cross my fingers.

‘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.

is this enough?

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:

7-28-19

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?

2 days

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.

my dad.

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

My Testimony ;)

I was five years old the first time i heard about jesus. My parents began taking us to church around that time but i didn’t truly understand my sinful state until i was several years older. When i was around 13, and living in Alabama, i went on a mission trip with my youth group. I remember being in a low income neighborhood and fixing up so many homes- whether it be by painting the outside or fixing leaks… anything we could do to help their living situation & show the love of christ. One of the evenings during church service, the preacher was talking about the genetic makeup of the eye and how it is scientifically impossible for the eyeball to function as it does (his information was from a known scientist who published several books… however this specific book contained conflicting information to his others since he claimed there had to be an outside source at work. Therefore, his book was quickly taken off the shelf and is no longer being published. Only a handful of copies remain.) I can’t remember what specifically was said that evening but i will never forget what i felt as my peers and i all sat on those bleachers. My heart raced. My palms were sweaty. I knew i was a sinner and i was going to hell. Something had clicked inside me- i had known of god ever since i could remember but at that moment, i knew that knowing of him isn’t the same as knowing him. I remember thinking ‘i don’t care if everyone stares at me and laughs, i AM walking down off this top bleacher and going down when they ask and i WILL be asking christ into my heart because i am not going to Hell when i die! && I couldn’t stand the burden of my sin any longer (and the weight of my sin had only been realized five minutes before… i cannot imagine what jesus felt on that cross with the weight of the entire world’s sins). And as soon as i knew in my heart that this was it- that i wasn’t leaving that gymnasium until jesus had forgiven me entirely, i was saved. No doubt in my mind. The relief i felt of handing my life over to God was perfectly surreal. Imagine the greatest feeling in the world. Now multiply it by about a million. That’s how it felt. And that’s how i know i’m saved & going to Heaven when i die.

Sunday not-so Funday

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