Is it wrong that I want to be left alone?

My ‘disorder’ has been peaking in the wrong direction for about a week now. I thought it would just ‘go away’, but this time it wants to keep following me around like a lost puppy. I’ve fought my entire life with thoughts of suicide and letting go of homicidal tendencies, and so far I’ve won that battle, but fear of losing that control has been weighing on my mind more frequently. I try to make myself go out and be around people, but the slightest little thing has me wanting to put my hands around their throats and choke the life out of them.

I stopped writing some time ago out of fear of what others thought about me, but in doing that, I think I lost a part of me. I want that back. I don’t know if I’m any good at writing, but it did give me peace. Writing over the years has giving me a chance to release the demons that are holding me back at being somebody; at least that’s what I’ve been told.  But dammit it’s hard to let them go when they are friendlier and more inviting to me than most people.

My dreams are of killing and being forced to do horrible, heinous crimes, and then I wake up with a smile on my face. Is it because I enjoy the crime, or it is that I’m killing a part of me that no longer needs to be there? Dreams linger throughout the day as if that was reality, and here I am in a dream doing nothing with my life.

I’m going to try and avoid doing anything really stupid, but change needs to come soon. I need to cut ‘things’. I need to shift my thoughts. A psychologist once told me to deal with my fears by exposing myself to that fear until it no longer caused me fear, and that I could do the same thing with my thoughts—expose myself to them on purpose until they no longer bother me.

Ten of the weirdest ways people deal with stress

~I know I've used several of these when trying to deal with my stress~

Stress is a normal human reaction to life's pressures and challenges. We spend most of our lives trying to figure out the best ways to avoid stress and keep it under control with exercise, sleep, a balanced diet and deep breathing exercises. But when those traditional stress relievers no longer work, people will find alternative and often unhealthy methods to cope with their stress. Here are the 10 weirdest ways that people manage stress:

   1. Gambling: Gambling may seem like a weird way to handle stress, but many people find comfort in playing against the odds. Those who have an insatiable urge to gamble, despite potentially negative consequences, are often classified as gambling addicts. Gambling provides an adrenaline rush and sense of euphoria when you win, therefore, someone who is depressed or burdened by a lot of stress might find solace in gambling.

   2. Self-Injury/Cutting: Some people relieve stress by deliberately hurting themselves. This self-induced pain is often done by cutting or burning the skin and engaging in dangerous activities. People who injure themselves aren't trying to commit suicide, but it could be fatal if the injuries are serious enough. Self-injury is often accompanied by several mental illnesses, such as depression, bipolar disorder and eating disorders. No matter the circumstance, deliberately harming oneself is an unhealthy way to cope with stress, emotional pain and anger.

   3. Hoarding: Hoarding is a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), in which individuals collect an excessive amount of items that are generally useless or of little value. Hoarding can also involve collecting animals. For many individuals, hoarding things is a way to relieve stress and overcome other issues. Hoarders feel safe and secure when they have their belongings nearby, yet it becomes an additional source of stress when it starts to interfere with their safety, health and social life.

   4. Hair Pulling: Hair pulling, also known as trichotillomania, is a disorder that causes people to excessively pull out their hair. This irresistible urge to pluck out hair from the scalp, eyebrows, eyelashes and other parts of the body can be a form of stress relief for certain individuals. Although the cause of trichotillomania is not clear, it's often associated with genetic and environmental factors or chemical imbalances. This disorder is not a normal way of managing stress and should not be taken lightly.

   5. Vomiting: Some people feel a sense of relief to vomit when they're stressed. Whether the stress has been brought on by nerves, an eating disorder or another form of pressure, forcing yourself to vomit is not a healthy way of coping with stress. Those who engage in self-induced vomiting may feel temporary relief, but this disordered behavior may lead to more sever eating disorders, malnutrition, extreme weight loss and other serious health problems.

   6. Tattoos: Getting tattoos is another odd way that people manage stress. Whether it's the touch of the needle, immense pain or increase of endorphins to the brain, the experience of getting tattoos can be very soothing to stressed individuals. Tattooing may also be a less obvious form of self-mutilation, which can be a cause for concern.

   7. Overworking: It's not uncommon for stressed individuals to try to manage their stress by increasing their workload and working overtime. Many people think they can manage their stress and that things will get easier if they just work longer and harder than normal. However, overworked people may end up making more mistakes and increasing their stress levels because they haven't allowed themselves to relax and get an adequate amount of rest needed to be efficient throughout the day.

