My Lifelong Recurring Obsession

I don’t remember much about all my previous birthdays…

Only how uncomfortable they were when everyone sang ‘happy birthday’ to me; They were ALL looking at me and I hated it. I don’t want lots of people looking at me; even if they are my family.

The number one thing I remember about my birthdays is the wishes I made.

It was always the same wish, year after year, after year…

I wish I could be thin and beautiful.

And I wished hard.

Of course, it never happened…

At those times in my life I was still a little bit confused about God’s place in this world and in our lives, and I thought that maybe if I was really good, and kept asking Him for it.. He would give it to me.

Looking back, part of me regrets wishing that, and part of me doesn’t.

You see, I still wish for that every year, in the back of my mind…

For a while my only wish was for the next year of my life to be not as bad as the previous one.

Of course, that wish never came true either…

Every year that goes by… everything just keeps getting worse.

My birthday is September 25.

I’ll be 21 in about 17 days.

A ‘normal’ 21-year-old girl would be out with her friends, probably drinking and having a good time, savoring life.

Not me.

I’ll still be fantasizing about death, suicide, self-injury, starvation…. you name it.

So really there’s no point at all for me to make a birthday wish.

They never come true and probably never will.

But I’m going to wish to someday be thin and beautiful anyway.

Because I have to.

Well, aside from scouring the internet for pictures of 100-lb girls…

I’ve been doing pretty well today.

Haven’t binged.

But I did yesterday, for the first time in a long time.

Here’s what I wrote yesterday.

~*~

Oh my God, I feel so sick.

So, so, sick…

I just got back from exercising with my peer specialist.. and I went and got lunch…

I had a Clif bar.

And then some v8 fusion juice…

And then some soymilk…

And then some macaroni salad I found in the fridge…

And then a few cheese & garlic croutons…

And then an old microwave-able egg roll (most definitely pre-fried)…

And then 2 fudgsicles mixed with a ton of JIF peanut butter…

And I felt like shit.

I haven’t binged for MONTHS, but yet, here I am, stuffing my disgusting face…

I JUST exercised, for fuck’s sake!

What the fuck is WRONG with me?

I wasn’t even thinking!

I was totally numb.

But I just kept going and going… like I had NO control.

I remember my therapist mentioning to my parents during our family session that I also had eating disorder tendencies… but I think they chose to ignore it.

They’re not here. They’re visiting my lovely older sister in Maine.

She’s so thin. So pretty.

She treats me like shit for no reason, but she’s so much prettier than I am…

Which I would be sort of okay with, if I weren’t treated differently because of it.

My largest scar on top of my left forearm is about 3 inches in length, and rather wide, and still slightly pink.

I slashed into my skin with a knife when I was 13.

Because I asked my dad if I could have a second cookie…

And I got upset because he said no.

Well, not because he said no… but because I was afraid of what he was thinking.

I forget what words ensued between us then…

I think I stormed downstairs to my room..

But we were yelling at each other while he was upstairs with me at the bottom of the stairs… and all I can remember is him yelling:

“Because you’re too BIG!!!”

I immediately went to the knife in my room and slashed open my arm.

That was when I was 225 lbs.

I weigh 275 now.

I’m even more disgusting to him than before.

He doesn’t want a disgusting, ugly daughter.

He doesn’t want me.

I’m worthless.

I’m so ugly.

Why won’t someone fucking kill me.

If I could just lose weight…

Maybe they would love me.

I remembered that incident…

And for the first time, I felt a long-since-dormant urge.

And urge to GET THAT SHIT OUT OF ME.

So I desperately looked up methods to induce vomiting on the internet..

I used to try putting my fingers down my throat, but I found that to be too… long. Too painful.

So I tried something that some people speculated about…

I mixed a small glass of water with a bunch of mustard powder and a bit of salt.

Went into the bathroom.

I took one sip.

Swallowed.

And I felt the reflex immediately.

In one heave, the sip of the water-mustard mixture came up.

Felt a lot worse than I expected.

The next second, I heaved again, with NO control, heaving up a bit of the fudge-sicle mixture. At this point, I started to get scared, because I knew it wasn’t going to stop.

The final heave: a little bit more of the chocolate… stew.

It was so painful.

Maybe painful isn’t the right word.

My body was so violently doing this, and there was so much pressure in my face and in every part of my body that I felt like my head was going to explode.

I’ve heard it gets easier to purge.

I hope it’s true… because I might do this again now that I know it works.

Because if I were just to use my fingers… I wouldn’t get anything up because I’m a coward.

Well, I barely got any of it out, much to my discontent…

So I decided to look up home remedies for laxatives.

I decided on one: Epsom salts with water and lemon juice.

I had to add sugar… it was so disgusting.

But not as disgusting as the mustard mixture.

This one didn’t quite make me gag; I just shuddered disgustingly after every painful sip.

And that was only 2 teaspoons.

For adults, it recommends 2-4 teaspoons for one dosage.

And since my body is so big… I’m willing to bet it would take 6 teaspoons to work for me.

I feel so sick.

Sick to my stomach.

And sick inside.

So disgusted with myself.

And so disappointed in myself.

I hate myself so much.

I’m not going to eat for the rest of the day.

~*~

Later that day…

~*~

Update:

I got too impatient with the Epsom salts…

so, much to my most intense disgust… I used a glycerin suppository.

Yeah, I know. Makes me queasy just thinking about it.

Never in a million years would I ever have expected to be willingly shoving something up my ass.

But it actually worked.

Given it took about 20 minutes, but that’s not that bad.

I felt better afterwards. Not great, but better.

