Then again, my heart has been broken. I feel as if I'm sinking....drowning....can't breathe...

I will never be able to read my favorite poem or see my favorite piece of art again without crying.

I found it funny you thought you were the one chasing, instead of being chased, when you first read it... that you were not the one burning brilliantly (and maybe always just a little out of reach).

I can't wear those socks or that t-shirt or the necklace or the bag anymore without feeling like any of them weigh two of me. (maybe it's our weight combined, like I now carry in my heart)

My first night in a long time waking up with a migraine and this is what's going on from the part of my head that can still manage to put together thoughts (will I ever sleep more than three hours again)

I'll never be able to listen to that song I dedicated to you, even if you didn't know I did so (it only applies even more since I had)

and she will also always be tears since I shared her with you... (my favorite song...... gone....)

I will never forget the first time, and me calling my mom after I watched you go, and asking her "why am I in so much pain right now?" (....she didn't answer, because she knew I already knew.)

Or years ago before I even met you when my friend passed me a story, about us, and said you'll love this and I said why would you think that, it's about reincarnation (and she said, /exactly/)

That /she/ will also be gone because I will always have to pass her up on the shelf without a second thought (that's a lie... there will be so many thoughts, and memories, I might collapse right there on the floor of the comic book store)

How will I ever be able to watch the movie about us again? (did I want to anyway) (yes... only with you at my side, though)

That I was supposedly your purpose, and you patched up a hole I didn't think could be patched, then ripped away the bandaging (to patch up someone else)

How do I see you and be able to look at you anymore (then again, would I be able to help it anyway?), or swallow down all the urges to brush your hair from your face (it was so hard in the first place)....

"What I'd say about you"

Did you really leave me again?

After all the seasons I spent waiting. 

Watching out the window. 

Listening at the door.

Waiting for the news of your return.

For the news that you realized someone important was waiting for you.

A whole lifetime I've been waiting.

I can't believe you're not coming back.

I can't believe I'm supposed to stop waiting.

I can't believe you left me again.

You didn't tell me to stop waiting. In fact, you said the opposite. But I can only think, what happens.... when you do?

A bit melodramatic, I guess.

someone......
please...

get

me


bleach


so

i
can stop


having
to see



all the blood
lines


on my mattress

each time


i change

a
goddamn
sheet

..............

I just want to see my dog again. Then I'd like to go.

"Come on , Dick, they're going to split us up eventually. You didn't think they were going to send us to the prison together, did you?"

"Sure I did."

"No, I doubt it."

"I never thought about that... Isn't that funny? I never thought they might break us up. Guess that makes me a dope.

If they hang us---would they do that together? At the same time?" 

"Probably. They have two gallows here, side by side."

"Then I hope they hang us."

"Sick and twisted and very, very sad."

"I want Billowy too. And the espadrilles. And the sunglasses. And you,"
On the train I told him about the day we thought he'd drowned and how I was determined to ask my father to round up as many fishermen as he could to go look for him, and when they found him, to light a pyre on our shore, while I grabbed Mafalda's knife from the kitchen and ripped out his heart, because that's all I'd ever have to show for my life. A heart and a shirt. His heart wrapped in a damp shirt

billowy

it's from one of my favorite books. the quote. i remember. yet..... i won't be able to go through the book and find it either. ol' billowy....... leave me billowy. and you..........wow i'm so much pain today

Finish your food. finish it. you have no money. don't waste it. you've lost twelve pounds in two weeks. who cares if it fucking hurts. you're in pain anyway. twelve pounds. twelve pounds, which puts you now twenty-seven to thirty-two off goal weight, if you decide to survive and thrive.


eat.

I failed today, at everything I tried. Did I even try?

I really feel I need to be inpatient for a long duration of time. Yet I know it won't change my feelings. (How do you /know/?) Because I tried it. It also won't help those around me, that care, which is the only thing I care about, even if my mind has a barrier surrounding that. So what's the point exactly of me going into a full time care facility then. I cause the people I love pain in a different way. I don't get help I need (can't get) and they don't get to connect with me, as they have voiced they want to do so much. 

The rest of my day will be spent unwillingly organizing the paper piles in my room to find all my pay stubs from my last job to get my unemployment paperwork fixed tomorrow. 

And then going through my old blogs to find a quote I know is in one of my writings but not sure which. This involves going through about five hundred posts/drafts throughout fifteen different blogs I've had.

Selfish, and chaotic, and so very, very tired.

*sleeps uncomfortably in jeans and rest of outfit from today to avoid dysphoria and triggering the dermatillomania*

I need nothing, to travel the sea

black water, take over

"The good moments will be rare, but they will be worth the bad, and you'll get there" ....something I hear in different variations over and over again from different people as they try to convince me to survive this world.