   8. Not Dealing With It at All: Many people manage their stress by not dealing with it at all. These people turn a blind eye when they are faced with something stressful and put their problems on the back burner, hoping their issues will disappear or resolve themselves. Others may shut down completely and go into a catatonic state. Ignoring stress will only make it worse, and could lead to further problems.

   9. Spending: Compulsive shopping and spending is another weird way people manage their stress. Treating yourself to a nice bracelet or new pair of shoes may seem innocent enough, but this compulsive desire to regularly spend money that you probably don't have can become a very serious problem. Compulsive shoppers face several negative consequences, such as extreme debt, strained relationships, ruined credit history, anxiety and additional stress.

  10. Physically Fighting: Today, more and more people cope with their stress by physically fighting. Exercising is simply not enough for these adrenaline junkies, who need to let out their aggression on someone else or feel the pain of being hit. These people may be hotheads who are always picking fights, or an unsuspecting coworker who's a member of an underground fight club. No matter their preference, fighting is not a normal or healthy way of managing your stress. Not only are you inflicting injury on someone else, but you too could get severely hurt.

Impulsive Acts

I sometimes act impulsively because it gives me immediate relief from my emotional pain.

I want to write about what happened to me on Wednesday the 7th, and say that was what caused me to dip into this out of control spiral, that I feel I have fallen into. But I’m not sure that would be the truth. I think it began several days before, but this time I just didn’t recognize the signs.   

Most of the time I come off as seemly ‘normal’. But then there are the times, especially when I’m under stress, that I can no longer hide behind my mask of sanity. I will completely lose all contact with reality, and during this time, I am unable to predict even my own behavior. I will feel rage instead of annoyance, and at other times I will turn that rage on myself.

After days of swinging back and forth on a giant swing, that holds mania at the peak and major depression going backwards, I’ve started thinking of unusually ways to regulate how I’m feeling. If I can’t regulate how I feel, I will shut down completely. At this moment, that is where I am at.

I want to cut myself deep enough that a part of me can be removed, then I can throw that part of me away, and hope something new will grow in its place. I wish it was that simple. With a effortless twist of shinny blade, all my defaults, errors, mistakes, could then be thrown into the garbage. 

Just Breathe

The other night I sat alone at one of the parks and watched the local pd as I debated on laying open my flesh. As I held the blade tightly between my fingers, I flashed back to what it was like the last time a had to have stitches in my arm. I have cut since then, but only small rips at my skin that needed little or no attention. These wounds are minor compared to the normal 7 stitches that it takes to close one of my usual ‘accidents’.

I knew the officers that were on duty, and of course they all know me, so I really didn’t want to get caught doing something that is believed to only occur in teenagers, not to women over 40. After all these years of cutting, I still sometimes can not stop myself from inflicting pain to my body, but if I put myself in the right position, I will write instead. That was what I decided to do this time, write about what it was like the last time I cut myself deep.

This story mixes a little reality, with a bit of fiction.

------------------------------

I’m standing outside a heavy steel metal door, with only a small thick glass window that looks into a tiny five foot by twelve foot room. I focus in on a dimly lit image standing towards the back of the room near a metal toilet with a sink attached on the back. I press my face closer and open my eyes wide trying to make the image more defined. I can tell that it is a person, and I think I recognize them, but I can’t seem to remember.

She is tall and a rather large woman with dirty blonde hair, and she is wearing a blue tee-shirt. She has her back to me, but I can make out that she is doing something with her arm.

I wipe a tear from my eye, blinking several times until I’m able to focus more clearly.

The woman is standing near the toilet with her arm leaning over a metal sink. She holds something shiny in her right hand. Something sharp. I wonder what she is doing? As she turns partly sideways I can see her left arm covered in fresh red blood. It is dropping steadily into the sink, splashing the sides until the blood flows down like spilled paint. Blood covers the razor sharp cutting edge of the blade that she holds tightly in her shaking right hand.

As the blood slows, she makes another slice deeper into the wound, filling it with fresh blood. It begins to drain down her arm, making a big mess, splattering onto the floor. She uses toilet paper from the back of the sink to wipe up the large droplets of blood from the floor. She uses more to slow the heavy flow of blood dripping down to her elbow.

I stand there, mesmerized by her actions, when without warning an almost familiar force grabs me around my throat and like a tornado, it sucks my dead mind through the tiny window. I now stand side by side the woman with the blood soaked arm, watching her lean over the sink to avoid making a mess for others to clean. In her eyes, I see the shame and disgust at what she has done.

I reach out to grab her arm, to let her know she doesn’t have to continue cutting. The wound is deep enough. As our eyes meet, I see the deep pain, I understand, but now we have to get help. Our hands touch and slowly mix together, until we become one.