Lighter.

After that…

I looked up a calorie-burning calculator to see how much exercise I will do to help prevent weight gain from this…

I need to go over what I ate all day.

Breakfast: ½ cup granola cereal (250 cals), ½ cup soymilk (40 cals), 8oz V8 Fusion juice (100 cals)

Lunch: Clif bar (260 cals), 8oz v8 juice (100 cals), 8oz soymilk (80 cals), macaroni salad (about 150 cals), croutons (30 cals), egg roll (200 cals? Maybe more), 2 fudge-sicles (200 cals), about 4 Tbsp. PB (380 cals).

Dinner: 8oz soymilk w/ ovaltine (about 100 cals).

Yes, I know I said I wouldn’t eat dinner.

I only consumed anything because I exercised so much… need the protein to build my muscles back up after so much exercise.

Okay, so this comes to… 2040. So basically anywhere from 2000-2200 calories.

Ouch.

Now, let’s see what I burned…

Exercise with peer specialist: 40 mins: 360 cals.

Exercise after lunch & laxatives: about 55 minutes: about 475 cals.

Total cals burned: 835.

Subtract from the worst-case scenario…

2200-835=1365.

Okay. I didn’t do TOO horribly… though I did do pretty bad.

My main concern is that I binged on UNHEALTHY food… which I RARELY do anymore.

God, I hope I haven’t gained weight tomorrow…

My mom’s been calling to check up on me every once in a while throughout today.

After my dilemma… when she called… of course I can’t tell anyone about these things… so I pretended I was doing fine. She must have fallen for it because she remarked with pleasure: “You seem like you’re feeling better.”

I have gotten to be a very good liar in my old age. Though I rarely lie. Only when I have to to protect myself or someone else.

~*~

That was on Thursday. I rested Friday and attended psych rehab. Today is Saturday.

I exercised at a moderate (challenging) pace for 50 minutes.

So i burned like 450-ish calories.

Okay.

This morning I waited to weigh myself until I took a dump.

269.8 lbs.

The FIRST time I’ve been under 270 in over a year.

And I plan to keep this up.

I’m much less likely to binge now, I think…

because I know I will have the urge to purge. And I will do it.

And that fucking hurts.

So, things are looking alright.

Aside from last Wednesday…

I was a bad girl.

I violated my own moral standards.

But oddly I don’t give a shit this time.

I intentionally hacked into my sister’s Facebook account to see what she and my older sister were saying about me.

Because I knew they were doing it.

They said they weren’t They told my parents they weren’t.

They’re just a couple of rotten, dirty, lying tramps.

Still degrading me.

Amazingly I still love them.

I wish I didn’t.

I’ll add details in a future post.. I don’t really want to go over it right now.

It made me suicidal.

Not that they would care.

I bet they’d love to see me dead.

My mom and dad keep stressing to me, trying to make me believe that they love me.

LOVE ME.

Yeah, right.

They can say they love me.

But they also said they weren’t gossiping behind my back again.

Their words mean nothing to me now.

How can anyone in their right mind expect me to believe something that comes out of their filthy mouths???

I’ll believe it when they ACT like it.

Peace out, till next time.

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Walking on the Edge

Last Friday was surprisingly okay… like, my mood seemed… up. Which is REALLY odd considering I was suicidal the night before.

I’m beginning to see a pattern emerge.

Despite my slightly uplifted mood, however, I still have the plan in the back of my mind.

It’s just sitting there, patiently, calmly…

Waiting.

It’s been raining and storming a lot lately.

I love thunderstorms.

They exude power and force that is both full of intimidation… and awe.

I found a toad last night while it was raining. I held him for a while in the garage while my mother was in there reading on the little couch.

He was very fascinating. Not a huge toad, but not tiny either.

I remember always getting so excited when I was little whenever Papa would find one for us…

He would come in the house and say to us, “Want to see what I found? It’s in the bucket.”

We always kept them in that one old, white, plastic bucket.

It was almost always toads, but one time it was a mole! Really cool. He found it in the dog food.

I miss those days. But I can’t think or write about them too much because it hurts too much.

Lately I’m finding wildlife and the changing foliage more and more fascinating…

Today I observed intently exactly the way the leaves of the shrubs shivered under the pelting rain.

The stupid web things in the trees I don’t like; they’re unsightly.

On the other hand, the extremities of the trees are just starting to turn.

I love autumn. It’s my favorite season.

Winter is too cold. Spring is too wet. Summer is too hot.

Autumn is perfect. It’s also the most beautiful, I think… a natural, simple kind of beauty.

This whole year I’ve been watching the different wildflowers coming and going in our fields and along our roads and highways. Noticed many I had never seen before.

If I’m still alive next year… I plan to make records of all of them… photograph them, and write about them. I think it will be rather beautiful.

Emily was home for the weekend.

She’ll be leaving soon as soon as her car trouble is fixed.. whenever that will be.

I don’t think she enjoyed having me around.

Mostly because I told her about the developments in the world right now.

Not so much about the rising possibility of war with Syria, governmental tyranny, etc., but something of a much greater scale…

The HIGHEST scale.

That’s right.

I’m talking about God.

I don’t know how many people know about this, but starting in late 2011 up until currently… there have been increasing occurrences of loud, strange, terrifying noises coming from the sky, seemingly with no source.

Canada, some states of the US, Mexico, Russia, Europe, Australia… these are happening all around the world.

It’s too much of a coincidence.

Listen to these videos.. you can find plenty of them on Youtube…

but brace yourself… if you believe in a higher power as I do, they are chilling.

