Trigger***Some talk of death

This post is solely about death but about death and depression. I've been depressed again today. the words fail me. The Woman with the Words is not around. I don't have words or thoughts for them to steal. I've been in bed all day, although I've had the best intentions of getting up and working out for an hour. Excessive maybe...but effective.

I'm on some tranqs. right now. The voices and chaos inside were getting intense. They probably want a different view from that which is under the covers and the inside of my eyelids. I feel completely overwhelmed, debilitated, and incapacitated. I hate feeling this way. Of course!!! duh. Who would like it? I just can't seem to escape it

Certain thoughts come to me about death. If I didn't think it would hurt my husband and crush my godchildren, there would be no debate. Most of the posts I subscribe to and others I peruse are about looking back at '08. Save two months, I was in-patient the whole time. Had to withdraw from school. So now it's time to look ahead to what I can do differently in '09. I know what I want to do.

- Wallpaper the bathroom.
- Return to school.
- Get out of bed before 10:30.
- Paint the hallway.
- Make a homeade recipe at least once a week.
- Get and keep a job.
- Perform upkeep and maintance on my yard.

Those are only a few things I want to do. The list could go on almost infinitely and I don't want to bore readers with it. I would really like to get back to writing poetry but The Woman with the Words has run off and depleted me of a rich, diverse vocabulary and now I have writer's block. When I look back over posts I notice how flat and less than dynamic they are. I find myself to appear completely unintelligble.

It all seems insurmountalbe. I have but one hope and that is that one day I can move to Charleston, South Carolina, USA. Without that hope I might find it in me not to breathe. I have everything I need in places that no one could find. I'm not saying I'm suicidal because I'm NOT. We all know people can want to die or think of death without acting out on those thoughts. Other than Charleston, it is my remaining comfort.

Is that selfish of me? I have a great parnter. He would do anything in the world to try to help us, but I don't let him. Most of me loves him. I know there are members who don't love him. That makes it all the more complicated.

I feel like I'm just rambling. Sorry.

2 days into the New Year! &^*%#

I was just catching up and reading everyone's blogs and posts for the New Year. Impressive. In comparison to others, I find myself alone because I don't want to look back. I don't want to look at the year 2008. Maybe that's my problem, besides always comparing myself to others.

Without retrospection there can be no introspection.

Nevertheless,I spent New Year's Eve at an American football game, trying to cheer my college team on and it didn't work. They were dominated by the opposing team. My husband and I left at half-time, which is something he NEVER does. He says he doesn't want to be a fair weathered fan. He wants to support them during the good games and the tough games. But this game was abominable. They were massacred. So we braved the cold, windy night and made our way out to his truck. The only fun part of the evening was that tailgaters had deserted their food and equipment and as my husband and I were walking past a table I grabbed some hot dog buns. It was stupid and silly and childish and I never steal, but when I look back on it now I giggle at stealing 79 cent hot dog buns.

The last two days have been depressing. I haven't gotten out of bed for almost anything. Last night the chaos was so compounding in my head. I could feel my alters right behind my eyes and it was so disconcerting. I wish someone out there would let me know if you experience it this way or not. I was trying to read a book but couldn't focus on it because I kept switching over and over and over. It was incessant and rampant. I asked them to step back. I had a conference with them and promised them everyone would get to do what they wanted if I could only finish my book. The littles could color, the teens could watch a movie, others could do puzzles or watch football on t.v. It seemed they were agreeable to settle down but as soon as I got back to my book they started up again. So I went and journaled. I don't know what it says. I have journaled since. I do know it mentions cutting. The times before when I could not bring my alters under control I would cut and they would go away, so I decided to cut. It wasn't much. I won't give out details so as not to trigger or give war stories; but the wounds are fine and I told my husband about them later.

Ironically enough, the alters calmed down and my mind got quiet. There was no more switching. I don't know what else I could have done.

I've been in bed all day. I only got out of bed to purge and shower.

So I'm not much in a mood to ruminate on my prior year and see how far I've come and what's left to work on. The current moment is sucking me in as a whole.

The devil is in the details.