I am now her. I am in control. I look down at the bloody blade that she held so tightly in her right hand, and my eyes open wide as I look at the open oozing new wound. My eyes stare widely at the steadily dripping blood, and I realize it is my arm that is bleeding heavily into the cold steel metal sink.

“Oh shit!” my voice trembles and my right hand shakes with the bloody blade. My whole body flushes with a surge of adrenaline and I begin to awaken. “Fuck! Who cut my damn arm? Why? Why do you do this?”

A voice from far away whispers, ‘She did it. She’s always the one who cuts.’ I hear the voice of the others arguing, fighting. They are the voices that feel like they don’t belong to me.

I cautiously sit the sharp blade on the back of the sink as a rush of sadness consumes my brain, squeezing it until tears swell from my eyes. It blurs my vision until I squeeze my eyes tightly and let the tears cascade down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away, and then use the remaining toilet paper to wipe up the blood that has once again dripped onto the floor.

I think maybe I can hide the wound, but it won’t stop bleeding. I need more tissue. The weeping voice inside me is hurt. The others fight about who’s fault it really is, and why one of them doesn’t step forward before she cuts.

With a sudden tear-jerking jolting shock, I realize where I am, and that I’ve got to stop the bleeding. I turn on the water and wash the blood from the open wound, letting the water stain a light rose color. The bleeding only becomes worse as the cool water stings the open wound. I carefully inspect the laceration that shows the fatty tissue underneath. There is no pain, just a slight stinging sensation, but the blood continues to pour from the wound.

I realize I will have to go to the emergency room, but I hate going to the ER. It’s always embarrassing trying to explain that I ‘accidentally’ cut myself, but this time others will be with me. I can not use that excuse. Along with all the stares, there is always at least one person who will make me feel even less of a human than I already do. They know what happened, but they don’t want to do all the paperwork that comes with committing someone for cutting themselves, so they won't say anything.

Maybe I should just cut a little deeper, and then lay down and go to sleep. A part of me struggles with what to do.

“Fuck!” I shout loud enough to vibrate off the walls. Nobody has this many accidents on their arm. Nobody. My arm is a battlefield, and each scar tells a separate story, many of which I would rather forget. Worse my mind questions, how do I explain this to those closest around me? How am I once again going to hide the wound?

Blood drains down my arm to the floor. A voice inside me is urging with me to get someone’s attention. ‘You need help’ a tiny voice whispers from somewhere far away. I shake my head in shame, and ponder how does one ask for help when they are locked up alone behind a solid steel door? Sadness gathers deep in my chest and I try to swallow.

I hear heavy footsteps coming. A voice steps forward, she’s the one who always has to have everything neat and tidy. She just wants more tissue so there won’t be a mess. A young man looks though the small thick glass window and sees what she has done.

I sit down on the small cot and take a deep breath. I know within only a few moments others will come. Later I will feel the familiar calmness that overtakes my entire body after I cut. It is that calmness that we seek. Afterwards we will sleep long and hard. Our mind will rest peacefully. But even as I do sleep soundly, one of us knows it hasn’t been a good day.

They know the hard part will come later, when I have to hide the latest cut from those I don’t want to know. I question myself if it was worth the few hours of feeling euphoric while I sat next to the officer baby sitting me as the they put seven stitches into my left arm to close the deep laceration. Maybe the next day will be a better day. This I know, she will not have to cut again for a few months.

My Mental War Rages On

I want to let go of the pain and let others have it.

I need a vacation or someway to get away from everybody and every stimulant. I feel blank. I can’t concentrate, I feel hopeless, helpless, you know, all the things that come along with having depression. I hate this part of being bi-polar, far worse than having the mania. I felt it coming at the beginning of the week and tried to head it off by doing activities that would lead my mind to other places, but it failed to work. Here it is the end of the week and feelings still linger around like a lost, starving puppy trying to find a home.

I went out a couple nights ago, driving around in my circles, letting the wind blow across my face, just so I could feel something more comfortable. Plus, I also have writers block going on, so getting away from others seems to sometimes help relax my mind. Problem is late at night it’s hard to find a place that is away from everybody, but still a legal place to sit in the stillness of the night air, to gather my thoughts.

I somehow thought I could get away with sitting at one of the local parks after 11p.m. I honestly believed I had until midnight, but the local PD let me know differently. At least they were nice when telling me the parks closed at 11pm, which disturbed my thoughts a little. It made my mind scatter towards reasons like, ‘why was he so nice to me?’ or ‘did he know why I was really there?’

