I've always hated shopping for clothes. The whole experience just leaves me feeling ugly and useless. My butt is big, my waist is small and my boobs are huge. Now, let's find a dress that fits!
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
It's the most horrendous experience anyone with body image issues can go through. It doesn't matter what I do, how little I eat, how much I exercise, I just don't look the way I want to. It's not fair. I quite literally hate all the women who look good and are happy with themselves. They have no idea what they have.
- CG
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
It really isn't my fault and at best I'll accept partial blame
So my grandma told my Mum at age seven that she wished Mum had never been born.
And alas, the plot thickens.
I wish she'd stop blaming me for the way my sister is turning out. I'm insecure so of course I'm going to lash out, but why would that matter? It doesn't apparently. After years of torment because of the acne you can't control, your confidence flies out the window. It was kind of this time last year that it really cleared up and looked good. Finally after years the meds were helping and I didn't break out, the scars were minimal, my face wasn't lumpy. I could safely say I was actually pretty happy with how it was all looking.
But naturally things went wrong, couldn't take that med anymore, cysts galore and thus I've broken out again and it's hideous and I feel ugly. So when my sister says things like "I'm getting pimples from you!", you die a little inside. And when you die a little inside you have to compensate with something else, and apparently for me it seems to be my weight and my hair. I do not cope with messy, greasy hair. It has to be neat and clean at all times. So I do it. I also eat less then I used to. Funny how people don't quite notice.
But why would they? It's like asking them whether or not I self harm. If I didn't tell you, you wouldn't know.
So do I want the help or not? I don't know. I just want to leave. After tonight I'm getting half desperate and stressed. I'm sure running on three hours of sleep isn't helping, but seeing as I'm too hollow to sleep at present, there isn't a whole lot for me to do.
We played the family blame game again tonight. Mum just blames me and my brother for everything and naturally we don't get rite of reply and just have to swallow the crap she says to us. Which is hard, very hard. Specially when she can't see that she's at fault too.
She'll never know.
Bye for now but not forever,
- CG
And alas, the plot thickens.
I wish she'd stop blaming me for the way my sister is turning out. I'm insecure so of course I'm going to lash out, but why would that matter? It doesn't apparently. After years of torment because of the acne you can't control, your confidence flies out the window. It was kind of this time last year that it really cleared up and looked good. Finally after years the meds were helping and I didn't break out, the scars were minimal, my face wasn't lumpy. I could safely say I was actually pretty happy with how it was all looking.
But naturally things went wrong, couldn't take that med anymore, cysts galore and thus I've broken out again and it's hideous and I feel ugly. So when my sister says things like "I'm getting pimples from you!", you die a little inside. And when you die a little inside you have to compensate with something else, and apparently for me it seems to be my weight and my hair. I do not cope with messy, greasy hair. It has to be neat and clean at all times. So I do it. I also eat less then I used to. Funny how people don't quite notice.
But why would they? It's like asking them whether or not I self harm. If I didn't tell you, you wouldn't know.
So do I want the help or not? I don't know. I just want to leave. After tonight I'm getting half desperate and stressed. I'm sure running on three hours of sleep isn't helping, but seeing as I'm too hollow to sleep at present, there isn't a whole lot for me to do.
We played the family blame game again tonight. Mum just blames me and my brother for everything and naturally we don't get rite of reply and just have to swallow the crap she says to us. Which is hard, very hard. Specially when she can't see that she's at fault too.
She'll never know.
Bye for now but not forever,
- CG
Monday, September 13, 2010
A series of pointless kind of funny observations
It's kind of funny how people go from not talking to you at all, and much less acknowledging your existence, to having a laugh with you like it never happened. Frankly, I'm amazed. Kind of liking it, but nonetheless amazed.
It's also kind of funny how that group have broken up. I shouldn't laugh, but I will because schadenfreude is great.
I had an pretty good weekend. You are reading the blog of a premiership winning soccer team captain. We won 8 - 3, which was super. Furthermore my knee didn't give way underneath me, so it was super fantastic.
