Compare and fall fast

I skipped work and school because I'm tired. So fucking tired.

As an English teacher, I am supposed to teach my students how to compare and contrast. Frankly, I'm sick of comparison. That's all I do and that's all that gets done to us. I fucking don't care if other people with D.I.D. made it through recovery. Don't fucking compare us to them. I am sick of my blog being compared to others, by me and by others. I just want to be an individual. We have our own ways and what worked for others to get "better" doesn't mean it will work for us.

I'm tired of our ex-Randy telling us everything we are doing is wrong. I am sick of hearing about avoidance and not trying and not believing. I'm sick of it. And then the tables get turned and if we don't believe it's not because our progress is genuinely questionable, it's because we have bad attitudes and can't see the impact we have on others.

Just because other people can get better doesn't mean we can do it, or that it will be the same way, or the same length of time, or the same anything. Quit comparing us to other people, to the literature, to what your colleagues say, to your experience with people "like us", and to what you think. You don't know anything. You weren't under the bed or hiding in the closet with us. Quit comparing!!! We can't live up to it and can't take the pressure of trying to be what people think we are. We've done that all our life and we are exhausted.

More comparisons!! I'm tired of our dismal, depressing blog being compared to everyobody else's. What a ocmmunity of happy D.I.D.'ers. No wonder no one reads us. It's depressing. But it's where we are. It's fucking where we are, and now that we are even more alone than we were 24 hours ago, it will probably be where we are for the rest of our life.

does anyone know how lonely and what a failure we feel like when people suppose we ought to be better by now. Point out what is different, it doesn't matter. Different isn't progress. It's just different.

I can't stand the empty shell that I am. I can't stand the emptiness. And if someone could take it away from me I would do anything, give anything, be anything just to make it stop. We are so disappointed in the process and the lonliness of our decisions it kills us. At least by ourselves, no one can compare how inferior we are, how we don't try, how other people could do what we don't, how worthless we are. We already knew that without your fucking comparison.

Just messy

i'm inside the mess of my bedroom inside the mess of my life crying the messiest tears wearing the messiest closthes with the messiest hair listening to unmessy music. the Music Maiden has on the saddest song she could find for me. Got to love that. I should be studying my American Lit. but I'm not. I called out of work because I can't answer phones with tears stuck in my throat; I rescheduled my test because I'm too crazy, volatile, and messy to take it right now. I would cry my messy tears all over the paper because I just can't help it. That's what messy people do. And my messy heart hurts so much right now I can't grab a breath to spare my life. I must have cried in my drug-induced sleep, because when I woke up and fearfully looked in the mirror my eyes were red and puffy and swollen. I'm flying off the hinges.

The last day to withdraw w/o academic penalty is in the second week of March, so I have a little time to make decisions.

I don't know where to go with this. Eventually, I'll have to look at my American Lit, I'll have to find my misplaced breath, I'll have to go to campus and mix in with the normal people. However, I know when I go to the Disabled Services Office to take my test she will ask me how I am and I will crumble and melt into a messy pile and then what will I do? How can I pretend then that I'm like everyone else?

The Music Maiden has my sad music on a loop, so every 2 minutes and 49 seconds it swings back and starts all over. What a sad metaphor for this life. It's repititve. Our sadness just loops and swings back ever so often, and in some disturbing, sacrificial way, we find comfort in this. Despite the tears, how would we manage in other way without our misery looping around like the saddest of music?

My coffee is good, at least. Our morning now is somewhat unstructured, so it will be interesting to see how our food manages because we had decided to take a punishment and not eat at all today, or at least have only 1 thing. It would be a lot easier if we had something to take our mind off of food. Not that I'm thinking about it. I feel fat and messy. Out of order and control. And if I never ate again it would be too soon. We're at the halfway point, I guess you could say. No one will know what that means, but I take comfort knowing it. And so the music loops.

There is so much shame to sink this deep. I shouldn't be like this. How much therapy? How many hospitalizations? Yet we think about the same? Each time we think we'll never come back to this space in our head, but we find it again, and the drive was quicker this time. It didn't take as long. I thought we would be indestructable with school. It would be our savior. Give us focus. Take our minds off things. Help us avoid.

i need to stop talking. there are more of us here than need be and the consequences are ugly. something she should realize about the music. eventually, it does stop.

That could be because people get sick of hearing it and turn it off themselves.

how will you turn off your history. how will you turn off your looping? i already know.

I'm just trying to justify it. Make it less shameful. Make it appropriate. Make an unarguable case to stop the music. This is the last loop of the music before I sign off.

Forgive me. It's just so dark in here. and I know the headlines. I know the rumors. I've predicted. I feel like I did last time. Shame drove me in, woke me up, drove me out. Shame drives me in again, like it's pet toy that can't make up its mind. Should I blame it? I can't make up mine either. I only know how guilty, shameful, and messy I feel for being back here. is is possible for others to hate me as much as i hate myself

"What do I do now?"

a short writing. i really can't see the screen through the tears. is that like seeing the forest from the trees? perhaps. more importantly, does it matter. i haven't been able to pull myself together all day. tried and tried and tried to study for this American Lit test but my head keeps bombing out. I am so overwhelmed and stressed. i purged. my eating has been so weired today and that has stressed me out. i'm so overwrought that my head will explode any minute.

i've gone mad. i am thinking of dropping my classes, maybe just one. my life is out of control. i am out of control and feel just like i did last year, and it wasn't a good time. i can't scrape myself together and i see really bad things happening. i want to cut so bad right now. what stops me? i need D. to leave the restroom so I can get the bandages. the razor is in the purpose. i can already feel the sweet relief cutting through my veins. i can envision the red climbing to the top. yet, i hear d. complain that he is cleaning the bathroom and nothing is going right.

i meant it when i said i've gone mad. i can't get it together. and the bed won't give me up. it perpetuates my cycle of feeling like a failure. i feel like a failure because i can't get out of bed and i can't get out of bed because i feel like a failure. i had so much homework to complete this weekend and got almost none of it done. if i drop my class, it will put me so far behind. you can only take certain classes in the education program at certain times. i will never finish. i always knew it was a dream. but a dream i wanted. now i can't even look at a book without dreaming of a razor. i'm paralyzed. can't move. can't think. what made me think i could do what everybody else was doing.

As Lieutenant Dan said in Forrest Gump on the hospital floor, "I was supposed to be a soldier. What do I do now? What do I do now?"