After driving around in my circles for a little while, I settled like a old hound dog, at the end of a newly built road that would eventually led to new housing. I rolled down my car windows and enjoyed the fresh scent of the night air, drifting across the open field in front of me. I took several deep breaths, in an attempt to clear some of the clutter from my mind. But the more I thought about my daily struggles, and the struggles I would continue to have for many more years to come, the more I wanted it all to come to an end.

I let the darkness crept into my mind, and begin eating away any rational thought that might still be floating around in my head. I picked up one of the many sharp objects, I keep within reach at all times, and held the smooth metal in my right hand. Cutting for me, has always been a way to keep me from doing something even more stupid than simply laying open my skin.

I sat in the darkness with only a small light that illuminated one of my many spiral notebooks, and wrote 8 pages without looking up or letting go of the blade. The only thing that finally brought me out of thought, was the sound of sirens coming my direction. I watched a rescue unit, with lights flashing, fly past, followed by someone else with there lights going. I figured law enforcement would soon follow and one of them would surely see me sitting in the darkness. Instead of having to deal with them, or letting them see the small amount of blood that dripped from my arm, I started my car and began to leave the area. Problem was there was only one way out.

He didn’t hit his lights, but drove near my car window and told me he was just checking who was back there. He let me know that it was okay for me to park there and write if I wanted to, and to have a good night. Then he drove off in the direction the rescue unit went. Again my mind went to questions like before, ‘why was he so nice?’, ‘what did he really want?’ I didn’t want to take the chance on him or another officer returning, so I sat for only a few more minutes before I headed back to the staleness of home.

Since that night, all I’ve done is mostly sleep. I slept 12 hours, Wednesday and Thursday night, thinking that would help elevate some of the homicidal/suicidal thoughts from wrapping tightly around my throat and choking out what little life that remains. The bad days have to pass soon. I don’t want to go as far as loading the weapon, and then standing over them as they sleep, debating if I will pull the trigger or not.

Let’s Cut Our Wrist and Then Burn Down Something.

I’m really fucking high right now, so if this comes off sounding crazier than usual, (or better than usual...hehe) you’ll understand why, but I had to get high. I haven’t been high for a long time now, mostly because I just can’t afford to buy any. It really hasn’t bothered me much not smoking, until the past week or so. I’ve been feeling jittery, nervous, agitated, or high-strung, as my last probation officer put it, from the moment I get up until the moment I force myself to lay down for a few hours of sleep.

I’ve had this feeling off and on over the years. When I was a teen and it would happen, I would often find myself locked up either in jail or in a nut house somewhere. That was one of the reasons I began smoking weed... To help calm me down and relax me from the agitated state that my mind often goes to for no reason. Fuck both of those places! Being locked up when I’m in this state of mind is usually never any good... I’m probably going to cut myself with the first sharp object I find or get into some altercation with those who have me incarcerated.

I’ve been trying everything short of cutting myself, or fucking with law enforcement, to bring myself out of this unsettling mood, and nothing seems to be working. So, when a friend from Tulsa called and asked me to stop by, I didn’t hesitate. I figure it’s better to be high than to commit a crime, injury myself, or do something else stupid.

I was met at the door with a 6-point beer and a hefty blunt, which I lit before I made it back to his bedroom. We sat on his bed, watching the news and discussing the latest information about Michael Jackson dieing. Half-way through the blunt, I began talking about some of my stress from the past week, and before I knew it, my stress was greatly diminished. Shit that I had been stressing over, suddenly didn’t feel like that big of deal any longer.

I FORGOT all my problems.. hehe.

A couple hours later, in possession of a limited amount of marijuana, (in case the stress returns), I cautiously made my way through Borg territory, and safely through the front door to my nicely chilled home. After relaxing for a little while, I managed to get some laundry done, and the house straightened to acceptable standards. Next, I called my little friend, and of course she told me to come right over.

The effects of the blunt still lightly lingered, so when we smoked a bowl, my high kicked right back in to a nice and relaxed state. If only this shit was legal there would probably be a lot less killing in this world. I mean, think about it... For me... If I’m high, I’m engrossed in other thoughts, I’m not angry or thinking about smashing in someone’s face.


If you don’t light up the darkness, you’ll always being living in the shadows.

If There Was a Line That One Must Not Cross, I Had Reached It

It's 8:15am and since I slept hard last night after finally crashing, I'm up early, so I might as well finish my story....


If there was a line that one must not cross, I had reached it. The more involved my mania became, the quicker that line began to disappear, along with all my discretion and judgment.