And yet today is Monday. Monday means school. I hate school. I shouldn't, but I do. I don't put in the necessary effort to justify the results I get. Kind of makes you wonder no? I mean, some people spend hours on their work. I spend five minutes and get similar results
Weird.
It's kind of funny how I wish I didn't have a good head on my shoulders. I don't like knowing. Knowing brings pressure. You're always the first person people look at when they need answers. [When did I become so approachable!?] I wish I didn't understand. If I didn't understand surely this wouldn't hurt so much. If I didn't understand I wouldn't spend hours beating myself up because I know it's wrong and I know I shouldn't do it because I know the consequences.
Yet I do it anyway?
Because I know that I have to do it? I don't think I know that, but I understand it. Other people don't, they can never, not if they don't do it. But I understand it. And so I do it.
It's kind of funny how that is the quite possibly the strangest logic I've ever used on myself. I re-read it a few times and it kind of only just makes sense, to me. But, it's thinking at least. Something I don't do a lot of anymore. No time. Only school, school work, more school.
It's kind of funny that I'm still here. I'm off the planet, but I'm still here. I don't think I want to be anymore. But what do I do about? Nothing. Like always, I'll do nothing.
It's kind of funny how this is probably the most pointless piece of writing I've ever done. If any of the above makes sense to you, congratulations, you deserve cookies!
- CG
It's also kind of funny how that group have broken up. I shouldn't laugh, but I will because schadenfreude is great.
I had an pretty good weekend. You are reading the blog of a premiership winning soccer team captain. We won 8 - 3, which was super. Furthermore my knee didn't give way underneath me, so it was super fantastic.
And yet today is Monday. Monday means school. I hate school. I shouldn't, but I do. I don't put in the necessary effort to justify the results I get. Kind of makes you wonder no? I mean, some people spend hours on their work. I spend five minutes and get similar results
Weird.
It's kind of funny how I wish I didn't have a good head on my shoulders. I don't like knowing. Knowing brings pressure. You're always the first person people look at when they need answers. [When did I become so approachable!?] I wish I didn't understand. If I didn't understand surely this wouldn't hurt so much. If I didn't understand I wouldn't spend hours beating myself up because I know it's wrong and I know I shouldn't do it because I know the consequences.
Yet I do it anyway?
Because I know that I have to do it? I don't think I know that, but I understand it. Other people don't, they can never, not if they don't do it. But I understand it. And so I do it.
It's kind of funny how that is the quite possibly the strangest logic I've ever used on myself. I re-read it a few times and it kind of only just makes sense, to me. But, it's thinking at least. Something I don't do a lot of anymore. No time. Only school, school work, more school.
It's kind of funny that I'm still here. I'm off the planet, but I'm still here. I don't think I want to be anymore. But what do I do about? Nothing. Like always, I'll do nothing.
It's kind of funny how this is probably the most pointless piece of writing I've ever done. If any of the above makes sense to you, congratulations, you deserve cookies!
- CG
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Do you think we'll ever be as close as we used to be?
And then it hit me. I'm withdrawing from people. A close friend of mine said to me the other night "Do you think we'll ever be as close as we used to be? Will I mean as much as I did to you again?" I didn't know what to say to him. I said as much and the conversation awkwardly died away. We've not spoken since and I don't think we'll talk again any time soon.
But I can't stop thinking about it. And the more I think about it, the more I realise that I am indeed withdrawing from people. I didn't even notice. But it's true. I don't tell my friends when things are bad. They just learn to keep their distance, to leave me alone.
I tell myself, there's nothing to talk about. But there is, it's just raging round my head and not getting out.
It really just bothers me now that I've realised how I've withdrawn. I've just gone. But is it just me withdrawing or are they letting go? I don't talk, but they don't ask either. I think they are letting me go to various degrees. It seems to be enough for them to just see me around, that my thing comes up as online on MSN, that I post a status on Facebook.
I will never endeavour to talk now because I've burnt just one time too many. If you care, take me aside and ask me. Otherwise I guess you'll never really know the true extent of any of it. Sure, what I post here is nothing but honesty and more than I'll ever say using my real name, but it is never everything that's happening. There just aren't the words for that.