Here’s one of the videos I watched that has the bible verse in it I wanted to quote, but couldn’t find it.

It’s not a pretty sound.

I believe it is God pleading with us, to prepare ourselves…

It all seems to add up… all the prophecies of the end times.

A great deal of the end-time prophecies in the Bible have come true already.

I believe Jesus’ second coming will be in MY generation.

I told my family… and for the most part, they do NOT want to talk about it.

Emily is utterly terrified.

Whenever I play recordings of it just to look into it a bit more, and she walks into the room… she yells at me to turn it off.

That’s what worries me.

If the idea of Jesus returning scares you out of your wits… what does that say about you?

I don’t think she’s saved.

I asked her if she was, and she didn’t know what it meant.

I fear for her soul… and for that of my mother, and grandmother, and older sister.

I know they are not as close to Jesus as I am.

It pains me to think that most of my family will not join me in Heaven.

Of course, I’m not completely certain I’ll enter the kingdom of Heaven. But the odds are in my favor… I’ve been recognizing my wrongs, my self-righteousness, etc. more and more… and repenting.

I can’t remember the last lie I told. I’ve never had sex. I don’t lust. I may feel empty and without, but I wouldn’t say I especially covet things other people have. I haven’t stolen anything recently (I used to have a bit of a problem here, but only petty thievery, like REALLY petty, a few bucks here and there).

I am self-examining more and more on spiritual terms.

I am ready.

I wish I could hear the trumpet sounds here.

I long for the end.

This is a horrible, horrible world because of the people in it.

I’ve never belonged in this world. Ever. I’ve felt like this ever since I can remember… even if I couldn’t identify or describe the feeling when I was young.

I want to go home.

But it won’t be for a while yet.

Some things still have yet to happen.

At the same time that I’m expecting Christ… I am also thinking more about suicide.

Kind of hypocritical, isn’t it?

Still walking on the edge of death.

It’s like I just know that I’m going to do something soon…

I just need a trigger, as I said before.

On a happy note, I’ve been growing out my fingernails.

Mostly because it had become a compulsion for me, to the point of biting and peeling till I bled. I would rip out my hangnails.

So yeah… I REALLY needed to stop that. Now I’m painting them often to keep myself from biting them.

They look kind of nice now, which is relieving because I’ve always been self-conscious of my fingernails.

It stopped raining.

Everything is so green.

The crickets are chirping, and so are my parrots.

It’s dark, drab, colorful, and beautiful outside.

I sealed my own fate.

That sounds dark, doesn’t it?

Well, that’s because it is.

I have lost all hope.

After Emily leaving for college, receiving the insulting letter, coming to the realization that I will never get better…

But what REALLY sealed my fate… was reading a certain statistic. A statistic from a scholarly, reliable source, mind you.

This statistic means I cannot go back into the hospital, even if I feel I need to. I’m too afraid.

Here it is… more than one statistic actually…

“In a study of 400 doctors, one of every three listed obesity as a condition to which they respond negatively. They ranked it behind only drug addiction, alcoholism, and mental illness. They associated obesity with noncompliance, hostility, dishonesty, and poor hygiene.“

-Klein D, Najman J, Kohrman AF, Muncro C. Patient characteristics that elicit negative responses from family physicians. J Fam Prac. 1982; 14: 881-88.

“Self-report studies show that doctors often view obese patients negatively, and hold stereotypes of them as lazy, lacking in self-control, non-compliant, unintelligent, weak-willed, sloppy and dishonest.”

-Foster GD, Wadden TA, Makris AP et al. Primary care physicians’ attitudes about obesity and its treatment. Obes Res. 2003;11:1168–1177.;

“In one study of nurses, 31 percent said they would prefer not to care for obese patients. 24 percent agreed that obese patients “repulsed them”. 12 percent said they would prefer not to touch obese patients.”

-Maroney D, Golub S. Nurses’ attitudes toward obese persons and certain ethnic groups. Percept Mot Skills.1992; 75: 387-91.

I read these and cried.

1 out of every 4 nurses I would see at a psych hospital will find me repulsive, will not want to care for me, etc….

I can’t handle that. The embarrassment and shame is too much.

I can’t go back even if I need to.

The only way I’ll go is if they drag me there (302 me).

Now I’m afraid of ALL my healthcare professionals…

I totally screwed myself.

But I’d rather know the truth and be hurt by it than be ignorant of the facts…

I did decide upon a method.

Now all I need is a big enough trigger.

Part of me hopes for one.

I wonder if the few people who like me would still like me if they knew that I fantasize about suicide every day?

Here’s what I free-wrote during my racing thoughts yesterday… this is just a simple example of what goes through my head 24/7.

~*~

There is no hope.

I will never get better.

No matter how hard I try, I will never, CANNOT stop fearing what other people think of me. What kind of a life is that?

I don’t / can’t spend time with friends; I’m even afraid of them.

I will never be able to fall in love, get married, or have children. I will never be able to have a career, let alone a wholesome one.

There is no hope left.

I should have… I wish I had killed myself when I had the chance in college before my parents found out I was suicidal. Telling people is humiliating.

The only reasons I didn’t are because 1) I’m afraid of going to Hell; and 2) I’m afraid that no one would take proper care of my birds if I died.

Why can’t I just die in a car accident or something?

I wish God or someone would put me out of my misery. Misery doesn’t even describe it, though. Having no hope left is pure AGONY. I wish I could end it. There’s constantly a nagging thought,

a persuasive voice that tells me…

“Maybe if you attempted suicide for REAL… 

people would begin to understand…”

how horrible this is and not dismiss it as the utter lie of ‘occasional depression and anxiety’.

