‘In, truth, you like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it.’
so much truth. I spent my afternoon in the local clinic’s office getting stitches on my thigh. again. I really have no idea what to do at this point. cutting is my only release. and I know it’s not healthy. I pray my children never ever attempt this. though it works… ultimately it won’t. in the end, the wounds on my heart will remain.. you cant heal wounds by making new ones. and while that is easy to say- it is not easy (for me) to follow. I need help. but I don’t know what kind. part of me wants to go back to the hospital but it hasn’t worked the other four times- why would it work now? maybe they could send me to a new hospital. but they won’t. i’m just going to sit on this huge ball of depressive pain and cross my fingers for better days to come.
a few months ago I purchased a journal. I’ve kept it at arm’s distance ever since. i’m not gonna lie- it’s been rocky. & today, I feel this in my bones:
will I ever stop feeling this way? will the pain of existing ever stop? every moment is painful and nearly too much to bear. it seems like god isn’t listening… but I know that’s not the case because god doesn’t give up on people. right? maybe i’m a special case. no matter what I do i’m hurting those I love. existing. not existing. doesn’t matter. will the pain never end? i’m not strong enough for this.. the battle’s too much.
when is it okay to give up? how much pain does it take? is this enough?
it feels like a waiting game. I’ve never been a patient person.. this game is stupid.
two weeks ago I self injured and received stitches because of it… I’ve now had stitches five more times. ranging from 6 and 32 stitches each. i’m not sure what i’m hoping to accomplish by such severe cuts… I just know I want the pain to stop. I didn’t do it to get back at somebody . or because I wanted attention. I didn’t do it to make a statement. I did it because sometimes the emotional fog & pain in my head is so intense.. the only way to get rid of it is to cut it out. now, i’m sure there are much more healthy coping mechanisms out there- but I just know what works for me (unfortunately).
the first two times I SI’d (self injured), I went to the ER for them to stitch me up. the third time though, I went to Immediate Care Center. mainly because I was afraid after the third time, the ER would make me go for inpatient treatment. marc sewed me up (30+ stitches) & didn’t send me the hospital but made me promise I wouldn’t cut for two days. and something inside me clicked. two days. not forever. not just today because then I would be focused on tomorrow’s self harm.. but ‘two days’… two days might work. I just need to get through today and tomorrow. I might be able to do this.
every day is a battle that I really don’t feel like facing. each morning I have to look myself in the mirror and say. ‘two days, aimee. not forever. just 2 days. you got this.’ and most days I do got this. but not every day. and that’s okay- because i’m trying. trying so very hard. & hopefully today will be day two for me… or I will start over tomorrow. either way- i’m gonna keep fighting.
prepare yourself. i’m about to rant.
The man I refer to as ‘Dad’ is not my biological father but the father that stepped in, adopted & raised me.
not once in that sentence did I say he was a wonderful, loving, kind father. he was harsh. many times verbally & emotionally abusive. but I am thankful he adopted me- having a dad is better than not having one, right? but now, i come back to today: & my leg (fresh with stitches still) is aching. I bumped into something earlier and immediately heard in my head “well, yeah- that’s what you get. it should hurt- you’re the dummy that did it.” and today, may 29, 2019 i finally realized that the voice i so frequently hear in my head putting me down isn’t my own but is none other than my dad. i want him to be different. i want him to be loving. and kind. and an engaged grandparent. but he’s not. narcissists can’t really help it. but what i really want to say is ‘eff you. all i wanted was a daddy. and you were an asshole instead.’ BUT, i’m gonna put on my big girl panties and just say what i need to say here. and right now i just need to move on. && accept what is done & what cannot be changed. one thing’s for sure though- i’m DONE hearing his negative voice in my head. i’m a grown ass adult, dang it. and i’ll hear what i want to hear!
&& love always, Aimee
Sunday was a hard day for me. we asked my grandparents for a loan so that we could purchase a larger home… the answer was no. so, being in the extreme mode i am in currently, i felt completely hopeless. i felt like our family of six would always be in this three bedroom home. it’s so crowded… and my eldest daughter (8) deserves her own space. i wish i could give them everything– i want to give them the world! but i can’t. and i felt like a terrible mother since i couldn’t provide a larger home for us- one with a backyard for the kids to play in. one with a garden in the front… and a white picket fence.