I left the Doctors office around 3:30, cramping after the invasive painful procedure, but necessary according to the doctors. The pain, and the pills that I had taken, were doing nothing to slow down my manic mind that was running 10 times its normal speed. The day before I had tried smoking some marijuana to help calm me down, but when I’m that far out there, marijuana, pills, not even drinking Tequila relaxes me. It’s not even necessary for me to take the Phentermine on these days. I already have enough energy, and food just really doesn’t taste that great.

I really didn’t want to head home and have to think about sitting still, so instead of taking highway 75 exit from downtown Tulsa, back to my place, I drove towards Sand Springs to pick up something to eat for the first time that day. I purchased a six inch sub and a diet coke from a Subway near Wal-Mart, and then found a location not far away to park. I sat there trying to eat the tasteless meal, but all my mind could do was envision alternate endings to taking my life.

Recognition of my mania phase is one thing, but doing something about it is another story. When I’m manic my mind has a great many voices and none of them are ever silent. Each one speaking out of turn, interrupting each other with different thoughts and ideas. When I’m talking to other people, I assume these other personalities to fit whatever situation I’m in, which is sometimes good...sometimes not.

That day my voices debated about should I cut myself. Until one voice muddled it way to the surface and came in loud and clear. It shouted for everyone to just shut the fuck up and end this tortuous game that my mind was playing. A part of me knows that cutting will awaken my mind, but it can have many serious consequences. Still, at the moment, the voice that was telling me to cut myself, was the only voice I heard.

As I sat alone, parked in an almost empty field, watching cars drive by, I held a small knife blade to my left arm. My adrenaline began flowing as I thought about the relief that I would soon be feeling. At that moment, a friend called and I sat there for 10 to 15 minutes listening to her talk about what a bad day she was having. I listened, but absorbed very little of the conversation. As soon as she hung up, I went right back to what I was doing. I had to do something to bring me out of the manic phase. I knew if I didn’t do something soon, I would probably find myself locked up somewhere, and that just wasn’t an option.

I took a deep breath and looked up to make sure no one was around or looking in my direction. I immediately spotted a Sand Springs officer driving by, so I quickly hid the knife in my bra, and proceeded to leave the area. I didn’t want to explain to anyone in law enforcement what I was doing. Plus, just two days before, on Tuesday, I was driving around and around in my circles, trying to kill time while I waited on a friend to finish her DUI Classes at the Tulsa fire training center, when I ran into a Sand Springs officer that I met years ago, and knew him from being online at CopLounge. He looked me dead in the face, but I’m still not sure if he recognized me. Since he was working that shift on Tuesday, my mind ran through various images of his face, worried that it was him who was turning around and coming back my direction. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I nervously pulled out of my parking spot, hoping the officer wasn’t really paying any attention to me, but I was wrong. He quickly swung through the parking area and got right behind me. Adrenaline poured through my chest, and my heart began pumping double its volume of blood.

I could see the officer quickly getting right behind me as he was talking on his radio. He was calling in the tag number, and of course I knew it was going to come back to a friend whose drivers license was still suspended. At the next light, I turned left and he turned on those colorful pretty lights, that would be beautiful, if they weren’t concealing someone who might be completely indifferent to my diagnosis.

When I’m manic there is nothing like having a law enforcement officer near me to embolden a manic mood. I was running a hundred scenarios through my head about what I was going to say to the officer, and I knew when I was surging this much, there was no telling what I would say.

I took a deep breath, opened my window and waited for him to ask for my drivers license and insurance, which I handed over. He asked me what I was doing in the area where I was parked, and I quickly told him I was just making a phone call. After a few more questions, he want back to the patrol car and I could see him calling in my drivers license. I nervously sat waiting, when I looked in the mirror and noticed he was looking down the road for another officer to arrive. That's never a good sign.

It was time to assume another personality. You know the one...the one where everything is fine and this is all just a big misunderstanding. I spoke with the younger officer while the first officer searched my car. When I’m manic and experiencing OCD at the same time, it makes it hard to let others touch my things, or to keep from talking. No one but another manic person could possible understand the agony of enforced silence. I had to finally bite the inside of my mouth to keep from saying too much. Still, I felt like I had given out more information than was necessary.

When the search was complete, I was informed that I was in possession of a Class 4 Drug... the phentermine that I’ve been taking for about 4 months now. I was informed that I could be arrested since I didn’t have them in a prescription bottle, but the officer was nice considering my past drug history and arrest, that he didn't place the cuffs on me, instead he just gave me ticket. For which I was truly thankful. The only part that really sucks is I have to show up in court. I quickly asked if I could bring the prescription in at anytime, but the officer said the Judge required that I appear. Fuck!