The people whose job is to HELP me told me I am no different than an average person without diagnoses, that I am unworthy of help. Fuck you. Fucking hypocrites. No one helps anyone anymore. There is no good left in the world.

Why can’t people tell me I’m a good person rather than break me down for my belief in God and the Bible? I am seen as a ‘religious fanatic’, a ‘homophobic hetero-supremacist’, an ‘extremist’, etc… a ‘bigoted piece of trash’,…. it NEVER ENDS. And as long as I live, it will never end. But I MUST stand up for what I believe in. If I don’t.. I would be cheating myself and not actually living.

That’s why I don’t want to live.

A life of agony, depression, pure loneliness, helplessness… oppression… I can’t do it.

But I can’t end my life either; I’m afraid to live, but I’m afraid to die.

I am trapped between life and death.

Living on the edge of death.

It’s frightening. It’s horrible. It’s alienating. Painful.

But no one cares. Everyone says I ‘brought it on myself’, as if I could just change the way I think with a snap of the fingers.

I wish I had cancer. Then at least people would actually try to empathize with me, maybe pretend to give a shit about me. There’s support, great support in all directions for people with physical diseases like this.

But my illness ‘isn’t real’. I’m ‘making it up’ just because I’m ‘too lazy to work’.

I’m too afraid to work.

I cannot function.

I’m not going to live long.

I feel so old.

Like I’ve already seen too much.

I don’t want to celebrate my birthday, or anyone else to celebrate it.

My birth was a tragedy because of where I have come in life: nowhere, by society’s standards.

What matters to me doesn’t matter to anyone else.

I am completely alone and will always be alone. My life, I have amounted to nothing.

While my sisters go on to schooling and careers and long-term relationships…

I sit here in my agony and rot with the sick thoughts in my head.

Racing, dark thoughts that NEVER STOP. And they never will stop.

I will never get better.

There is no hope.

No one wants anything to do with me.

I am repulsive. I am ugly. I am fat. I am worthless. I am a failure.

I will never amount to anything.

My body is ruined. My skin is awful. My hair is awful. I am ugly. I am fat. I am worthless.

I will never amount to anything. Nobody loves me.

Even my family wants nothing to do with me. I am too different.

No one will ever love me. I am a failure. I am worthless. I am ugly. I am hideous. I am a waste of life. I am ugly. I hate myself.

I hate myself more than anyone or anything in the world combined. I am useless. I am a failure. Nobody loves me.

Nothing will ever change, except for the worse.

Nobody loves me.

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

I am ugly.

I hate my body.

My body is ruined.

I hate myself.

Everyone hates me.

I wish I could just die.

There is no hope.

I will never get better.

There is no hope.

Just watching my life fade away…

Falling down, falling down…

For those of you who didn’t know… I’ve been in the process of applying for disability / SSI benefits because I currently cannot work because my diagnoses and respective symptoms are so severe.

Well, I got the denial letter, of course. And I knew it would upset me. But I didn’t expect them to outright INSULT me.

They said: “At times, you may be depressed and anxious. However, this is not so severe that it would prevent you from working…”

Excuse me???

AT TIMES??? MAY be?!?!

How about SEVERELY depressed and anxious CONSTANTLY, severe social anxiety, agoraphobia, chronic headaches and other pains, and all my PANIC ATTACKS?

How about the fact that I had to withdraw from college for being suicidal?

How about the fact that when I did leave and SHOULD have been hospitalized, I forced myself to work until I HAD to go to the hospital?

What employer is going to hire someone who is psychologically unstable? In and out of the hospital? Unreliable attendance? That needs frequent breaks if the employee is stressed?

NOBODY.

Which I do understand… they would lose money because of me… and even if a system could be worked out to not pay me when I was taking those ‘breaks’ or whatever… that would be too complicated for someone to bother.

No. No one is going to want to hire me and actually keep me. I live in a small rural area. I’ll go through every single job available until I’m fired by all and have nowhere left to go.

Nah. I would have killed myself by then, I bet.

*Ahen* Anyway…

Last night was a really bad night…

It was bad enough last week had me so depressed.

My younger sister was getting ready to leave for college. Packing up her things, etc. Family conversation was all about college.

The place I WAS supposed to be… I’m falling behind. My friends have moved on.. they’re in their junior years now… I didn’t even finish my second semester…

So I felt like a total failure compared to my sisters last week. I was depressed to begin with.

And then I got the denial letter. That pushed me over the edge.

I was doing so well… eating healthy, rarely overeating, exercising, sleeping on a normal schedule…

I am suicidal again.

I think.

Let me look up the definition, though.

“Tending or leading to suicide.”

Yep. That’s me.

As soon as I got home from therapy, psych rehab, and my case management appointment.. I sat down and sobbed for a while… looked at my birds for a moment, cocking their heads at me in a combination of confusion and interest. They’re typically the only thing that keeps me from doing it…

But after I cried for a while…  I immediately got on the computer and researched methods of suicide.

I looked into carbon monoxide particularly extensively. But if I were to fail… it could result in severe brain damage.

If I would fail… It would have to be a suicide method that wouldn’t have as drastic repercussions.  Well, of course ALL repercussion of attempted suicide are generally drastic… I guess I’m looking for the LEAST drastic.

Kind of ironic how I’m looking for the best suicide method with which to ‘not hurt myself as much’ if I were to fail. Now THAT’S pathetic, in a funny, cynical sort of way.

I just see NO WAY OUT anymore. For the longest time I held on to the only hope that I CAN recover.

