i think imma delete this blog and just make a private tumblr.

hey, i had it coming to me.

this is what i get for being an over-hopeful silly little girl.

depressing music ftw....ah....

no one will know no one will know no one will know

it's been like 3 hours gaby, you still can't get to sleep?

no, no i can't. i've sunk again. badly. i feel how numb i'm getting. i can't sleep. i can't cry. i'm just...here.

i knew it was true...i just...it's kind of a slap in the face but nothing really different from all the other shit that's happened to me...

whatever, you know?

just another heart break...but...we'll get through it. i'll get over it and be a big girl and make this work despite how much it hurts.

i can do this.

.......................i dont know if i can do this

ugh why am I listening to this

Sitting here alone and sad. Really just wanting love.

Oh, yeah, and I've accepted that I'm a dumb shit. Screw everyone who tells me I'm smart.

I don't feel much since I got admitted into the hospital. I don't know why. I just know that when I got to the hospital that late at night I felt absolutely nothing. That whole week, nothing. When I got out, nothing.

I want to write a story, draw, paint, scrapbook, run, swim, dance. Make something. Do something. Get lost in creating something, maybe finally please myself with something I've done. I miss that. That feeling of accomplishment even if what you're writing or making or doing is shit. Just because you're doing it and you're getting somewhere, you're happy.

I just wish I wasn't obsessed, and I really do mean obsessed with being perfect at everything. I can't write, because if it isn't perfect to me, and it never is, I get terribly frustrated at myself. I used to dance, but I was so mediocre that I gave up. I felt so fat, so dumb, so awkward around the girls I danced with. I wasn't flexible, I wasn't graceful. I used to sing, but as soon as I heard someone else's voice I'd crawl into a little ball and shut up. I'm intimidated by everything.

Point is, I just want to feel something other than emptiness, sadness, anger, loneliness, or hunger. I just want to enjoy the zest life has to offer. I don't want to be afraid to take risks or fail or try new things because that isn't the way things are supposed to be. I want to have a sense of confidence and joy in whatever I do.

Summer is still young, and I hope that I can spend it discovering myself.

WOW. Just like last summer. What the fuck? If you don't want to talk to me just tell me. I'm tired of this. Fuck everyone. Might as well cut away.

Lovely 2 month anniversary today.

i just want love. that's all.

...

i have nothing to do this summer. i am not going to chase all these people who call themselves my friends. if they want to hang out with me, cool, but i’m sick of sending those texts that never get replies, chatting someone who won’t chat back. i’ve stopped chasing people, period.

its 2 months today...but...why get excited, i'm the only one all happy about it anyway.

i can not express how alone i am. i can be around 20 people and still feel so alone, so drained, so dead. i know everyone hates me. i know what they say about me. i know they ignore my texts. i know they'll forget me if i don't talk to them first. it's the worst feeling in the world, being forgotten. being hated. i hate hating myself. because these people have made me hate myself, too.

this sounds like such a whine, but it's the only thing i have. i can't keep this inside all summer. even though that's probably the best thing to do.

i have the worst feeling that this is going to be every day. me trying to fight the loneliness. me hoping someone will call, someone will save me from myself.

i cant call people, ask them. it's so embarrassing, needing someone to take me out of this house.

people complain that they're bored at home. watching tv, being on the computer all day. but it isn't boredom for me. i wish i could watch t.v and just be bored.

but it doesnt work that way for me.

watching t.v doesnt even affect me. im just staring at a moving screen. boredom doesnt even cross my mind.

it's the loneliness. it's the thoughts. myself. the horror of being alone, hearing nothing but these negative things, breaking me down, making me smaller and smaller and smaller. THEY'RE DESTROYING ME. with no one to stop them, to say, "you're better than this, don't think that"