I always hold my breath when I read over previous posts. I never know, or seldom know, what they will say because I don't always know who is contributing to the blog. I thank everyone who had comments; you probably know how it feels when someone just at least reaches out to say, "I'm hear." It's hard for me to offer feedback to others because I have nothing wise or profound to say. But it's a valuable lesson learned. Sometimes it's good just to hear someone say they are listening.

I thought I might share a little about me, JUST A FEW DETAILS. I will go back later and revamp my header and personal profile, but I feel compelled currently to share it in a post, to let others know more details. I wonder if that is a good sign that I'm trusting others.

I'm in my mid-thirties and have long blonde hair with proud streaks of pink in it. I have blue eyes and black eyelashes that stretch for miles. My skin is fair and creamy white and is insanely and helplessly covered with scars from cutting and burning. The looks and stares from strangers are humiliating. I live in the southern United States. I'm G.R.I.T.S., Girls Raised In the South. I love being southern; the pleasantries, chivalry, friendliness, and getting smiles from strangers. In the south, or at least the old south, everyone was family and your house was always open to friends to stop by for cards and Jack Daniels. The good 'ol days.

I'm not working right now. I stopped working 2/08 to enter residential treatment. Docs are talking of sending me back. I'm married with no children, just two dogs that are my babies.

I want to be an English Education teacher. I want to start out with teaching middle school, then high school, and as I eventually get my post-Bacc degree, I want to teach college. I love English. I can't remember a book that I didn't like, some more than others!!! I don't know if I'll ever make it to teach English. I'm not done with my under-grad and as I keep stopping and starting school it's becoming sad.

I conspicuously left out details regarding the abuse. Baby steps.


Well, enough about the small details of me. I went to Walmart today to get the littles some big, fat crayons because their little hands have so much trouble holding the regular crayons. Walmart scares the hell out of me. I got so flustered and overwhelmed I had to just leave and not get anything I needed.

I feel my drugs finally kicking in, soothing my nerves and making the chaos in my head less dramatic. I'll ramble later.

Diametrical and contradictory dessimation

How am I to know what to say? I've scoured through dictionaries, thesauruses, classic novels, young adult books, and the every Conde Naste magazine to find the right words and images to unveil to you my broken.

I fall short everytime.

You see, I have failed. I wanted this blog to be about our recovery, not out well-rehearsed death. I want to live and succeed, but something always gets in the way.

I was so happy tonight. I thought I was going crazy. I was switching alot. My members wanted to come out frequently and were bearing down on my eyes and wouldn't give me peace. My usual mode of operation is to cut or purge. I did neither, but I couldn't read or watch a movie or do puzzles. I eventually journaled and asked the members what they needed from me, why they were being so persistanant. After a brief journal session, I felt so good about myself. That was the first time that I have EVER, EVER held off them off so effectively. Of course, later I did purge and used food to destruct, but I'm trying to hold on to that small piece of evidence that if I can experience that then perhaps I can do more, IFFFFFFFFFFFFFF I want it.

What brings me to the second point tonight. I've felt so guilty lately for even having this blog. I want it to be an honest, organic, interactive blog that reveals what I and my members are going through daily. That way people in society can benefit by our experiences when their loved ones too can't get out of bed or cuts thenselves to shreds or refuses to eat or can't remember how to get to the place they've worked for five years.

But the site doesn't seem helpful. I think it's because I'm having another relapse. I lie, lie, lie to my husband. "No, D. I didn't throw up. I just had to pee for ten minutes! [sarcasm included]) Over the holidays, I ruined our plumbing. I'll spare the general audience the details.

And now I'm tired. My arms are too exhausted to wash my hair and I love it. It means I'm losing weight.

This is the part I don't like. I feel like a phony, a hypocrite.

Let the reader know, I try everyday to live among the principles of good health, self-care, and living one day at a time. But it's all the other moments in between that are killing me and bringing me down.

And now I don't know where to go or what to be. I feel like I've a good angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, each telling me what selfish or angelic things to do.

I want to be good. I want to work hard on building a community with my members, meeting their needs through positive means, and spoiling the littles. I don't want the eating disorder anymore.

I pump my fist and rise in the air. I don't know what to do, but I'll keep trying everyday. Something has to fit sooner or later.