But now I don’t think I can.

I have ALWAYS thought like this. I have always cared extremely about others’ opinions of me. It used to define me. Even though it only partially does now… I still care about it.

I don’t know HOW to think normally. There never was a time in my life where I had a healthy thinking ‘system’, for lack of a better term.

I’ve TRIED so hard to change / overcome my cognitive distortions… emotional reasoning… all-or-nothing thinking… mind-reading… catastrophizing… negative filter…

I just can’t do it.

If I were to fill out one of those 7-column ‘examine the evidence’ papers to think it through, for EVERY cognitively distorted thought I had, I would have to have superpowers to fill papers out that fast 24/7.

That’s right. They are CONSTANT. They NEVER END. There is NEVER any RELIEF.

Even attempting to confront ONE of the distortions overwhelms me with hopelessness.

Emotional reasoning is THE WORST distortion.

Because even WHEN YOU DO examine the evidence, go over the logic in your head… and conclude that you ARE being irrational…

IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Because what you FEEL matters to you MORE than what actually, logically IS.

Feelings are stronger than logic.

That’s the way I’ve always been. It’s who I am. I don’t believe I can change this.

I don’t believe I can ever get better…

I didn’t tell anyone I’m suicidal again either.

I’m completely, utterly, alone in this.

“If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.”

“If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.” -Author Unknown

A lot has changed since I last posted.

I relapsed a couple times, I’m exercising now (at least for now) and eating healthier (at least for now), and my younger sister rolled her car over, totaled it. Now she has a new one, a week later. My dad said it was a deal he couldn’t pass up; and he’s prett cheap, in a good way (only takes the best deals). Now she has a Chevy impala. Certainly safer than the Honda Element (the one that looks like a toaster, hence her totaled car’s affectionate name: the green toaster).

I’ve been attending my psychiatric rehabilitation program more regularly now, and for the past 2 weeks I’ve been attending on Fridays, which I rarely do. Fridays are when the consumers with intellectual disabilities attend.

I was surprised by the extent to which I enjoy their company; I feel similar when I interact with children, because children are less likely to judge me and treat me badly than adults. I found that I have even more compassion in my heart than I realized.

That quote about change was written on the whiteboard at PR (psych. rehab.) by one of our caseworkers. We all wrote something about change, an article of sorts for the September newsletter. I think it’s really nice that the opinions and stories of the consumers are included in the organization’s newsletters.

Here is what I wrote:

“I’ve always been a person highly resistant to change; I fear change.

Change is one of the most imperative aspects of life; it is inevitable. That is why I live life in fear.

Fear controls my life. It causes me to isolate myself not only from family, friends, strangers, and all people in general, but from opportunities in which positivie change could happen.

The key word here is ‘could’. ‘Could’ usually isn’t enough for me; I want a guarantee, or at least something close. But the further I travel on my road to recovery, the more I realize I need to abandon that expectation. If I only partook in life when something good was guaranteed to happen, I wouldn’t partake in life hardly at all.

Life is messy, and full of some good things, but also many, many bad things. I need to continue to push past this fear and my social anxiety in order to avoid the pitfall of complacency.

In fact, I fear complacency more than people or the possibility for bad things to happen.

The only support, above all others, that pushes me through these fears is my faith in God, because I know that God does things in the world as well as allows things to happen in the world, all according to His plan.

The hope that God could have something good for me today pushes me along. Even just trusting in His plan for my life, especially during a difficult time such as a relapse, gives me hope.

The only hope I have is the hope that God has bestowed upon me, and it is the best gift in the world. I would be dead today if not for my faith. God has plans of hope and love for me; His Word says so. Therefore, something good absolutely must come to me as a result of my perserverence through my mental illnesses and life struggles.

So, I will try my best to embrace change when it happens; even if that ’embrace’ is limited to just a bit of acceptance.

I will watch all the leaves transform into burning, vibrant hues this season, as I do every autumn. I will watch them change with joy in my heart.

After all, autumn is my favorite season.”

Everything is Fading

I feel empty.

Numb.

I have no motivation to do anything.

Even though I have SO much I need to do…

I’m so frustrated. But I don’t know what to do about it…

I was doing so well until I found out what my sisters were saying about me behind my back… (here, if you didn’t read it)

Since then… I’ve stopped eating healthy. Stopped losing weight…

I’ve relapsed.

Stopped my skin care schedule, as well as other things I put on a schedule for myself… like relaxation and meditation exercises to ground myself.

Almost all my joy is gone.

I’ve never been more emotionless in my life.

I’m not even enjoying playing video games much.

And worst of all… I haven’t been training my parrots. I haven’t had the energy.

I want to eat healthy again, start losing weight again, resume exercising…

…draw again… spend time working on things that need to be done.

The only things I’ve been able to do successfully lately are bathing and taking my meds.

That’s it.

I feel like such a waste.

Especially after I found this on the CONTINUED ‘conversation’ between my sisters…

Once again I think I’ll insert my own thoughts.

Tuesday, July 16^th

Alena: “How are things with Denise? She still not talking to you?”

Emily: “I apologized to her so she doesn’t try to kill me lol”

Me: What??? I thought you apologized because you were SORRY. You admitted you were wrong. I guess you were lying then. You just don’t want me to be angry at you or whatever. It’s quite an inconvenience, after all, when you try to have your friends over all the time when I’m lingering about the house like a fucking plague. I forgave you, too. I actually believed you. Well, that’s the last straw. I will NOT trust you again. I will NOT believe your apologies anymore. You’re nothing but fake. Hypocrite. Fake as plastic.