Afterwards I drove away, fully relieved that I didn’t have to cut myself just to shock my brain into producing the right chemicals so I could feel normal again. The manic mood ended, leaving me just normal enough to function without much thought. I just hope the depression that I know usually follows, won’t be so bad this time.

Secretly Suicidal

Mental Illness creates its own vibrant, colorful reality, which is so convincing sometimes, that it is hard to figure out exactly what is real and what is not.

Things have gotten harder to recall the older I get, because my memory seems to be a casualty of my manic depression. When I’m manic, all I remember is the moment, but when I’m depressed, all I remember is the pain. The surrounding details are lost. Hopefully telling my stories is what will keep me alive, even when death is in its most seductive pose.

People always mean well, but they don’t understand that when you’re seriously depressed suicidal ideation can be the only thing that keeps you alive. Just knowing that there’s a way out- even if it’s bloody, permanent - it makes the pain almost bearable for one more day.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the urge to die. Death just sounds like a vacation to me. A place to escape the brutal emotional rollercoaster I'm riding alone. To be somewhere else at times, is what my mind craves. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I’m thrilled to tears to be alive and have what I have. Because I know there are many others who suffer far more than I do, yet continue their quest to live each day to the fullest. At times, I believe the world is wasted on me, and that, I think, is reason enough to die.

This past week I’ve felt like I had a monster living inside of me. I think I’ve been rapid recycling. For awhile I savored every smell, lingered over every sensation, and marveled at every creature comfort. But then the inevitable happens, my brain chemistry shifted and my mood plunged back down to despair. I believe I deserve to suffer, and crave the suffocation black nothingness.

Attempting suicide or serious cutting usually jump starts my brain chemistry. Problem is if I cut myself too deep, that means a trip to the ER, with lots of questions, so I won’t seek assistance. Years ago I was scolded by a doctor for being an ‘attention seeker’ and a nuisance. He was so unsympathetic that he refused to give me anesthesia while stitching up my self-inflicted wound. I was dismissed as someone who was wasting their time and I was not deserving of the same care as other injured people

It was never about the attention- I was just trying to relieve some of the emotional feelings, and I went too far. When I cut, I feel focused, appropriately punished, and a bit more in control of myself. I might even be smiling afterwards, because at that moment, I’m feeling more sane than I’ve ever been in my life. So, I will continue in secret. This wound I know how to heal.
________________

My manic phase got me in trouble again last week. It sent me around and around the corner at least 3 times the posted speed limit, and sooner or later I knew some cop would be waiting for me on the other side, eagerly jingling his handcuffs. Luckily I wasn't arrested, but I do have to make an appearance in Sand Springs Court. Since this post is getting long, I'll finish writing about it tomorrow.

Get the Fuck away from here

Tomorrow I'm taking the boys to River City Park again. They had so much fun the other day that I've decided to let them spend another day enjoying the last day of their Spring Break there. It gives me a chance to relax and clear my mind. I've got too many thoughts running around in there.

I'm ashamed to admitt it...and I'll probably regret posting about it...but I've been fighting the urge to cut myself again. Instead, I've been doing other dumb ass shit to wake up my mind. I hate it when I go there. I've got enough fucking scars!! And I damn straight don't want to spend any time in jail.

Don't want to think about crazy shit!!
Let me instead dull my mind,
without the worry of being found out.


Few last thoughts...


I am battered and bruised.
Tore up.
I'm limping along, licking my wounds.
Putting myself back together
And smoothing down the frayed ends.
Taking stock and inventory,
accessing the damage.
Mentally reprimanding myself
for always needing the rush
of going beyond what's expected.

New Plans

Most of the time I tend to only write when I’m feeling stressed, or sad, so when things are going good, I just don’t really feel the need to say anything. I guess that’s how it’s been the past week or so. Things are finally going good...anyway at least for the moment. Plus I’ve been really busy putting my plan in motion...hehe.

I was finally able to get all my legal problems taken care of so I can be ‘legal’ again. No more sneaking around, wondering if at any given moment I would be arrested. It was hard to breathe then...it’s much easier now. I’m able to take in deeps breaths one at a time, and enjoy it while I’m relaxing. I’m no longer carrying a weapon with me at all times, like I have for the past three years. It actually feels good going out and not thinking about it always being there to comfort me.

Cutting has become an addiction for me since the first time I laid open my skin when I was only 12 years old. At 40 years old, I still get the same rush that I got from cutting my very first time. But now that I’ve put my plan in gear, there will no more cutting, no more marijuana, and hopefully no more arrest. I’m too fucking old to keep getting locked up over dumb shit.