but even if did hear those good things, i'd need to be constantly told, like a machine to my ear, becAUSE THESE NEGATIVE THOUGHTS ARE SO STRONG, SO CONTROLLING. NO ONE GOOD THOUGHT CAN OVER-RIDE THEM ALL. IT'S LIKE AN ARMY OF EVIL AGAINST ONE LITTLE GOOD SOLIDER. NOTHING FEELS RIGHT. READING, WRITING, T.V, COMPUTER, TEXTING, SLEEPING, EATING, NOT EATING, CUTTING, NOT CUTTING, BREATHING, LAUGHING, EVEN IF ITS ACTUAL LAUGHTER, SMILING, BEING WITH PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW, HIDING CUTS, NOT HIDING CUTS, WEARING LONG SLEEVES AND JEANS IN BLISTERING HEAT, NOT HAVING CUTS TO HIDE, MISSING THE FRESH WOUNDS, CRYING, NOT CRYING, SCREAMING, NOT SCREAMING, NOT SLEEPING. THINKING ABOUT HAVING NO FAMILY, NO ONE TO HUG, NO ONE TO KISS, NO ONE TO HOLD ME AND TELL ME "YOU'RE THE MOST WONDERFUL THING IN THE WORLD TO ME, YOU'RE SPECIAL, YOU'RE WORTH IT, I REALLY MEAN IT." MOTHER BEING CRAZY AND CONTROLLING AND SICK AND judgmental AND IRRATIONAL AND KNOWING THAT IN A FEW YEARS, YOU WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH HER BECAUSE SHE'S FINALLY LOST IT, SHE'LL NEED TO BE ON MEDICATION OR SOMETHING, DAD LOCKED UP AND NOT KNOWING MUCH ABOUT YOU, NOT KNOWING MUCH ABOUT HIM BECAUSE ITS ALL LIES, OTHER THAN BEING A MURDERER, NO, THAT'S ALL TRUE. BROTHER TELLING ME HE'S CRAZY AND CAN'T BE TRUSTED, DON'T YOU EVER TURN TO HIM FOR HELP, HE'S CRAZY, DON'T DO THAT. NEEDING A DADDY, NEEDING A MOMMY, MOM BEING HERE BUT NEVER SAYING A WORD, ONLY SCREAMING AND HITTING AND PUSHING, REMEMBERING THE TIMES WHEN I WAS LITTLE AND SHE WOULD STROKE MY HAIR AND SING ME TO SLEEP. BROTHER BEING DISAPPOINTED IN ME, NOT BEING ABLE TO TALK ABOUT THIS TO ANYONE, LYING LIKE SECOND NATURE WHEN TALKING ABOUT HOW "GREAT" I AM, WAILING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT BECAUSE EVERYTHING HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH. GOING OUT,

TRYING TO FEEL GOOD, TRYING TO HAVE FUN, FORCING IT ON MYSELF, EVEN IF ALL I WANT TO DO IS CRAWL INTO A BALL AND CRY, BUT I DONT WANT TO DO THAT AT THE SAME TIME BECAUSE THAT MEANS AT HOME AND THAT MEANS HELL. FEELING SO FUCKING WORTHLESS AT TIMES, DEGRADED TO NOTHING BUT A BALL OF TEARS, FEELING LIKE IM A FUCKING IDIOT, FEELING SO UGLY AND FAT AND SHORT AND DISGUSTING AND ANNOYING. I REALLY COULD KEEP GOING ABOUT EVERYTHING BUT THERE'S NO POINT. IM BABBLING AND TOTALLY NOT MAKING SENSE. WHATEVER. BOO FUCKING HOO. NOTHING'LL GET BETTER. I WON'T MAKE IT. NOT 74 FOR DAYS OF THIS SHIT UNTIL SCHOOL STARTS AGAIN.

2 months today. This was 2 years ago.

I'm such a stupid fuck up.

I hate the feeling after, the feeling when you realize you've just ruined everything and you're back to square one.

I can not express how much I hate myself right now. Look at what I did:

As soon as my mom goes to bed, I'm digging deeper. Do not need to get caught again.

It took me an hour to get the blade out of the razor head. I could've given up, I didn't even want to do it that badly.

But lately I'd been focusing too much on cutting, I just needed to quiet the urge.

Stories about it, pictures, my own friend's scars.

Everyone has been treating me like shit lately.

I'm not a preppy piece of shit for a second and they walk away to find someone else worth their time, someone who will entertain them. They're all bullshit.

My "close" friends don't know anything about me. I tell them I'm fine and they believe it so easily. It surprises me.

I've been thinking, I don't deserve shit. I don't deserve Luis. He's so patient with me and look what I did now.

I'm a terrible person, cutting makes me feel like shit but I do it anyway.

Hoping this will maybe distract me from doing it later, but I doubt it. I can't resist.

Irrelevant.

I'm not the type to do this, I actually really hate quoting people, but it's what got me to get off of Tumblr, having been reading and looking at the most grotesque things, and realize that it might be easier to write than I think it is. I mean... If this girl could do it, feeling pretty much dead on the way I do, I could do it too. I'd like to think that I'm going to be blogging in segments here, having started with my cutting, but this had to be posted.