“…She brought up some other stuff like “what about this time..” Etc and I just told her I didn’t know what she was talking about

Because she tried bringing up instances from a long time ago and I honestly didn’t remember.”

Me: And you just told me you didn’t know what I was talking about? That implied that you DID know what I was talking about. ‘Long time ago’? It’s been 4 MONTHS! Not YEARS! She has no idea what a ‘long time’ is. So, you ‘honestly’ didn’t remember? Not that your ‘honesty’ means anything anymore, as it doesn’t exist, but I believe you here; you like to forget your own wrongs.

Alena: Yep sounds like her lol. I’m not apologizing for the facebook stuff she saw. I have no reason to apologize. Besides, it’s time she apologizes to me.

Me: Still mocking me? Will you NEVER get enough? You’ve turned into a demon. Demons feed off others’ pain. You’re a fucking demon. I wish I never had to find out how cruel you are. That’s what you are. You are CRUEL. You can’t even see your own cruelty. Narcissism…? not sure. “No reason to apologize”? Hopefully you’ll still remember those words when I leave your life forever. Never go to your wedding. Never see your children. Never receive your apology before I die. YOU CHOSE to cast me out. I GAVE YOU YOUR OPTIONS. You chose to remain self-righteous. After all, you don’t care that I stood in front of the mirror for nearly 30 minutes, a shimmering knife poking into the skin of my chest, ready to plunge it deep into my body. That doesn’t bother you at all, right?

My life is fading away, just as my family is.

At the same time, I’ve had this… foreboding, anxious feeling in the pit of my soul for days now. Like something big is about to happen.

I’ve been reading about all the signs of Jesus’ second coming… lots of prophecies are coming true, and have come true.

I wish for it.

I want to LEAVE this place, SO badly.

I just feel like there is NOTHING here for me.

My joy is gone.

My hope is gone.

Filing for disability to be able to buy my own groceries and not leech off my mother seems futile now.

Even my thoughts are gone… to some extent…

I can’t think of what I was going to post next…

The world is sinking.

Sinking into darkness, because the people of the world pushed out the light.

Pushed God out of their lives.

God is gone from the world, just the way they wanted it.

Society is deteriorating.

Previously self-sustaining, independent, successful people are starving, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Something has to give.

Soon, I hope.

Then at least SOMETHING will happen.

Hopefully something to halt my fading.

A Work of Fire on the Fourth

Thursday evening, July 4^th

It was a typical, solitary night.

Even though some members of my family are always watching TV at night, and thus were in the living room with me… I was still alone. As usual.

This was back when I still had high-speed internet, before our stupid modem fried itself, so I was going to spend some time online. As usual.

 So as usual, I did some reading…

Then I decided to check my Facebook for the hell of it (I rarely check my Facebook anymore simply because it’s generally not a place I enjoy being. I would rid myself of it completely if it weren’t for old friends that are hard to keep in touch with otherwise… as well as some of my favorite online communities).

 So, I typed the URL into the address bar…

Carelessly not realizing I didn’t have to log in as usual… I saw I had a new message. So I clicked on the messages icon.

It was in that instant, when I saw the various contacts… that I realized I was in my younger sister Emily’s account.

 But it was too late.

 I saw my name.

In a conversation between Emily and my other, older sister, Alena.

The second I saw my name… something hit me like a bullet, striking dread into my chest. I knew it was not good.

But I had to click on it.

There’s something that people should know about me:

When I am given a peek of sensitive information, especially if that information involves me in some way… I have an irresistible urge to know more. Now, this isn’t because I have my nose in everyone’s business; it’s usually because I want to help in a situation. I’m not a ‘snoop’, like Alena later ASS-umed.

This involved me.

And I ALWAYS suspected they were engaging in idle talk behind my back. Gossiping.

Now was my chance to find out.

I suppose you could call it the ‘gray area’ between being a ‘snoop’ and acting on my perceived right to know what is being said about me behind my back.

I clicked on it.

I got to the second sentence of Alena’s message.

That’s when I involuntarily held my breath. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move.

When I finished all four little lines of their little conversation… I don’t know how to describe what happened.

I guess the best way to explain it is with a symptom. If you don’t know what derealization and depersonalization are, here are the definitions:

“Derealization is an alteration in the perception or experience of the external world so that it seems strange or unreal. Other symptoms include feeling as though one’s environment is lacking in spontaneity, emotional coloring and depth. Derealization is a subjective experience of unreality of the outside world, while depersonalization is unreality in one’s sense of self.”

 Everything stopped.

But everything was about to begin.

The calm before the storm.

This moment must have lasted for maybe… 2 seconds?

The deep breath before the plunge.

Except there was no breath to take at all.

 I couldn’t breathe.

I found myself clutching at my chest, unable to inhale.

This moment lasted even longer than the previous one, it seemed.

 A moment of silent agony.

A moment of terror so intense I thought my heart might be stopping.

Time slows dramatically any time I have a panic attack, but this felt like the worst one I’ve ever had.

So I sat, still as stone, with those four lines of text dropping an atomic bomb inside my mind, inside my breast.

No one knew yet.

But they were about to.

Finally I started to hyperventilate.

It took three deep, sharp gasps before my family was able to rip their faces away from their precious television screen to notice what was happening.

My panic attacks have turned into a combination of hyperventilating and virulent sobbing, alternating and all at the same time, with no rhyme or reason. Erratic.

My mother appeared from behind me and grasped my shoulder.

“Denise, what’s the matter?!”

 I was able to gasp the word:

 “That.”

And I pointed at the computer screen.

