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
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.
I’m tired. so tired. my body physically aches and I yearn to crawl in bed to hide from it all. most of today has been spent existing. staring into nothingness & simply doing nothing. because I can’t muster up enough strength to do anything more than keep the kids alive– which is no easy feat. it seems like the things that make me happy are few and far between. I love my people fiercely but i’m just so tired. and most of my day is spend wishing I can escape– anywhere but here. whatever this is… is weird for me. i’m used to feeling this way… numb to the world and exhausted beyond belief but it’s always paired with crippling depression. depression so bad that I don’t want to live. and since the latter is absent, I don’t know what to make of these feelings. I hate living like this. it’s a wasted life. i’m miserable. and I just want it to stop so I can enjoy life.. supposedly that’s what I should be doing anyways. but right not I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be awake. I don’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone. I don’t have the energy to do anything- a shower barely happened today. can it all just stop?
these marks are from my last stay at the mental health hospital. Aka: the
looney bin. (I can call it that- I’ve been FOUR times now… I’ve earned it.) These are the marks of a girl who had enough. she couldn’t survive it any longer with such pain inside her.. so she did what she needed to do. do I recommend this? ABSOLUTELY NOT. it is a very unhealthy coping mechanism I learned at the age of 15 (15+ years ago) and has crept back up in the last couple years. But at my most recent stay, I self harmed (no, i’m not going to tell you how) the day before I left. the doctors & nurses never knew- I made sure to wear long sleeves because I knew if they found out, I wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. but I should’ve told them. for the betterment of myself. I should’ve thought about what was best for ME in the situation && not worried so much about what was going on at home. but I didn’t. and I got out. & i’m not gonna lie- I’ve self harmed multiple times since. it’s my go-to, always.
These wounds will heal in time but my insides seem to never heal. one step forward, two steps back. most days I wonder how much longer i’ll make it… at this point I simply beg & pray to make it through today. && tomorrow will just have to worry about itself.
&& love always, Aimee
&& 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