"Everything about life just hurts these days, it hurts so fucking bad. It hurts to wake up every morning and breath. It hurts to smile whether it’s genuine or not. It hurts to laugh and love. It hurts to trust and be trusted. It hurts every time I drag that blade across my skin but it hurts not to as well. It hurts to have hope. It hurts knowing it’s going to hurt tomorrow. It’ hurts just to be. It hurts to live altogether. It hurts having more bad days then good days. It hurts how people think every day is a good day for you. Everything just hurts. It just fucking hurts."

-

http://justanotherfeeling.tumblr.com/post/5959696654/i-swear-everyday-at-least-one-person-on-here

My romance with the blade. Part uno.

Okay. Here it goes. I'm not really ready to talk about my childhood yet, or any of my issues really, but I'll start with this...It's pretty much easy to explain.

Those pictures I have there are the scars I've inflicted on myself during these past 2 years.

I also have "STUPID" and "FAT" carved on both sides of that thigh. They're fading, so a picture wouldn't really capture them, but they're there alright.

As for my arm, that's where it all started.

When I made my first cut I was 12 years old. I was in 7th grade and I was craving attention so badly. I genuinely wanted to fit in with "druggie" crowd.

This is the best way I remember it. There was a freshman by the name of Marissa, and for some reason she was so cool to me. The fact that she cut herself and that she did drugs fascinated me. I look back now and wonder why the fuck I wanted to be like her so badly. She just had this...edge to her. Everyone just kind of...I don't know... Worshiped her? At least all my friends did. So, being the naive attention whore I was at the time, I asked my grandmother if we had a spare pack of razors and took that first little fucker in my hand.

I remember sitting on my bathroom floor with the razor held over my skin, telling myself to do it already and to stop being such a pansy. It took me an hour just to get the razor pressed on my skin. The cold metal felt wrong, so so so wrong, I felt sick at what I was about to do. I had a conscience back then. A loud one. But not loud enough.

The first cut was just a scratch. No blood. My heart was in my throat. And then it was easy. I started slashing. No gashes, just little wounds that bled to my satisfaction. I made about 200 cuts that day. On both my arms and on both my ankles. I honestly don't know what came over me. I wasn't angry. I wasn't sad. I just kept cutting and cutting until there wasn't any skin left to cut. I liked seeing all those red lines against my skin. It was, in some twisted way, really fun.

Anyway, at first it was all about the attention. HEY LOOK AT ME EVERYONE IM A CONFLICTED 12 YEAR OLD LOOK AT MY CUTS WEEE. I swear, everyone I showed freaked and I loved it.

I didn't cut after that first time until about 2 months later, and I don't really even remember why. It could be a couple of reasons, a series of stupid tween shit. But it never really became a serious problem until last summer.

I have absolutely no idea why suddenly everything went down the hill. I lost my best friend in the whole world. I trusted this girl with my life. And then one day, literally out of the fuckin' blue, she said she was done with me.

I was devastated. I would go on about how it completely destroyed me, how that marked the beginning of a terrible depression, but I don't want to talk about my actual issues yet.

Anyway, that's really why my cutting got so bad. I didn't have anyone.

....If I continue to talk about how my cutting worsened, I'll have to talk about my issues and my family and how my life spiraled downward completely, and I REALLY don't want to right now....Maybe later. But yeah. That's the first part. Part dos coming soon.

I'm going to start writing again. I don't care if it's fucking terrible. I miss the days when I didn't care if what I wrote was perfect, when I wrote just for the enjoyment of having my own innocent little story when all the characters were based on my actual friends, and I'd do with my characters what I wanted to do to my friends.

For example, this crush I'd had for like 2 years had gotten under my skin and I just ended up mutilating him to the death until I was satisfied. Insane, I know, and the writing was fucking melodramatic and just terrible, but that was so much fun.

I'd compare stories with my best friend at the time, laughing at each other because of the things we'd do to our crushes, to our friends, our enemies in these mini stories.

Oh yeah. Random picture. Thats me being all nasty and nerdy up there. ^ It's 12:30 A.M and I look absolutely icky but I wanted to express my excitement...

Carrying on...

I stopped using this blog sometime last summer, and I stopped writing all together probably sometime last winter. I stopped writing because trying to write had become the most frustrating thing for me. If it wasn't perfect, if it didn't top everyone else's writing, it was shit to me and I could not stand it.

I was going to continue to explain why I'd become such a perfectionist, why writing was no longer enjoyable for me, but there in-lies a deeper issue.

Anyway, the point of this post was to mark the beginning of my recovery with a date and everything. To tell myself that I was ready to write and by writing be ready to get better. It's hard for even me to understand why writing would be the first place to start in this incredibly long road of recovery, but thanks to Luis (whom I will give his own post to momentarily), I knew this is where it had to start.

Falalala, here I go! Wish me luck.