I now feel like I’m a part of my boys life again, and I don‘t want to mess that up. I’m spending more time with them and enjoying what little bit of time that I may have left. This next week I’m taking them to Lake Keystone for a day at the lake to let them just be boys for their last few remaining years before they become fully grown men and leave home. It feels good being able to do things for them again.

I finally had a CT scan done last week, not surprisingly, everything thing looked okay. But I already had the feeling it was going to come out okay, because I felt I had figured out what the problem was. I wasn’t having symptoms until an hour to two after taking some meds in the evening. My hearing loss was almost at complete loss on my right side. For some reason, I suspected it was the Zyrtec that I was taking, and I was right. It took me about a week to get it all out of my system, but my hearing returned to normal, my depression felt better, I didn’t feel dizzy, and I didn’t feel as hungry as I did after taking the Zyrtec. I still have to have a few more test done, but I think they are going to turn out just fine.

Right now, I feel good. I’m down 16 pounds. That’s not much, but it’s a good start. I guess three years of inactivity will do that to a person. I just have to really watch myself now, because I keep spending a lot of time outside in the pool, causing myself to get sun burnt several times now. My white ass burns too damn easy.

The other thing is...I won’t be spending as much time online posting crazy ass stories and such...law enforcement should be happy. I’ll be outside enjoying what little time I may have left on this earth.

It's time for the other person inside of me to step to the front of the class.

Hope everyone has a great week!!!

Life's A Bitch, Then You Die

I had another post, but I removed it after I read what I had so haphazardly posted about law enforcement. I don’t want them coming around paying me another visit right now, I’m just not in a good mood to be fucking with them at this point and time. I would much rather cuss them the fuck out right now, and I even feel like putting my hands around their throats. Sorta like I did to Chuck Smith out on the highway a couple years ago when I cussed at him, but instead this time, I at least get in one good fist to his face. I know he is one of the many officers from Glenpool who can’t stand the site of me. Feeling is mutual...I can’t stand your asses either.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate all law enforcement, just about half. It’s mostly the ones who come at me with attitudes, and I can immediately tell they can’t stand my ass. Sorry I’ve got mental problems...do you fucking want them? I sure in the hell don’t. I wish it was as easy as just giving them to someone else, at least for a little while.

I have a friend who knows several of the officers around here, and this person let me know a little bit about what the officers around here think about me. It was no surprise to me at all some of the things I was told. Maybe I did a better job than what I thought in making them hate me. I know Randy Rains wouldn’t mind putting a bullet into my worthless ass, along with several officers from Sand Springs. I guess I’ve made a few enemies. Fuck all of ya’ll. I’m onto other things.

A person sent me an email asking me to post a picture of my ‘accident’, and at first I really didn’t want to do that, but I’ve changed my mind.


It’s been 9 days since the incident, and I have so far been able to keep it hidden from everyone around me. It has been stressing me a little knowing that I can’t let anyone see it and I have to wear long sleeves constantly. I still don’t want to explain it to them, because I still don’t have an answer to why I did what I did. Maybe some day I will figure it out.

Cutting

Death Waits and Lingers

Truth or Reality

I'm lost somewhere inbetween.

Have you been to the edge? Crossed over, and felt the cold steal metal in your hand as you slide the razors sharp edge across your body? Watched as you skin spreads apart and reveals the blood soaked tender tissue below?

Have you ever held a weapon so tightly in your hands, that not even God himself could pry it away from you? Holding the gun to your head, finger on the trigger…asking out loud …is Today the day? Would anybody notice? Would anybody REALLY care?

Have you ever taken one too many pills, but then discovered even that one more wasn’t enough? Have you ever thought about refusing to sign that speeding ticket, forcing the officer into a confrontation to end your years of torment? Are you willing to admit that you’re that much of a chicken?

What about a rope? Cutting off your air supply and letting your body freely swing through the air? Do you find peace?

These are just a few of the ways that I have thought about ending my life. Everyday at least once without warning or thought, I think about suicide. Sometimes a place, a smell, a sound, or a person will remind me of something from my past. And for those brief few seconds, sometimes minutes, sometimes hours, even all day sometimes, I think about death.

What it's like when I cut myself.

