Saturday, 31 December 2011

039; I need to be cared for, like a potted plant.

“I know exactly how that is. To love somebody who doesn’t deserve it. Because they are all you have. Because any attention is better than no attention. For exactly the same reason, it is sometimes satisfying to cut yourself and bleed. On those gray days where eight in the morning looks no different from noon and nothing has happened and nothing is going to happen and you are washing a glass in the sink and it breaks accidentally and punctures your skin. And then there is this shocking red, the brightest thing in the day, so vibrant it buzzes, this blood of yours. That is okay sometimes because at least you know you’re alive.”
—Augusten Burroughs, Running With Scissors

This is what you reduce me to; a lovesick creature, always craving your attention. I would do anything to be the centre of your world, yet you can never convince me that I am. Always two sides to everything, never enough. To see myself through your eyes; you tell me I'm beautiful, that you love me, despite all my flaws, despite my manic freak-outs and self-destructive behaviour. Despite that I am who I am. I ask you, time and time again: why? Why me? What could you possibly see in me? Why do you love me? You answer, "I always have and I always will" and how can you know that? All I can think is whywhywhy.

All I know is that there's an end.

Friday, 30 December 2011

038; If you promise to stay conscious, I will try and do the same.

My pill-box collection (so far). (More photos here.)

I'm on a night-train up north. Music is filling my ears and all I see outside is a blackness. It's freezing, and all I've had today is chocolate and cigarettes. I painted my nails black (and my eyes, always.) Earlier today, I bought a leather jacket. I've been wearing it ever since. I'm craving a smoke but we don't stop for another two hours. I wish I had some whiskey on me, and a friend to share it with. Everything seems simpler in the moonlight.

Thursday, 29 December 2011

037; So much for the longest day.

Tell me again, press my hands to your lips as you sing of love and life
Don't leave me now, here in my darkest hour, as the longest day turns night

I still haven't gotten more than maybe twelve hours of sleep in the last eighty-three, but I've finally taken my meds and I hope they kick in soon. I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow; lots of stuff to do, and I need to pack, and then hop on a six-hour train up north to stay with my brother over New Year's. I'm excited, and I hope my nerves don't mess things up too much.

Yesterday I had a fit and couldn't control myself; another battle lost.

(But sometimes you have to lose battles to win the war.)

036; This is not your year.

Scattered shadows on a wall, you watch the long light fall
Some impressions stay and some will fade away
Tattered shoes outside your door, clothes all on the floor
Your life feels like the morning after all year long

Fucking hell. Haven't been sleeping well (I've gotten maybe eight odd hours in the past sixty), got a terrible headache (and it never goes away), and I've lost control of my body; can't stop shaking, can't hold food down, and I've had (more than?) four accidents today (which is more than average). The days are blurring together and I feel like hell.

(I guess this is payback for all those pink little pills.)

Tuesday, 27 December 2011

035; Through the looking-glass.

Sleepless nights and bruises blossoming and exploding into tiny nebulae underneath my pale skin, winter is taking a stronger hold on me, overcoming me, and I feel like I am made of ice; I will crack at the slightest touch. My mind is full of mirrors, threatening to break and cast bad luck over me, but I've always been cursed and the only thing you can see inside is sharp edges and a darkness, a flat surface with much more depth than you thought possible, an endless abyss, and you better be careful or you might fall, because if you do, you'll never reach the bottom. You will fall and fall and fall. It never ends.

Trust me, I know; I am the girl made of glass.

Monday, 26 December 2011

034; (Sinking.)

"I’ve cried, and you’d think I’d be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine for the rest of my life."

I barely know what to do with myself; I feel infinitely sad yet strangely alright. It's only when I think of you that I become more and more, like turning up the volume until the silence is too deafening, and I drown in myself and my thoughts and the demons. Where are you? Did you forget me? I miss you. Do you care?

I can't wait to forget you. I'll never forget you. I am easily forgettable.

033; Come on, I know myself by now.

There's a degree of difficulty in dealing with me.
"'Cause I don't trust that there won't be another string of manic freak-outs if I stick around. Come on, I know myself by now. It's not an easy realization to come to. I'm not the best thing for you. I'm not the best thing for you."