I only really will talk honestly about everything with one person, and even now I can't talk to them
I'm still cutting. Not disappointed anymore. There's no point. Because if I sit around being disappointed by that, than I'm just going to be disappointed in everything. Because watching they way my life is unfolding, I have to say I'm very disappointed.
But how could I have expected anything remotely joyful when we are, after all, born to die? I don't see it getting better. I'm just blindly hacking through each day because I couldn't go through with suicide. I'm not thinking about everyone else, I'm technically just being selfish.
So I'll just hack away at myself until it becomes sort of meaningless or I run out of hideable skin, whichever comes first. So I only get minutes of relief, sometimes there's none at all. I just want to do it. That's addiction. You always think 'it'll just be a little one' but you never stop there. It's never enough. Sometimes you cut deep, but you learn to dress your own wounds. And then there's the shame, so you don't tell anyone. You hide them under layers of clothing, layers of bandages, tissues, anything to pad the pain. You don't want people to touch you because you don't want them to see that cringe, the flinch, the slight admission that you're hiding something.
The scars mean nothing. I'll never stop wearing t-shirts. The fresh cuts are bothersome, but I won't stop doing it.
It's a cruel cycle. One I don't know how to change.
- CG
But I can't stop thinking about it. And the more I think about it, the more I realise that I am indeed withdrawing from people. I didn't even notice. But it's true. I don't tell my friends when things are bad. They just learn to keep their distance, to leave me alone.
I tell myself, there's nothing to talk about. But there is, it's just raging round my head and not getting out.
It really just bothers me now that I've realised how I've withdrawn. I've just gone. But is it just me withdrawing or are they letting go? I don't talk, but they don't ask either. I think they are letting me go to various degrees. It seems to be enough for them to just see me around, that my thing comes up as online on MSN, that I post a status on Facebook.
I will never endeavour to talk now because I've burnt just one time too many. If you care, take me aside and ask me. Otherwise I guess you'll never really know the true extent of any of it. Sure, what I post here is nothing but honesty and more than I'll ever say using my real name, but it is never everything that's happening. There just aren't the words for that.
I only really will talk honestly about everything with one person, and even now I can't talk to them
I'm still cutting. Not disappointed anymore. There's no point. Because if I sit around being disappointed by that, than I'm just going to be disappointed in everything. Because watching they way my life is unfolding, I have to say I'm very disappointed.
But how could I have expected anything remotely joyful when we are, after all, born to die? I don't see it getting better. I'm just blindly hacking through each day because I couldn't go through with suicide. I'm not thinking about everyone else, I'm technically just being selfish.
So I'll just hack away at myself until it becomes sort of meaningless or I run out of hideable skin, whichever comes first. So I only get minutes of relief, sometimes there's none at all. I just want to do it. That's addiction. You always think 'it'll just be a little one' but you never stop there. It's never enough. Sometimes you cut deep, but you learn to dress your own wounds. And then there's the shame, so you don't tell anyone. You hide them under layers of clothing, layers of bandages, tissues, anything to pad the pain. You don't want people to touch you because you don't want them to see that cringe, the flinch, the slight admission that you're hiding something.
The scars mean nothing. I'll never stop wearing t-shirts. The fresh cuts are bothersome, but I won't stop doing it.
It's a cruel cycle. One I don't know how to change.
- CG
Sunday, September 5, 2010
It's the best friend I never wanted
Yes, self harm - the best friend I never wanted.
Did you know: I was one month and three days cut free.
But not anymore. It just got too much and oh look, relapse. I'm actually really disappointed in myself, which is not new. So it's almost certain that I'll do it again. Which is sad I think, but I'm inclined to believe there is no better option. People always insist there is but always are at a loss to elaborate.
Is it an addiction? Sometimes I think it is. I won't elaborate too much because no one wants to read that, but sometimes I just have to do it...
Anyway, that's my short little dissection done.
Bye for now but not forever,
- CG
Did you know: I was one month and three days cut free.
But not anymore. It just got too much and oh look, relapse. I'm actually really disappointed in myself, which is not new. So it's almost certain that I'll do it again. Which is sad I think, but I'm inclined to believe there is no better option. People always insist there is but always are at a loss to elaborate.