There's something (eating at me) wrong with me. I am not okay with being alone. Maybe it's the pain I am in and it scares me to have time alone with my own thoughts and space that I am able to hurt myself in. Or maybe it's as simple as I like connecting with people. But it's something I've never realized before. That I don't like being alone. When connections are broken, when I am by myself, there's no escape and I revert back to the child I am. Maybe I get too attached. Maybe I'm too needy. Maybe I talk too much. Maybe my anxiety and depression will push anyone in my life away, always. (Maybe) I am not good enough.

swallowed by a vicious vengeful sea, darker days are raining over me

I have no job. I have no motivation to get a job. I was starving myself. I was tearing and slicing my skin off. I was setting myself on fire. I am still doing some of these things, I want to destroy myself, and I already have emotionally, but my body remains as an illusion so that the people that love me will not be hurt by my absence. But it's why I still disappoint them. I am already gone and they will not accept it. They keep throwing life vests to someone who has already sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

in the deepest depths I lost myself, I see myself through someone else

Inevitably, I will be gone. Am I torturing them by prolonging it? By giving them false hope? Do I rid myself of my pain and the mistake of a body I was given now, or do I wait it out. Do /I/ hope someone drags me from the bottom of the ocean, something I cannot ask anyone to risk their own life for. I see them, diving down into the depths, but they never quite reach me.
Do I stay, or do I go?

but I am ready, to suffer the sea

I need nothing, I need nothing

The stairs creak as you sleep it's keeping me awake

Some days I can't even dress myself

My face is clearer than it's even been, which to me is clear. Scars from years of dermatillomania but I don't see a single blemish. Which is ironic, considering I'm on testosterone and also have the dermatillomania.
But it's like my teeth. Regardless of the TMJ disorder and an open bite I take really good care of them. I found the best way possible to keep the "inevitable" cavities and gingivitis away and I do it.



Even more ironic,...because right now I look in the mirror and I am covered from chest to ankles in slashes. I did to myself.

I counted my scars today...or started to. I can guarantee 75% of them are self-inflicted. Or made worse by my own hands. I can also guarantee that percentage is higher but went with the "safe" guess. There's over a hundred. Not including the new ones. And not including the reinjuries because how can I remember how many times I've burned my knuckles by now or broken my own fingers. I guess all of that's expected for ten years of this?

This excludes the dozens upon dozens of scars I "made go away" (with time, and breaking open liquid vitamin E tablets and rubbing on the ointment for years and years, mostly on the ones that littered my forearms).

New ones total in at sixty-three. Five of which have been stitched to avoid a trip to the emergency room, I guess. Sixty-three over the course of two "relapses" in the span of three days. It's getting worse. I've never targeted my entire body. I've never done so much damage at once. I've never been fine with people seeing them, only hitting places I could easily hide. But I'm "an adult" this time, what is anyone going to do to me if they see them, besides probably not sit next to me? Which they do see them, frequently (and avoid sitting next to me).

I get to destroy myself without any consequences besides that I /am/ destroying myself. And the me that's here, is okay with that. But I will cover my mirror in my bathroom tomorrow, in hope it will help.


The vitamin E trick doesn't work anymore.

If I can't self sabotage one way I will do it another
If I have to stay in this body I will destroy it

you better you better you better you better make me me better me better you better make me better

they keep adding up

fsdaxcjhvkbln;m'

you know what doesn't fix slicing yourself open? rubberbands

but thanks anyway hospital for trying

Waking up begins with saying "am" and "now"

Today I woke up and felt like I couldn't move my legs. There was intense shooting pains through them and my biceps, as well as along the outline of my chest and my waistline, and downward. My forearms burned. I'm sure this pain would've come sooner, interrupted my sleep, except that I took twice the amount of my anxiety meds I was supposed to in order to sleep in the first place, not at all concerned about the result of that. It took a minute, to realize, why this was happening. and that I did it to myself. but reality set in as grogginess went away. and I knew.

I was immediately able to "turn off" the pain - which really means just suffer through it, as soon as I remembered, I caused it. so I went back to sleep.
My sister-in-law woke me up later to ask if it would be helpful for her and my brother to drop me in a central location to job hunt today since they were headed out. "When?" "In an hour." "Let me think on it." Translation: let me find out if I can get out of bed, not have a panic attack, and be ready in an hour.

The answer was no.


I felt all the physical pain again but remembered this time so I sat up. Once I sat up, I saw. The blood all over the wood floor. Where I laid last night. Blood on the floor, bloody handprints on the the white boxes that were next to me that I've been working on unpacking. (That need to be repacked. I need to go home.)
I put on my "wake up monologue"...