I. Goodbye England (Covered In Snow), by Laura Marling.
II. Seven Years, by Lovers.
III. You Will Miss Me When I Burn, by Palace Brothers.
IV. Lua, by Conor Oberst & Gillian Welch.
V. Hug Me Tight, by En Kopp & En Knapp.
VI. About Today, by The National.
VII. Walk It Off, by Angus & Julia Stone.
VIII. Heavy In Your Arms, by Florence + The Machine.
IX. O' Sister, by City & Colour.
X. Wintering, by Laura Gibson.
XI. Enchanting Ghost, by Sufjan Stevens.
XII. Chocolate & Cigarettes, by Angus & Julia Stone.
XIII. Stephanie Says, by Emiliana Torrini.
XIV. Possibility, by Lykke Li.
XV. Dead Deer, by Lovers.
XVI. Love Will Tear Us Apart, by Broken Social Scene.
XVII. Little Hell, by City & Colour.
XVII. All Alright, by Sigur Rós.

Sunday, 25 December 2011

032; Living on a diet of chocolate and cigarettes.

"I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, to put a hand on my shoulder, I hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry."

— Marya Hornbacher

I am alive. For better or for worse. I woke up in a feverish state several times last night. There's a storm raging outside and all I want to do is cry. I binged and I wanted to purge but I didn't and I feel so fucking fat. I've stayed in my room, in bed, avoiding everyone and anything. I just want to sleep. It's all too much. The littlest things set me off. Everything's too loud, there are too many people around, it's too bright. Both mother and brother tried to hug me, and my mask slipped, and I snapped. It evoked so much rage that it scared even me. I hate being touched. And I shy away, but really, all I want is to be held; I long for an embrace to fold myself into. Someone to disappear into. I just want to be not me for a while. I want someone to care. I need you to notice, but you probably forgot to remember me. (Did you?) And yet I hate this; being so vulnerable, so needy, so dependent. (I just want to hear your voice. Where are you?)

How do you continue living when you hate the very bones of yourself, the simple fact that you exist, in this world, today?

Saturday, 24 December 2011

031; (Just last the year.)

Christmas is the worst time of the year for me. This one in particular marks my five year anniversary of.. survival? staying alive? I don't know what to call it, but five years ago I was at an all-time low; no hope, no future, just darkness, and on Christmas Eve, I was going to kill myself. I remember having Death Cab's Transatlanticism on repeat and looking at myself in the mirror, thinking fuckyoufuckthisyouareuglynoonewilleverwantyouthereisnopointtostayalivebecauseyouwillneveramounttoanythingandyouareuglyuglyfatfatuglyuglyfatuglyhopelessuglyuglyfatfatfat and I sank to the floor crying, clutching this jagged piece of glass I was going to use to slit my wrists, to escape this hell, to die. And then, I don't know. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe someone called my name, maybe I thought there was something else that I wanted to do before I died, maybe there was a spark of hope somewhere inside me. I'll never know. And now, five years later, I am in that same place. I've come to a crossroads, and I don't know which path to choose. I know you can never go back, and you will never have another chance, and it's better to try and lose than to never have tried at all. If you fall, pick yourself up again. Time heals all wounds (but not really.) Lose your hunger, and you lose your way. Stay true to yourself. Don't let anyone tell you what to do or think. Don't change for anyone. Don't depend on anyone. Give and you'll receive. (These are all clichés, but there is truth in them.) Trust yourself. Trust your dreams, and chase them, no matter where they might take you. These are the things I've learnt. And yet.

My stomach is full of whiskey, painkillers and sleeping pills. There are fresh cuts on my thighs. I am here, but not really. I am disconnected. (My mind is arguing the pros and cons of living and there is nothing I can do about it. I am constantly at war with myself.)

And should I still be alive come morning, I will probably delete this.

Wednesday, 21 December 2011

030; Oh, my love, you must be tired (of me).

Today I woke up and the sky was coloured dust and peach. Winter is all around, and inside of me. I grabbed my cigarettes and made myself a cup of tea and went back to bed to read poetry and listen to City & Colour.

Another mix for you.

Tuesday, 20 December 2011

029; What she was wearing.

“This is my suicide dress,” she told him. “I only wear it on days when I’m afraid I might kill myself if I don’t wear it.”

“You’ve been wearing it every day since we met,” he said.