Everything I remember from that point on is hazy.

I do remember that she, as well as my father, didn’t want much to do with the whole ordeal.

My mother closed the internet while I was crying.

Later I opened it up again.

And I went back into those messages… and read everything.

And I found out that they HAVE been degrading me behind my back.

Since March 13^th of this year. I couldn’t see earlier because it didn’t show any earlier conversations (it must automatically delete some that are very old, when it comes to someone who send messages to all the time).

 I realized a few things as I read everything they said:

For one, I realized that those first four lines were nothing compared to what they had said earlier this year.

Secondly, I realized that the more I read, the more open wounds were cleaved into my heart.

But I didn’t care.

 I couldn’t stop.

Thirdly, I realized that part of me was… happy.

Yes, happy.

Why?

Because after all this time… after all the suspicion…

Finally…

 I WAS RIGHT.

As I read on, my sobs turned into snickers of laughter.

I was smiling. Not a happy smile. An ‘I knew it!’ smile, A ‘Is that the best they can come up with?’ smile.

I wrote down every single thing they said about me.

At this point you’re probably wondering what exactly they did say to me.

But, in order to restore some semblance of control to myself in regards to what happened… as I quote each comment, I’m going to give my own input.

Here we go.

March 13^th

 

Alena: “Is Denise still cranky?”

Emily: “No idea.”

 ~*~

Me: Cranky?

Would you call a person with dementia stupid for forgetting things?

If not, why would you call me ‘cranky’ for my anxiety and depressive disorders?

Oh, that’s right. Because I’m not ‘sick’; I’m doing all this for attention. I’m just trying to start fights, as my mom likes to put it.

The word ‘cranky’ implies childishness.

Apparently having a medical disorder makes me automatically childish.

 ~*~

Alena: “ahhh. Well I know what she has. Borderline personality disorder”

Emily: “how do you know?”

Alena: “Ben said it just “clicked”. Don’t say I said anything. I don’t know if he wanted me to tell or not but I”m telling you. It’s not the kind where they hurt you. That’s antisocial disorder. He read me all the symptoms with his medical thingy for work and every symptom described her.”

 ~*~

Me: “Ahhh, well I know what she has.”

Is it just me, or does that sound like, “I know some dirt on her…”?

It’s the prep for gossip is what it is.

Alena was the first one to turn this whole ordeal into gossip.

She has less room for understanding because she doesn’t even have to deal with the direct frustration of living with me like Emily does.

And then, speculating about my disorders? Why not just ask me? Why would you ask your boyfriend? It’s none of his business, even if he is a doctor (not a PCP; an anesthesiologist). He should know it’s probably not good to speculate on what disorders I have when he most likely has had no training in the mental health field whatsoever.

And I DON’T have borderline personality disorder.

 ~*~

Emily: “oh wow”

“Did you tell mommy?”

Alena: “yeah but she hasn’t said anything else to me about it since”

 ~*~

Me: Oh, wow.

God forbid if you don’t tell our mother what you’ve speculated!

Even if I have already been clinically diagnosed with three definite illnesses…

…but why would we ask me or my doctors?

We probably don’t know what we’re talking about.

We’re ALL nuts, after all.

~*~

March 21^st

 

Alena: is Denise around?

Emily: she’s downstairs on the phone with god knows who

Alena: that’s odd. she doesn’t talk to anyone. Papa had to stop talking to me earlier. I guess             something was up with Denise.

 ~*~

Me: “On the phone with God knows who”?

Apparently the fact that I actually speak to people sometimes is somehow annoying or offensive or scary for her.

“That’s odd. She doesn’t talk to anyone”? Seriously?

And you know that for sure because YOU have been in my life so much?

You’ve wanted NOTHING to do with me ever since I was hospitalized. Before that, actually. Before I was even diagnosed!

But yet she assumes that I’m the same person as I used to be, which, in her mind, is an antisocial, whiny bitch.

 ~*~

Emily: I can’t stand living here -____- sometimes I actually look forward to going to             work.

Alena: college will be better for you lol

Emily: I hope so.

 ~*~

Me: Oh, I know you hate me, sweetheart.

There’s no surprise there. I know you can’t stand living here because I live here.

I wish more than anything I could die to disappear from everyone’s lives and remove all that frustration…

…but not for you. You don’t deserve it.

I would do it only for relief for my parents.

At least they don’t degrade me behind my back.

Oh, and it’s so funny, isn’t it Alena?

It’s hilarious that our family is falling apart.

And when she does go to college—GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE.

I can’t have anything to do with her anymore.

I wanted to be close with my sisters… but it’s too painful.

And they clearly don’t want to be close with me. It takes two.

It’s best if we cut ties.

 ~*~

Alena: can you see how much she is gonna eat at Easter

Emily: I’m not gonna make the same mistake she did, that’s for sure

She’s actually been eating better. But it probably won’t last long.

 ~*~

Me: This was one of the most painful things I read.

And the most hypocritical.

All three of us have struggled with our weight and body image.

All three of us have had eating problems. Alena has an eating disorder.

Fucking hypocrite.

I would NEVER make fun of your eating problems, no matter how angry or upset I was with you. I still won’t.

Because it’s NOT FUCKING FUNNY.

You DON’T joke about something like that.

And they both know how personal that is to me. Yet they said those things anyway.

I suppose they feel entitled to this snippet of gossip because they have both lost weight and I haven’t.

I’m starting to lose weight NOW… the right way for once… not for vanity, but for my health. For me. I’ve come SO far to be able to do it for that reason.

But I’m not going to brag about my success on Facebook for everyone to see like Emily did.

