little miss sunshine

my thoughts don’t feel safe to share. the less i dwell, the less ‘i feed the animals’ the less it claws and tears at me
          gloom ‘n’ doom. self pity is hell. no wonder i dont explore it very often. reality
i’ll keep myself as safe as possible. i’ll try to drive the speed limit. i’ll try to eat. i’ll try not to cut

If you want/need a promise, I’ll give you what we did in school social work:


The 3+ people I promise to call: Eman, Lisa, and anyone else who’ll listen & my most recent former therapist
I promise not to kill myself.  I will try my best not to hurt myself (i.e., cutting) but don’t feel safe/able to ensure my word at this time.  If I start thinking of hurting myself in a grayish area between self-injury & suicide I will hand over my booze, migraine medication, PMS meds, excedrin OTCs and Alieve over to a trusted friend for at least one week; along with all my sharp objects (nail cutters, scissors, sewing pins & needles, metal emery board, hand mirrors, and anything else I find a temptation).  I will avail myself to counseling services on campus; may even return to my most recent ex-therapist in Huntington.  If I feel like I’m going to break my promise, I’ll find the cop who stands 24/7 sentry at the Hawthorne cliffs and submit to a 5150 (that’s what he’s there for; that’s why people go to the Hawthorne cliffs).

Re-post from March 3, 2010

For me, it’s better to feel physical pain than the emotional pain.  I can only handle so much emotional pain in my life, and it triggers memories, which only add to the pain.  So, while others self harm to release pain, I do it to feel a type of pain that has an observable, curable cause.  Emotional pain will always be there, always there under the surface waiting for some one, thing, event to dredge it all up again.  But physical pain, it gets healed and goes away; it is forgotten.
And for the people out there who think self injury is a suicidal gesture, that’s not true; you need to go read more psychological literature.  Besides, if I really wanted to kill myself, I’ve already had 5 depressive episodes in the past 12 years.  I’ve had my chance, I never took it.

my reasons:
I feel selfish
I always take and never give
I have nothing to offer, especially God
If I have anything to give, it’s something that God has already given to me.  I can’t claim anything as truly my own.
I never add up
She will never love me
She will never see me as a separate entity, worthy of dreams and desires and wants, etc apart from herself
I never fulfill half the obligations I say I’ll do for other people; including prayer
I’m a hypocrite
I constantly fail
I’m tired of failing
I’m tired of not adding up
I’m a bitch
I’m all sorts of messed up
I don’t want to meet back up with my therapist
I don’t want to have to be honest with my therapist; the last one stabbed me in the back
I’m tired of meeting expectations that are not my own
I’m tired of being unemployed
I’m tired of hiding
I’m tired of her never having remorse
Since I constantly fail, why don’t you just give me Hell since I already live it
I have so much crap going on in my life I can’t hear God
I hate hearing about my ‘worth’; it’s painful
I’m tired of having migraines and tension headaches
I’m tired of missing events to make sure she maintains boundaries
I’m tired of hiding books, prayer cards, and prayer journals as though they are contraband
Why do I have to take care of her?
Why do I have to walk on egg shells to make her happy, but she can stomp all over me?
Why am I invisible?
I’m tired of being constantly reminded of how I cause problems
I’m tired of being constantly talked to as though I’m a child when I’m her adult child
Why does she get to act like she is 5 years old?
I hate recieving praise and compliments because I don’t know what to do with them.
I’m supposed to be entering the convent, but God won’t even give me a f-ing job to enable me to fulfill His will.
I have to lie about where I go for church
I have to make excuses for dressing modestly (but prettily)
I can’t cry – my emotions take a back seat to hers
I can’t be angry at her; I’m supposed to be understanding due to my education and training as a counselor
I’m supposed to provide information but I cannot appear to be intelligent in the matter
I can’t upstage her (i.e., cooking, sewing, intellect, etc)
Tired of living under the unspoken rule of “I’ll love you when you do ____.”
If I try to be my own separate self, its self defeatist
I’m not “up to snuff”
Tired of having to second guess whether something is done simply to be nice or has a motive behind it for later use
[may add more later]

there – all out in the open. now, run for the hills
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