I just want to know

I know panic attacks from my perspective therefore I can empathize with others who have them whether ours present the same or not. But I want to know how they look to other people. What makes other people discount their seriousness, their gravity, their potential to do damage or even how the person is feeling.

When the world is spinning and you’re losing touch of feeling your feet on the ground. When you heart begins to race and your chest feels like it is going to explode. When tears are streaming down your face but you can’t get any words out. When you feel like vomiting because everything is so overwhelming. All you want is to be grounded again. If a person is there or your grounding techniques aren’t working and they don’t reach back to pull you down it feels like being swept up by a tornado and you don’t know when everything will settle or what damage has been done.

Just for once in my life I want the people that love me, that supposedly care for me to attempt, just try to understand what it feels like to be me. Minuscule situations that have the potential for maximum damage set off like an alarm in my brain. All I get is, “Don’t worry,” “Just don’t think about it,” “Settle down,” “The way you’re reacting makes it seem like someone died,” and the like. If my attempts for help are immediately shut down and belittled then why reach out at all? Why seek any help? It just hurts more when they don’t.

The Daily Battle

It’s been a hot minute since I last posted but I miss the therapeutic outlet of writing. Recently I began therapy again and though it has brought up a lot residual feelings. Last session I nearly lost it but I cannot let myself do that in front of people. Every time I get asked about my eating habits. The newest therapist, I really do enjoy him, pointed out that excessive exercise can be a form of purging. Honestly, I knew this but never really confronted the fact that it may be the backbone of my motivation.

The wild thing about eating disorders is that you’re constantly surrounded by your triggers. The environment doesn’t allow you to have any respite, escape from what drags you down. It involves waking up in the morning, thinking about what to eat for breakfast. Regretting that the protein bar has so many carbs, remembering from somewhere that working out on an empty stomach can burn more calories. Not being able to escape involves having the words, “fat” “calories” “carbs” “vomit” “exercise” “skinny” ricocheting off of every wall in your mind.

It is difficult to explain how this all even started and honestly it is even harder to understand why I still can’t shake it. All I’ve ever wanted in life is my goal body but I’ve been wanting that for over 10 years now. At what point do I recognize whether I’ve achieved, surpassed, or even fallen short of my goal? Will I be happy as a size large, medium, small, or extra small? Does it all even matter?

 

Old Poems Project

Alright, I don’t think I’m going to post them all. So this will be the last one, especially since it was much later than the rest. Thanks for all the support, can’t believe these old guys are getting so much love!

Storms (January 2013)

Burning words from deep within,

can’t keep the flames trapped inside.

Fire bursts out of my fingertips

as new words scorch the blank page.

The temperature starts to shift,

a storm of my emotions comes rolling in.

My hands turn to ice

as time freezes.

Memories start flooding in,

images flash like lightening

and sorrow comes pouring down.

My feelings betray me as they slide down my face.

I remember everything that’s happened

anger thunders through me,

cracking my ice cold shell

shards of my former wall go swirling around me

in dizzying circles

Pieces of the past cut through me like a knife.

The wind howls and moans and

screams my name.

I close my eyes and darkness consumes me

it is the end

if only the end had come sooner

Old Poems Project

It just keeps going, sorry and not sorry everyone there’s still more coming:

Broken (October 2010)

Broken,

shattered to pieces

Broken,

rejected by everyone

Broken,

denied of everything

Broken,

hurting on the inside

Broken,

bent out of shape

Broken,

reliving nightmares

Broken,

screaming at the top of my lungs

Broken,

crying out to God

Broken,

praying that someone will listen

Broken,

there’s no fixing me.

Old Poems Project

This one is now one of my favorites but also at the same time I realize what a cry for help it was.

Can You? (October 2010)

I’m screaming.  I’m crying out.

Can you hear me?

 

I’m not making a sound,though.

I’m silently screaming,

crying out with every word that I say,

but you can’t

tell.

 

Perhaps my silence is louder than my screaming.

 

I’m losing touch with

everyone.

I’m letting go.

 

Can you see me?

 

I’m getting dizzy

as the world starts

spinning around me,

life would go on with

out me.

 

Perhaps my silence is louder than my actions.

I’m pushing everyone

away, I don’t

want them around

when I snap.

 

Can you understand me?

 

I’m losing connections with

my emotions.

I’m not able to remember

how to express my feelings.

 

So I yell.

I yell at myself.

I take out everything

inside of me,

on myself.

 

Perhaps my silence will help people realize my problems.

 

Can you listen to me?

 

I’m giving up.

I’m losing control.

 

Perhaps my silence will be louder if I’m dead.