 ~*~

Emily: denise is just driving me nuts

i went right to work after school, and got home at 8. So the less i have to see her,             the better.

Alena: wonder if she’ll get moodier with the bc [birth control]

Emily: I hope not

Alena: i didnt even know she was having a constant period

Emily: ohh yeah

apparently she has a vaginal bacterial infection

 ~*~

Me: The less I have to see you, the better, sweetie.

I don’t want to see you either.

All you do is barrage me with sarcastic comments whenever you’re around.

“Moodier”? Right. I don’t have medical conditions that affect my emotions—I’m just MOODY.

Yes, I was having a constant period. It wouldn’t stop for 3 months. I don’t even know how you found that out. I certainly didn’t tell you. Emily must have told you.

And also about my unfortunate, uncomfortable, and terribly embarrassing infection.

It’s not like I don’t bathe. I wash myself very well and wash myself…down there… every night and morning. I don’t know why I got one. It just happens to people sometimes.

But you’re using it to make fun of how supposedly disgusting I am. Thanks.

 ~*~

Alena: fun.

mommy said that she bathes a lot less now!!!

Emily: yeah

Alena: that’s so gross

Emily: change the sheets before you sleep in that bed

Alena: def im always paranoid about that stuff anyway

no wonder her hair is greasier that it ever was

 ~*~

Me: I must have been having a really brutal week during that time.

Only people with severe mental illness will understand this.

Sometimes, your symptoms, your troubles and worries, your relationships, your obligations… are just SO overwhelming that you enter a state of total despair.

All you feel is emptiness and pain.

When you’re in THAT much pain and desperation, it can make your ADLs (activities of daily living) extremely difficult to keep up with.

Everything turns into a chore.

That’s why some people with mental illnesses do not bathe as often as they should.

However, it’s not like I wasn’t bathing at all.

I managed to drag myself into the shower every two days. That was the extent of it.

You turned my desperation into something to be made fun of.

Thanks yet again for your compassion.

~*~

March 31^st

 

Emily: I’m getting tired of Denise talking to herself

Alena: ‘m getting tired of her butting in to everything

She always has to say something

Emily: I know

 ~*~

Me: Well get over it. I DO talk to myself.

Most people do talk to themselves sometimes.

I might talk to myself more than other people, but it’s only because it comforts me a bit.

Yes, I answer myself.

Some people say that’s bad. Whatever.

Thinking out loud seems to help me, so how can it be bad?

Also, it’s not like I have many people to talk to.

You two made sure of that, didn’t you?

And you’re damn right I always have to ‘say something’. Whenever I have to ‘say something’, it’s because you’re being offensive.

And I’m the only one who will stand up for me. My parents are only interested in ‘keeping the peace’.

It doesn’t matter if that turns me into a doormat. It doesn’t matter if that turns me into ‘the instigator who always wants to start a fight’.

I’m not starting a fight.

I’m confronting you because I want you to PLEASE STOP.

You HURT me.

~*~

April 1st

Alena: she’s annoying me. Stop num num num ing

Emily: i kno

i’m with you

Alena: can’t she freaking talk in her freaking head!?!?

Emily: Ugh I agree

I wish I had some duct tape

And a sledgehammer

 ~*~

Me: To anyone else this might be a little amusing.

Recently I’ve been trying to get my birds (cockatiel and a budgie) to try new foods (I’ve recently converted them to an organic pellet diet in combination with a vegetable, legume, and grain-based diet).

Parrots consider their ‘owners’ a member of their ‘flock’, even if the ‘flock’ is only two—yourself and the bird. Parrots are very social animals. So naturally, if they see you eating and greatly enjoying some new food… (hence, the “nom nom nom”) they are much more likely to try it. Otherwise, a parrot will not recognize or even consider a new food, in my experience.

So I will not stop my “nom-nom-nomming”. Ever. Get over it.

They are like my children. I don’t care if that sounds stupid.

They’re the only beings on this planet that have kept me from taking all the pills, or cutting too deep… etc. I stay alive and choose recovery for them.

They are so special to me. They cannot gossip about me. They cannot hurt me emotionally (unless I don’t know better, like some of these people who don’t like a certain dog because they say it ‘hates’ them. Untrue.).

That being said, my “nom-nom-nomming” is the equivalent of making sweet-nothing-sounds in weird voices to a baby. People do it to dogs and other animals too.

Why is it SO annoying and such a huge deal?

Seems like they’re running out of things to degrade me for. They have to really dig.

They must be VERY intent, which automatically means…

very purposeful.

 ~*~

After replying to all those things… I do feel a bit relieved. Like I have a bit more control. And no discouragement from my father could stop me.

Oh yes, earlier he walked by and saw what I was writing and sighed with frustration.

 “Are you still on that?” he asked, rather scornfully.

Or maybe it was just frustration. I can’t tell the difference anymore.

And that ensued an argument… I had to explain again how, in great detail, I came across this.

It’s because he suspects I was ‘snooping’ and nothing else. He doubts my character. Thanks, Papa.

Of course, this was only Thursday night… last Thursday. I couldn’t bring myself to write anything at all until I was feeling a bit less severe.

And everyday my parents are still confused as to why I am depressed most of the time…

I’ll explain the hazy happenings of the days thereafter the incident. They’re not pretty… but I would like to get them off my chest. And maybe add the same commentary.

So this was my Independence day. I didn’t see any fireworks that night, but I suppose you could say I saw a work of fire.

Fire is destructive.

 They destroyed me.

And they don’t care one bit.

Some family you turned out to be.