since i couldn’t provide the home, i cut. and i cut deep. and then i realized i needed help. i drove myself to the hospital… shaking the whole way there. due to my history, i was moved to the 5150 area of the ER and everything was taken from me (including my-gasp- phone). && after about three hours, i finally received my sutures. just before the doctor was finished, in walks my best friend && hubby. (i’m so thankful for those two. they’ve been by my side through SO MUCH over the last couple of years. but they are still here && i just can’t believe the luck i had in finding such a great husband and a wonderful best friend) 8 sutures && lots of talking to doctors & psych’s later, i got to go home. Hayli drove me. we talked the whole way. and that was that.
now, two days later, here i sit with a very painful cut & a reminder of what i did. reminder of what i am capable of. but also a reminder that my people aren’t going anywhere so i need to stop fearing they are. damn ‘fear of abandonment’ part of BPD. so i’m going to try a little harder next time remember my people aren’t going anywhere. & i’m good enough no matter what my mind tries to tell me.
&& love always, Aimee
Friday: January 18, 2019
I’m gonna kill myself tonight. Or i won’t. It’s currently 7:11pm and i’m enjoying a diet cherry 7up vodka soda.. And smoking. Within the next hour though, i will go inside and get my valium. And i’m going to decide one way or the other. To live or to die. To swallow the bottle full of pills and end this pain.. Or to continue to yet another agony filled day. I just don’t know if i can do it anymore.. I fear the pills may finally win tonight. I have fought for so long, i’m weak. And tired. And simply want to rest… to sleep peacefully and say goodbye to this world. My children will heal. My husband will have no problem moving on. The insurance money will cover our debt and my funeral. About that- i know i said i want to be cremated. I’ve reconsidered and want a burial site. I want my kids to be able to visit if they ever forgive me enough to be able to. I’m so sorry for all the pain i’ve caused each one of you and if i could’ve fixed it.. I would’ve. I fought long and hard. And i’m weak. And just done.
It’s tomorrow… 8:21am. I failed.
After being handed my prescription and appointment card, i sat in the waiting room quietly crying for ten minutes. Waiting for someone- anyone– to ask if i was okay. Because if they would have, i would have told them no. that i need help because i’m going to kill myself otherwise. But nobody questioned so i eventually walked out. I sat in that damn car for thirty minutes debating on going back inside to tell my doctor my plan for the night. But instead of going in, i took a breath, made my decision & calmly left the psychiatrists office. I picked up the girls from DJ’s and then spontaneously picked the big kids up from school early for a park playdate. We had so much fun at the park- even weston, though he was upset he missed dodgeball at school. For dinner we ordered pizza… something everyone would like. & we ordered the good kind (Round Table). Walter wanted supreme (which he doesn’t know i really dislike) so i said sure… and we had a nice meal as a family. After, i proceeded to head outside. Cup of ice in hand ready for my bong (and extra for the drink i planned on making). I smoked. & i drank. And wrote that sob story up there. After, i came inside, i cut a few times and showered- made sure to shave & put on nice panties since i planned on not waking up again. And honestly… i poured those pills in my hand multiple times. Never could get myself to take them though (i wanted to wait until the kids were asleep and i could just fall asleep peacefully in bed next to my husband… and drift off to nothingness). I did manage to drink 2 ½ strong cups of vodka soda though. Enough to where i told walter about my plans so he took my pills. Ended up falling asleep in hopes the valium that was already in me would be enough with the alcohol. But it wasn’t. Because i woke up this morning. Head pounding. Nice little reminder that i did not in fact get to finally rest but now will feel my eyeballs pounding out of my head all day. Awesome sauce. I’m still alive– yay.
today is 5/28/19. I feel differently (most days) than I did up there. but it’s been hard. and i’m still on this long journey to recovery.. seems I will never make it- but I know I will. just gotta keep at it!
&& please know, it isn’t only me suffering from borderline personality disorder. my husband suffers with me too. daily. it affects our entire family. I did not choose this illness any more than they chose not to have it. but that doesn’t excuse me giving up. I know firsthand the monsters were never in the closet but in my head.. so I get up and I fight– every day. I cannot give up. it’s no longer an option. but it has taken a long time to get here. and it’s been exhausting. i’m still fighting- some days i’m not fighting for myself but for my children, my husband or simply what I want for their future. it doesn’t have to be about me- just as long as i’m fighting. and I never stop.
do I regret it- the cutting & all the harm I’ve done to myself over the years? no. I don’t. each and every scar holds a moment of pain, of agony & anguish. each scar holds a moment when I was broken and falling to pieces and had no other way to escape than to cut it out. my scars are victories that I’ve made it through it all, ALIVE… && they are just that- scars. not new wounds. memories of old ones. so I don’t regret it. if I didn’t go through it all… I wouldn’t be who I am today. and I kind of like her now.. she’s growing on me.
&& love always, Aimee