Inside Out

Hypergraphia - the compulsive need to write. I've felt so interrupted lately. It's hard to finish a thought or a sentence, much less write a full post. I'm still sad and that annoys me, but trying to pretend like pushing me will somehow make me less sad or stressed or crazy is just nonsense.

My online life is fantastic. If only the rest of my life went as smoothly. I find more and more that I feel most comfortable with either prepared speeches or written communication. I feel like I'm gonna mess up if I say "the wrong thing" and that fear isn't valid for this time and place.

I cut my arm today. I feel like I should be ashamed, but I'm not. I'd originally wanted to slam my head into the wall or cut my left hand off at the wrist. The few minutes it took to pry apart a disposable razor helped me to focus and to calm down. The few quick shallow cuts were more for the sting than anything else. Pain is remarkable for concentration. Sometimes when I feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum, afraid of my own overpowering emotions and down on the floor crying like a child, a little pain makes it better.

And I'm scared to eat, yet I'm desperate for comfort food. I can't seem to figure out whether I want to "not care" about my weight and just enjoy chocolate and life, or whether I want to forego the sweets and treats of the world (and a good deal of the appetizers and main courses as well) to be a size zero. And I'm tired of having to make this decision all over again every fucking day/week/month/year/life. The combination of going out (a lot) more and being on new medications has added about 15 lbs and I'm really not happy about it.

And i don't have the energy to be a fun mom; I just want my kid to be quiet and not have needs in the other room (kind of how I imagine my mom thinking of me.) Depression fucking sucks and I feel like there's no way at all he gets this. He says I'm acting distant - depression involves retreating inward. D'uh. He seems to want sanity or civility or something else I can't seem to muster right now. And it makes me feel like a jerk, but I really don't want to go out. I want to hide in my room, lick my wounds, burn off this weight, and write until my fingers bleed.






I love you ALL.

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To Write Love on Her Arms

Today is TWLOHA Day. TWLOHA is a non-profit that tries to encourage cutters, addicts, and other people in pain to talk about their stories and find hope. Sadly, it's also a Christian organization so part of the hope they offer is "God'll make it better!" and we all know what I think about that. However, I think cutting is important to talk about.

I cut the first time when I was 17 and the last time last winter. Like everything else I did during those years, it was a combination of punishment, pain, pleasure, and cry for help. The human body is pretty cool, and when confronted with pain it will often release endorphins to counteract that sensation. I got a rush when I puked, and I got a rush when I cut. Yes, it hurt - that was the point - but it also felt good, for a moment. Moments were so hard to come by back then, sometimes I created them.

For me at least, cutting is very closely linked with my body dysmorphia and my cult upbringing. I was told, over and over and over, in the repetative indoctrination style of a cult, that I was a burden, that I had too many needs, and that I was no good. I tried to cut away my flesh (my "Adam nature" or sinfulness) with a razor blade. I tried to make my physical body as small as possible, thinking maybe then I wouldn't take up too much space or be so in the way. I starved and I ran. When my hip went out, I couldn't run anymore so I went back to throwing up. I once carved the word "FAT" into my left thigh, and the scars are still there.

I really don't have some great secret for getting over any of the things I've moved beyond - anorexia, bulimia, drug abuse, cutting, or suicidal ideation. You just... do. You decide you'd rather live than die, and that's not always an easy decision to come by, but once you've made it, you stick with it. I want to live. So I'll eat, and sleep, and take better care of myself. It'll still be a struggle somedays to keep fighting for my health, but it gets better. As my life is better and coping skills improve - as I learn how to talk to you readers and how to express my feelings in healthy ways and in safe environments (yay therapy!) - I don't want to cut. Or puke. Or die.

If anyone out there is struggling with this stuff, your secret is safe with me. If you'd rather send a private email than leave a comment here, but you still want to talk about your pain or your story, I'm here to listen to you guys, too. You do me such an indescribable good: I can be me, naked and honest and flawed, and you still love me. Trust me, it's mutual. You can always email me privately at angieantitheist [at] gmail [dot] com or you can send me a message through Facebook (badge is on the right.)

Be good to yourselves and each other. Don't make fun of anybody's weight or appearance today (or ever, if you can teach yourself not to.) Remember that somebody you know and love may be hurting his or herself in secret, and don't think that just because someone looks put together, they aren't falling apart. Cutting sucks, and I'm glad people are talking about it, but you don't need god to stop it. You just stop. Throw out your razors and grow hairy legs if you have to. It's like purging or having sex with an ex or any other bad habit - you decide to stop, and find you're able.


Christina Aguilera - Beautiful (Official Music Video) - The funniest home videos are here

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