Printing Promises

centerfielder08's picture

I promised my therapist today that on Thursday I will give her a manila folder or something of the like, of all of my previous Oasis journals. Or at least the last several.

I censor telling her things--about Eli, about my ex-boyfriend, about my ex-girlfriend (though I realize I havent written much about her here), about my Dad, about my past history of suicide notes and the like, about my identity confusion, ...

I tend to not be able to say that , any of it, because theres some sort of mental block in my head thats afraid to let the wall down and let anyone in.

So I agreed to give her my old journals and let her read them.

I'm scared because I dont want anyone to experience the pain I go through.

i never try to give others pain. I want everyone to put all their pain on me . I dont want anyone to be unhappy, though I care less about my fuckedup body.

Have I told you how much I want to hurt myself?
Or how in high school, in ninth grade, I thought it was funny that other people thought I was a paraonoid schizo with multiple personalities? And how once I was labeled that the first time, I kept trying to feed into the role?

I'm fucking depressed as hell. And while Im regretting al of this and I know I'm going to have to show my therapist all of these entries, I just gotta say, to keep the one-sixteenth of sanity I have left in my body, at least in this moment of being, that I dont feel like I have anyone out there.
Ive isolated myself from the world.

I promise, I dont feel anymore. And eating has become a chore...choosing what to eat. even eating something I like becomes disgusting. eating just adds to the monotony of the day. unlike my parents who want to broaden my eating, I could fucking care less to tell you the truth.

eating is one of those things that makes me feel like a mechanical robot.or maybe i've just gotten that idea from the lyrics of that dresden dolls song. music is all i have right now to relate to. people are foreign.

i hate myself for feeling most at ease at therapy and everywhere else feeling like i have no purpose for living. i count the days by asking myself when the next therapy session is, and thats what i do---i live between therapy sessions. as if they're the pit stops of my life.

friends are gone or distant, if there at all. ive lost all certainty of me and my mind and my thoughts. and i lost any ounce of any sort of self-consciousness i've had to a certain extent. its like after being a perfectionist for most if not all of my life, im going to the other extreme in order to try and let it go. maybe its the OCD in me, i dont know.

i dont really care about my body. or rather, i do but it terrifies me that anyone is looking at me. ive kinda fallen under this mindset that the idea of going to a doctor is never going to happen for me because of all the horrible feelings it brings up for me and all of the trauma it causes. nobody seems to understand. so i guess i'll have to learn on my own how to fight infections because i dont want anyone in control of my body.

ive never been too firm a believer but have kinda bought into the idea that if i look too pretty when i go outside im going to get raped. i thought i was going to be raped this morning on the way in to therapy. but how am i supposed to tell someone that without sounding like a fuccking lunatic that should be locked up?

my parents make comments about the acne on my face but it disgusts me. i dont care if other people look at me. i dont want them to at all really,and that would be totally fine with me.

i amm at the point in my life and in my depression where i feel as though my sole purpose is to make others laugh and smile. no matter how much of my own pain i have to go through, thats what i feel i need to do.

ive kinda been set on the idea that i'll keep my safety contract up and going as long as my dog is alive. im scared of the trauma she'd go through if i committed suicide, especially if i did it at home.

people tend to get scared because of how cavalier i am when i talk about suicide.

i wish i could be hugged and held. and i feel like its not been fulfilled but i dont know who i need to be held by. i just need to feel like the space i fill up on this universe is useful in some manner.

i've been in a state where hell seems like a wonderful vacation of utopia right about now. and i dont see where it will be any better. you want to know the truth? come january, i dont think i should go back to school period. im not sure about getting a job.

sometimes im afraid that ill live in and out of treatment all my life. maybe thats another one of my stolen ideas, but i dont really know. how do i know that i wont be? i feel like im going to be struggling with this fucking goshdarned depression my whole life.

everyone makes things out to be fine and dandy with me because they dont see lines on my wrist from cutting or burnt layers of skin. but if they could see the shape my heart is in, or the state of my brain, maybe someone would realize that i really do need help.

or maybe, as some old therapist would like to say just out to impress people. maybe none of this is going on with me after all. how the fuck do i know i didnt steal this whole thing from a book?

i feel like im living in a horror movie. only worse.

i'm convinced i was sexually abused . but i guess thats because since there's no evidence that i didnt and because i swear ive had countless nightmares and that i can *feel* it, how do i know that i havent been? just because i assume i havent been, can i really trust myself to know ANYTHING anymore?

sure, just take this as a fucking rant. i really dont fucking care.
if i was more impulsive, maybe i'd do smoething right now to make it better. but with me i dont even have the short term relief offered by cutting or burning or brain doesnt seem to know the idea of relief or haven or safety. i feel like ive been living in a constant state of crisis. or at least my mind is. smoetimes i dont know whether to separate myself from my mind or not. i dont feel its me but i do. i dont know.

truthfully, i have nothing better to do tonight. which is why im writing this long ass journal about how i actually feel. that i dont think anyone is actually going to want to read.
or how i feel so cynical right now.
so im going to be sitting at my computer, waiting for that annoying blue line of text to show up on my computer saying that someone left a new comment for me. its sad that my life has come down to such meaningless, such menial, shit. i know.

but two blue words is what i have to hang onto right now. thats all there is to grounding me. i dont know what im going through, but im pretty sure its the dictionary definition of insanity. im going to call it an anxiety attack though im so out of it right now there is no anxiety. the feeling of utter calmness, which in itself scares me.

maybe this is dissociation?

yeah. i got a 2 on my AP psych exam. i dont know what the fuck im talking about , either.


MacAvity's picture

At least you're writing. It

At least you're writing. It hasn't gotten so bad that writing is no longer worth the bother, and it hasn't gotten such that you're letting it all well up inside with no outlet.

I think that's a great idea about showing your old entries to your counsellor.

Were it geographically possible, I would hug you and hold you and let you cry or whatever you need. I'm absolutely sure that the same is true of everyone else here. I know the written promise of would-be hugs is no substitute for the real thing, but there you have it. Sure you're crazy, but really, what is sanity? Is anybody human actually sane? Is it even possible to be sane and conscious? I don't know. I don't know whether I have a point in writing that, either. I guess my point is: Long-distance hug.

centerfielder08's picture

D' Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww thank

D' Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww thank you! that was the best virtual hug anyone has ever given to me :). i love ya :)


a little nervous to print all this out, but , hey, i guess in the end it will help, right?

i wuv you, Macavity

MacAvity's picture


It's moments like this that make me wish I weren't so overcautious about using the love-word... I'm rather fond of you, too, Eli (or whoever you are right now), let's put it that way.

And yes. You definitely should go through with the printing-out business. It will help. Do it.

Splash's picture


~~~ the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses ~ e e cummings ~~~