 

Can you help me?

Old Poems Project

Here I Am (October 2010)

 

Hurt, bent and broken.

Here I am,

Back to square one.

Here I am,

Debating if life is even worth living.

Here I am,

Wondering if anyone would even miss me.

Here I am,

Heartbroken.

Here I am,

Hopes are being crushed.

Here I am,

Holding on by a thread.

Here I am,

Trying to fit in somehow.

Here I am,

Asking what’s wrong with me.

Here I am,

Bashed and Bruised.

Here I am,

Completely torn apart.

Here I am,

All alone.

Here I am,

At loss for words.

Here I am,

Trying to find someone who will listen.

Here I am,

Smashed into pieces.

Here I am,

Losing all hope.

Here I am,

Falling over the edge.

Old Poems Project

September 19, 2010 · 

Too Tired

Too tired, too tired to think, to move, to breath.

Too tired to realize life is flying by.

 

Exhausted, both mentally and physically.

 

Exhausted, barely making it one day to the next.

 

Everyday falling more and more behind,

running, trying to catch up.

too tired to do that.

 

Slowly, I realize I’m holding onto life with a thread.

Trying to stay connected.

 

Too tired, fingers slipping, releasing their grip.

 

Exhausted, too tired, to keep up.

How long now?

I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish here or what point I’m trying to prove? Maybe its to validate to myself that I have struggled with this for as long as I have, I really don’t know at this point. Anyways, today I’ll be putting in poems I wrote in 2010/2011 right around my first suicide attempt.

 

Is the end near?

October 13, 2011 at 10:57 PM

You’re here again. You’re at that point of giving up.

You’re getting dizzy as the world spins around you.

You see that blade.

It’s calling your name. Can you hear it?

“Come to me, you stupid bitch.”

All that emotion you’ve been holding in begins to leak out.

You take one step forward, one step closer to that blade

it’s screaming at you. Listen.

“You know you can’t live with out me… come here, pick me up.”

A couple steps closer.

All you can think about is all the hurt that you’re holding inside.

The blade shines in the light. It’s speaking to you again. It sounds louder.

“That’s right, almost here, come to me, just a bit closer.”

You move forward. Your heart is pounding.

You can’t think straight.

The blade is in reaching distance, you pick it up.

It’s voice interrupts your thoughts.

Listen closely. “That’s right, hold me in your hand, doesn’t it feel right?”

So close, you press the blade against your wrist.

You push down and drag it across your skin.

Bright drops of red begin to form.

You cry as you realize, that you did it again.

The blood flows more freely as you do it again, and again and again.

The tears flow more freely now.

Drop, Drop, Drop.

Your tears mix in with your blood.

It makes a runny red substance.

The red drops fall to the ground,

Drip, Drop, Drip, Drop.

Slowly you let yourself go.

You lose it. You fall to the ground.

The blade clatters against the tile, splatters more of your blood.

You lay there, in your blood, in your tears.

Is the end near?

TVD

Are there ever TV shows that make you feel in some type of way? Because damn, Netflix is taking off The Vampire Diaries so I’m panic binge watching before they do because this show was my guilty pleasure. I forgot how much it made me believe in the romance and epic love stories. (Which doesn’t jive with my major) I want that for myself. I also want Ian SomerHalder for myself too but that’s a different post for a different day.

The issue with romance and happiness is it doesn’t last. Or at least it hasn’t in the past, it’s all so confusing. I start talking to anyone and the past seems to get in the way, how am I supposed to be happy? Do I deserve happy?

I just don’t understand all this. On the upside TVD got me feeling in some type of way. 30h!3 is on this soundtrack for the episode I’m watching and I’m all about it.

Short post for today, oh yeah! I got a tattoo! 1920 behind my ear, brings my total to six. The artist said that to cover up my forearm I need to wait 2 to 3 weeks for my fresh cuts to heal. That’s a whole other issue, how do I go that long?

Safety Plans

I had completely forgotten about a psychiatrist appointment I had today. I went there and low and behold of course she isn’t exactly satisfied with my current dosage. She’s concerned that with all the stomach issues I’m having, since it’s been making me so nauseous and puke all the time that it’s effecting my lamotrigine levels. She doesn’t want to change it though because of the same reason. Which is fine by me, I personally don’t want my medications upped.

Due to the recent suicidal issue I had a Saturday or two ago she also made me develop a new safety plan. Ironically it had the opposite effect. After being asked all those questions about my triggers all I wanted to do was go home and cut. And so I did. Pathetic perhaps, but it felt good. Stopping is such a bitch.

I see my regular counselor on Thursday which hopefully will help.