After I saw that movie, I used to listen to that every morning. It might be dark but it helped. Sometimes other darkness can help your own. It just depends on how it's channeled. "Just get through the goddamn day." It was written on my mirror. I would look at myself in that mirror and (straighten my tie) and read it, then say it to myself, and then head to high school.... some days.


My relapses get worse and worse, I've never woken up to blood all over the floor. I've never woke up without having cleaned up my wounds the night before. My arms are scorched from the space heater I pressed myself against and ever other place is slashed open. Thirty-six new wounds if you count the burns. I have spent so much effort to /not/ hurt myself anywhere near my genatalia in fear it would somehow interfere with future transition surgeries (that I will never be able to afford). But, last night I failed.

And my relapses are being triggered by something very specific. Something I realized today after my brother and sister-in-law left without me, frustrated I wasn't coming but holding it in. It's not their /fault/ but it's /them/. Well, it's /me/. I am the problem. But they trigger /me/. Every time we "talk", any time they sit me down to discuss what I'm doing and why I'm doing it and end up not understanding any of my side of it, I want to destroy myself.

I've been doing this since I was a kid. And other people and things have been the triggers of my own self destruction and self sabotaging. But I realized today, the only time I wasn't doing this, was living with my oldest brother. I need to go home. That's home. I'm safe there. I thought I wasn't, I thought he'd never accept who I really was... turns out he's my biggest fan. And he worries about me all the time, I feel it. And can tell from a text message. Because his texts are like hearing his voice. I don't know why that is. It doesn't happen with anyone else. But when he texts and says "hey, what's up" I know it's "I'm so worried about you, I feel like something is wrong, are you okay, do I need to come rescue you, I will I will /I will/"

he will.


I was emotionally manipulated last night. I know this as well because I can't get out of my head how certain things were phrased over and over and /over/ again. Like one of those tests, where they repeat the questions  in slightly different ways to try to trick you and see if you're answering honestly, or if your brain even can. Maybe I needed it. Maybe they did it as a kick in the ass. They insisted they didn't do it at all. Maybe that's also part of it. I don't know. I don't know how to think outside of myself or as someone even near emotional stability. All I know is it happened, whether they acknowledge it or not. But apparently I'm doing it to them, too. And not aware of it even though they won't believe that either. So maybe none of us are aware but I was "called out" on my emotional manipulation last night so I believe that they are aware of theirs, if they are aware enough to call out mine.

I am wearing my binder and each breath would normally be a little rough because of the compression but today each breath pushes the binder into the wounds and I hold back a scream. every. time. Yet if I don't wear the binder... the number of wounds will increase. They will continue. They will not stop. I have broken the seal. The dysphoria I feel while not having it on will corrupt me. Will destroy me. But I can feel the blood seeping through as I breathe.

My "plan" for the day was partially mine. I have to get up, I have to clean my wounds, and wash my hair (because showering is too much to do daily for the dysphoria), and my face, and brush my teeth, and eat something, anything, to take my meds for the day. Then it was "their" plan. Do the apps. Do them even though you will have a panic attack every time you have to type out your legal name ("copy and paste"), see* your legal name. And then back to me, do some laundry to break up your time and breathe and have clean clothes and bedding because that makes you happy. So I stripped my bed.

I have black bedding. and a white mattress. I took off the sheet. and there was blood. all over it. Cue a panic attack, that I got through by /tearing/ everything off my bed to wash. And then it's me standing there with the blood stained mattress, frozen by not only being reminded (not like I forgot with the searing pain) what I did to myself, and want to do to myself again but also...... by "being" a girl. sometimes. when you have your period, overnight you'll have accidents. a blood spot here or there on the sheet, soaked through to the mattress. A whole new trigger to start off my day. looking at the blood spots, the reminder of when this used to happen. the dysphoria.

Not something I want to get into though. I did my laundry. I put a new sheet on my bed. I stitched up my two deepest wounds that needed it. I wrote this post and I listened to a song on repeat for hours and continued to deal with the rest of my wounds continually reopening as I moved throughout my day....still have not cleaned the floor. should get rid of that box. have to do job apps. it's already 5pm. have group in the morning. can't be late. /won't/ be late. have to do job apps. have to type my legal name over and over and over until I relapse again. but I'm stronger than this. in the wise words or Josie, "dysphoria can be beat".

My bright is too slight to hold back all my dark...but I have people helping. So I'm going to put the past twelve hours behind me, get some apps done, go for a walk, and relax so I get sleep and get up in the morning.

am i going to survive? i doubt it

This is the sharpest blade I've ever had and it's glorious