When I feel the need to cut, I'm usually very anger about something or in a situation where I can escape from what’s happening around me. It’s an intense feeling that I believe is 10 times stronger than what a ‘normal’ person would feel. It becomes such an overwhelming feeling of doom that you’ll do whatever it takes to take away that feeling. The voices from inside of me, tell me to injury myself, and the feeling will go away. I won’t have to think about why I’m angry, annoyed, or feeling like I want to throw up big chunks of food everywhere.
I run to a place where I think no one will see me, and I take out my secretly hidden sharp object.
Another voice from within shouts out, ‘What are you doing?”
I don’t answer back, because I feel shame.
My heart races, as I think about the blade being drawn across my already scarred wrist. I choose a place higher up, where others can’t see.
Voices….Voices…..Voices…Voices.
“Stop being a chicken about it…Just do it!!”
I think to myself why do I feel this way. And why won’t it stop. I have to make it stop. I can’t take the way I feel. I want to feel something else. Pain; that will take me to a place that is more comfortable.
I’m not sure if I believe in heaven, but I sure can give you a tour of hell.
I look intently at my cutting area, knowing I’m about to feel intense pain. I really don’t like feeling the pain, but it brings me back to reality. My heart races as I hold the blade with intense pressure against my skin.
“Just close your eyes and quickly draw the blade across your skin. Do it now and quit being a fucking chicken.”
I take several deeps breathes…Is this really what I want to do?
“Just make the feeling stop!”
“You don’t have to injury yourself”
“Do it now! You won’t have to feel the pain of feeling like you have no control!”
“You are a worthless piece of shit, and will always be a drain on society.”
Blood is already starting to appear from where you are holding the blade so firmly against your exposed body.
Deep breath.
'Quickly now!!!!!!'
A rush of adrenaline surges throughout your body, making you to take several deep breathes.
Quickly the blade goes across your flesh, and the skin lays open. Blood flows. But more important is the feeling. It’s like experiencing your very first breath. Your heart is racing. You feel alive. You have control. A sigh of relief. Knowing the feeling is going to quickly fade, you close your eyes and enjoy the brief moment of feeling alive.
Your anger disappears, and is replaced with the feeling your are more familiar with, and can understand. This wound you know how to heal. You open your eyes to see how bad the damage is this time.
A far away voices screams, “Shit!!! Look what you have done!!”
“What are you going to tell people?”
You grab the washrag you have sitting on the counter waiting to absorb the blood before it falls to the floor. You hold it there catching the blood, only removing it to see how bad your ‘accident’ looks. That’s what you’re going to tell people if they find out…I accidentally cut myself when…..I’ll think about it later.
That’s why I did it in a secret place, where no one will see but me. It will be another one of my secrets.

Today, I cut myself.

I need to empty my mind again so here goes my ramblings, and we’ll see if it helps me to sleep a little better.

Last week I had appointments set up to once again to see a psychiatrist and a therapist. I went to Parkside (our local nut house) and saw a intake counselor to ‘evaluate’ my needs. I already knew what I needed, it was just the going through the process to get the help that I need that really sucks.

Part of getting my license back is going to intensive outpatient treatment, so I want to do that but also I know inside I need some sort of ‘intervention’ again.
After 2 hours of being asked ever question about my state of mind, the counselor set me up into the outpatient drug treatment class, which wasn’t going to cost me a dime, that’s why I decided to go there. He also set me up with a psychiatrist and therapist, one appointment after the other. The only catch was the appointments weren’t for a couple of weeks. I thought okay great, I can wait that long, because I know when I finally tell more of my secrets I’m going to feel some relief….Right?
Things never work out right for me.
The counselor told me the out-patient drug treatment could start the next week, but the problem was the only time the they held the class was from 9:00am to 12noon, and I couldn’t find a way to get there. The more I thought about it, the more I decided to just wait until the kids go back to school then I try again. The next day the therapist I was going to see calls me, and I tell her I have to wait because I don’t have transportation during the morning hours. Somehow she took that as I wasn’t going to come to any of the appointments, and she cancels both of my other appointments without telling me.
As the day nears to my appointment I’m actually feeling some sort of relief knowing that I’m soon going to be emptying my mind. The morning of my appointment I’m up early and go out to get the mail from the previous day that I forgot to get, and there’s this letter from Parkside. I’m thinking they are just confirming my appointments, but I open it and it states that my case has been closed.

WTF? So I call Parkside and ask what’s going on. The therapist that I’m supposed to see isn’t in her office, she’s gone for the day. I then ask about the appointment for the Psychiatrist and of course he is already gone for the day. I’m thinking, okay this must be fate. Or something. Every time I try to see someone it never works out. Why?
I was glad the boys were gone to the pool, but then again if they would have been there I probably wouldn’t have cut myself. I never do things like that when they are around. It was nothing serious, just enough to bring a little blood, and give me a feeling that helped to temporarily wake me up. I had to do something or I might have done something that I would have really regretted.
I need to collect my thoughts.