control my emotions. With Ativan at my side, I feel the emotions, I get pissed, upset, stressed, angry, frustrated and/or irritable at the same intensive way but I’m in this sort of mellowed, sedated haze for a lack of better words. I feel the emotions, I want to act on them but I don’t because I’m in that haze, and I’m slightly able to move on to feeling normal at a faster speed. I don’t know if that’s me putting my so called “coping skills” to use subconsciously or whatever. This helps because I don’t have the intense feeling of knocking my fathers head threw a wall while he screams at me to do my job and shut my mouth and to tell me how I should and should not talk.
(Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean you can tell me how to speak or act. You act like an asshole and I can do it justly so. Why? Because fuck you, my gender doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to go about my life. And you being my father doesn’t either.)
Distraction also don’t always work. I have a need… An itch. I have a fucked up need and want to take that razor and make precious silky red lines in my soft porcelain white skin. (I really am that fucking white, like when I get foundation, it’s the lightest you can go…)
I also have this shit thought in the back of my head that makes me think I may have fucked up in a major way. I was talking to my sister last night. Leah, she’s 17, just graduated high school (YAY!). Ever since freshman year she’s had an insane interest in psychology. She took all the classes she could on it while in school and did wonderfully. She’s super smart. She has her own issues that she is working on and that’s another reason I felt I could confide in her. She’s always been that bugger to diagnose me, she hit it on the nail last year before anyone else ever did. She knew I was Borderline before I was told by the doctors. (She’s going to college to major in Psychology and criminal justice to be a criminal pro-filer, she’ll be great at it.) Last night when she asked me how I was doing, she checks up on me every once in awhile, see’s what meds I’m on and what my doctors are doing about my shit. I let her in on everything my parents never knew and she said it all makes sense now. To know everything. To know why I said a lot of what I did in the past about how no one knew anything about me or what I’ve been through, because really they didn’t.
It has eaten away at me all day and I know she works, she wants to work over the summer before she moves on campus so that she can at least help pay for her books and any extra money she may need while away at college. She’s only an hour away but still. She finally texted me back saying she’s fine and it will be our little big secret. I don’t know what i’d do without my sisters. I’d fall apart without them. I’ve tried so hard before and got so far and I don’t want it to not matter in the end. i don’t want it to fall apart again. My life is already killing me. My lifestyle eats away at me. The friends that I’ve actually kept are worried and pained that I’m going through all this and how even though I know they are there for me in the back of my head, I still feel so alone. Because in a room full of people, I am alone.
It’s like drowning, gasping for air, while everyone around you is breathing and looking at you and watching while you struggle.
I wish it would be something I could fix today, I wish there was an easy fix but if that was the case, a lot more lives would have been saved because most people with this disease/disorder/whatever the fuck you want to call it, either kill themselves or let drugs eat away at them until nothings left.
I hope I’m stronger then those people. Hope, is there really such a thing?
It is what it is.