— Denver Butson

Today hasn't been a good day.
Or maybe it has, but either way,
It doesn't matter now.

A mix for you: it's a very very mad world.

028; Will we get out of this little hell?

There's a degree of difficulty in dealing with me.

I wish my moods wouldn't rise and fall so quickly; my world turns from pleasant to black in the matter of seconds. Like Jenny Lewis sings, The lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap. And all I can see is darkness. An infinite, starless night. And I wish to god I could tell him, I do, but I.. I can think of a hundred reasons not to. "He's busy" or "he'll get worried" or "I'd be bothering him". He says he accepts me, flaws and all, but there's only so much he can take. I flip so easily. I turn on myself. I fall. And everything hurts, and there's nothing anyone can do to make it better. I fall, and then I dig myself deeper and deeper, and I feel like maybe one of these days I'll fall out of a hole at the opposite corner of the world. And there's nothing I can do about it.

(And then Dallas sings that the blackness in my heart is a storm I can weather, and I curl up underneath my blankets, and cry myself to sleep.)

Songs I've been listening to a lot lately:
Little Hell by City & Colour
Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones
Wasted by Angus & Julia Stone
Li'l Red Riding Hood by Amanda Seyfried
You Will Miss Me When I Burn by Palace Brothers

Thursday, 15 December 2011

027; The people all call her Alaska.

Five things you will find if you open my bag:

1. Pack of cigarettes + lighter.
2. Ipod.
3. A book or two.
4. Wallet.
5. A pair of glasses.

Five things in my bedroom:

1. Books, books, books.
Pill boxes (I collect them.)
3. Clothes everywhere.
4. Bottled things.
5. Crystals and minerals.

Five things I want to do in my life:

1. Have the 'perfect' body.
2. Travel, see the US.
3. Meet all my best friends.
4. Be economically independent.
5. Write a book, or direct a film.

Five things that make me very happy:

1. Reading a good book (The Secret Garden, amongst others).
2. Drinking good wine with good friends.
3. Talking to my sisters.
4. Films and music.
5. Chocolate.

Five things I’m currently into:

1. The Sims Social (God help me.)
2. Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel.
3. The Chronicles of Narnia.
4. Blogspot and tumblr.
5. My bed.

Five things on my to-do list:
1. Get out of bed.
2. Get out of bed.
3. Clean my room.
4. Lose weight.
5. Buy christmas presents?

Five things some people may or may not know about you:

1. I'm asexual.
2. My favourite band is Led Zeppelin and I've named my favourite pair of boots after Robert Plant and Jimmy Page (They're called Plant and Page.)
3. Stephanie Says is my theme song.
4. I love cashew nuts.
5. Christmas is the worst time of my year.

026; Winter lives inside my bones.

It's funny; it's been a little less than a year since I last posted. Ten months, and I'm still in the same place. Three overdoses (not that I'm counting), fifty-something cuts, innumerable bruises, twenty-two pounds less, nine months worth of treatment, two white pills a day, another three psychologists, and a relationship later, here I am. Yours truly. (Sometimes I wonder if I'm stuck down here for good.)

But it's not all bad. Some days are better. Not a lot of them, unfortunately (especially not during winter), but at least it's something. I have someone. We've been together for two weeks now, but I've known him for eight years. Sometimes I curse him, a lot of the time I hate myself, but at the end of the day he says he's there, no matter what. He's a lot like me. I wrote this in my journal, "you're like the earth around which I revolve, constantly drawn to you as if you've got some gravitational pull on me, and some say your soul mate is only there to tear you apart and break your heart so new light can come in, and that's what you do to me, you destroy me but you lift me up, you bring out the best and the worst in me" and I hold to that. He makes me desperate, insane, anxious, but he also makes me smile. And that's gotta be worth something, right?

Anyway. I don't know why I'm writing this. I'm at an all-time low, but I'm having a good day, I'm lucid for once, and it's two am and I can't sleep. Amy's mixes and cigarettes are keeping me company. I think I might take the pink pills and read for a while until they kick in. I don't know.

This is my life.
Songs I've been listening to a lot lately:
Breathe Me by Sia
Stephanie Says by Emiliana Torrini
Winter Bones by Stars
Sister Winter by Sufjan Stevens
Chocolates & Cigarettes by Angus & Julia Stone