Is it an addiction? Sometimes I think it is. I won't elaborate too much because no one wants to read that, but sometimes I just have to do it...
Anyway, that's my short little dissection done.
Bye for now but not forever,
- CG
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Too Late
Life as I know it, is not really life at all. It's just a whole lot of despair, pain and loneliness. I'm not excited or happy or even remotely peaceful. I'm just a mangled, chaotic mess.
When the sun rises in the morning I have no desire to rise with it. I have no desire to face the day. I don't want it. I don't want to mix with people, associate with them. I don't hate them, I just don't want to be apart of it. I want to sit at home, sleep and do nothing.
I know there are people in the world who are worse off than be, but I can't help but feel like I've been hard done by. I have a mental illness. Even when things are good, I can't help but pick out the bad. It's all bad for me, that's how I perceive things. I literally need someone to point out the good for me because I don't see it. How screwed up is that? I feel all confused and lost, like its all pointless and totally meaningless. I'm deeply unhappy, but content pretending. Pretending means people don't ask questions, they don't probe, I don't have to explain anything.
Of course people know, but they don't ask unless my behaviour warrants it. But when my behaviour warrants it, I never want to talk. When I'm cutting myself, I'm not seeking therapy, just a temporary outlet. When I'm crying, it's too much and something had to give. I need space, time to regroup, overhaul my armour, work out the chinks. When I'm angry, I've had enough.
So when do I talk? I don't. I want help, but I'm scared. Even if you do fix what's going on mentally, I'm still a physical train wreck. And with all that pain constantly exhibiting its prowess, how can I even begin to heal my mental state? They're hand in hand. I can't remember a time where they haven't been there, showing who's boss.
Am I a waste of time? I'm beginning to think so. The people who truly know me only delay the inevitable. They can't save me. My solace is the horses, but here I am sitting in school instead. They can't save me. I'm too far gone. No medication in this world will bring me back.
Too mangled.
Too scarred.
Too ugly.
Too lost.
Too confused.
Too mangled.
Too much.
I'd sit here and be suicidal, but I'm too scared to do it. I just know that the person I was is gone. Now I don't know me. Just my feelings. I am so intimate with my feelings.
Life is not a wonderful thing.
- CG
When the sun rises in the morning I have no desire to rise with it. I have no desire to face the day. I don't want it. I don't want to mix with people, associate with them. I don't hate them, I just don't want to be apart of it. I want to sit at home, sleep and do nothing.
I know there are people in the world who are worse off than be, but I can't help but feel like I've been hard done by. I have a mental illness. Even when things are good, I can't help but pick out the bad. It's all bad for me, that's how I perceive things. I literally need someone to point out the good for me because I don't see it. How screwed up is that? I feel all confused and lost, like its all pointless and totally meaningless. I'm deeply unhappy, but content pretending. Pretending means people don't ask questions, they don't probe, I don't have to explain anything.
Of course people know, but they don't ask unless my behaviour warrants it. But when my behaviour warrants it, I never want to talk. When I'm cutting myself, I'm not seeking therapy, just a temporary outlet. When I'm crying, it's too much and something had to give. I need space, time to regroup, overhaul my armour, work out the chinks. When I'm angry, I've had enough.
So when do I talk? I don't. I want help, but I'm scared. Even if you do fix what's going on mentally, I'm still a physical train wreck. And with all that pain constantly exhibiting its prowess, how can I even begin to heal my mental state? They're hand in hand. I can't remember a time where they haven't been there, showing who's boss.
Am I a waste of time? I'm beginning to think so. The people who truly know me only delay the inevitable. They can't save me. My solace is the horses, but here I am sitting in school instead. They can't save me. I'm too far gone. No medication in this world will bring me back.
Too mangled.
Too scarred.
Too ugly.
Too lost.
Too confused.
Too mangled.
Too much.
I'd sit here and be suicidal, but I'm too scared to do it. I just know that the person I was is gone. Now I don't know me. Just my feelings. I am so intimate with my feelings.
Life is not a wonderful thing.
- CG
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