I just came so hard my hand is shaking. Just one, for some reason. I have it really bad for a straight girl. My gaydar went WAY off when I saw her and when I found out she wasn't gay, I was shocked. We spend a considerable amount of time talking and man. She's hot, athletic, and likes teaching. Perfect! Except for the straight thing. Don't get me wrong, I love my straight friends, but when I want to date them the straight thing gets in the way.
She came to the bar with me the other night when I was hanging out with my brother and uncle. And today my mind just wandered and I imagined she followed me into the bathroom and kissed me, and then I did something totally un-me. I put HER up against the wall and made her arch her back and yell as loudly as she'd dare.
Operation Toaster Oven has commenced. I want this girl. And now that she is no longer subbing at my school, it's open field.
And if the sex is anything like this just was, I won't want to leave my bedroom all summer. I have a blissfully child free summer. I love being a teacher. And I love liking girls.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
My thoughts on self injury, the day after
"I was trying to get equilibrium from two extremes: either I was so upset that I had to cut myself to relieve it, or I was so numb that I had to cut myself to get back to being there." Women Living with Self Injury
Well, there was that. The marks were gone this morning. I was disappointed. I like marks. I carry my history on my skin and I'm a little proud of that, as twisted as it is.
I know why I'm feeling weird about this cutting business. I had a revelation, driving to Taco Bell to get some cheap comfort food. I talked to BFF earlier and sounded very calm about the whole thing. And I was last night, in a way. See, the ache was inside. The butterflies were. But my head was calm and my voice was even. I explained that I think of it like my X@n@x (I'm hoping this will help eliminate spam commenters): a quick fix that works, even though as a habit it's bad. I'm using pain to medicate my anxiety. And it works quite well. To me, it's like taking my medicine. No stigma. To me, that is. But since I've been on this L@mictal, my speech is even and calm. My thoughts move at a normal pace and do not make me dizzy. I can think about things in a logical order and contemplate the possible effects of my actions.
However, my medicine does not take away the feeling. The feeling that makes me cut. It's hard to imagine. I feel my ache in the same spot, near my stomach, and I point to it when I talk about it. Think about the achy feeling you get when you break up with someone. The panic you feel when you think you're losing them. The dread of something looming in the future. All of those feelings put together is what I feel like when I'm scared or sad and I want to cut. Cutting makes it go away. Not forever, but for the moment. And it helps me sleep. But my speech belies my emotion.
Before I took medicine, I was a much more intense person. Not to say that I'm boring now, but there was a definite difference. That's part of both bipolar and borderline. I don't get the rushes I did then. So even though I want to cut, I don't get the rush of thoughts that come out in my speech, making it seem like I'm faking. And this whole slow thing makes me WANT to cut. I miss that feeling.
I want my rushes back. I want the adrenaline, the heart pounding, and the swirling thoughts. I felt alive. So yeah, I'd cut to get that back.
Now that I've figured that out, maybe I can find other ways to calm down. I don't know. But it scares me that I'm so calm about it. It means the next time I feel bad, I'll feel no qualms about just going right ahead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Relevant Quotes I got from here
The plain fact of it was that I was miserable—though my misery wasn’t so much sadness as it was a shrieking unease, a gnawing despair, which I had been trying that morning to cut out of myself. –Caroline Kettlewell, Skin Game
I started cutting because at a particular point in my life I ran afoul of a certain unique set of circumstances for which neither experience nor my own emotional constitution had equipped me. I can’t say what precise conjunction of factors led me to choose self-mutilation as my recourse, nor can I say how my life might have been different if any one of these factors had been otherwise. All I can say is that my skin itself seemed to cry out for an absolution in blood.
I kept cutting, because it worked. When I cut, I felt better for a while. When I cut, my life no longer overwhelmed me. I felt too keenly the threat of chaos, of how things can get away from you in a thousand ways… Entropy keeps eating at the ramparts, and I cut to try to shore them up. –ditto
I stopped cutting because I always could have stopped cutting; that’s the plain and inelegant truth. No matter how compelling the urge, the act itself was always a choice. I had no power over the urge, but the act itself was always a choice. I had no power over the flood tide of emotions that drove me to that brink, but I had the power to decide whether or not to step over. Eventually I decided not to.
Stopping, however, was not at all the same thing as ending the desire. Even now, I still sometimes ache with a fierce, organic need for cutting’s seductive, minimalist simplicity. I expect that I will always be the kind of person who is too much aware of the boundlessness of chaos; it’s like having an unfortunate sixth sense, alive to the teeming, invisible undercurrents of anarchy streaming past us as every moment. I don’t say it makes me stronger, or more interesting, or gives me character; it’s just a part of my fabric of self. –ditto
do the weeping
I cannot.
–S. Marie
Well, there was that. The marks were gone this morning. I was disappointed. I like marks. I carry my history on my skin and I'm a little proud of that, as twisted as it is.
I know why I'm feeling weird about this cutting business. I had a revelation, driving to Taco Bell to get some cheap comfort food. I talked to BFF earlier and sounded very calm about the whole thing. And I was last night, in a way. See, the ache was inside. The butterflies were. But my head was calm and my voice was even. I explained that I think of it like my X@n@x (I'm hoping this will help eliminate spam commenters): a quick fix that works, even though as a habit it's bad. I'm using pain to medicate my anxiety. And it works quite well. To me, it's like taking my medicine. No stigma. To me, that is. But since I've been on this L@mictal, my speech is even and calm. My thoughts move at a normal pace and do not make me dizzy. I can think about things in a logical order and contemplate the possible effects of my actions.
However, my medicine does not take away the feeling. The feeling that makes me cut. It's hard to imagine. I feel my ache in the same spot, near my stomach, and I point to it when I talk about it. Think about the achy feeling you get when you break up with someone. The panic you feel when you think you're losing them. The dread of something looming in the future. All of those feelings put together is what I feel like when I'm scared or sad and I want to cut. Cutting makes it go away. Not forever, but for the moment. And it helps me sleep. But my speech belies my emotion.
Before I took medicine, I was a much more intense person. Not to say that I'm boring now, but there was a definite difference. That's part of both bipolar and borderline. I don't get the rushes I did then. So even though I want to cut, I don't get the rush of thoughts that come out in my speech, making it seem like I'm faking. And this whole slow thing makes me WANT to cut. I miss that feeling.
I want my rushes back. I want the adrenaline, the heart pounding, and the swirling thoughts. I felt alive. So yeah, I'd cut to get that back.
Now that I've figured that out, maybe I can find other ways to calm down. I don't know. But it scares me that I'm so calm about it. It means the next time I feel bad, I'll feel no qualms about just going right ahead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Relevant Quotes I got from here
The plain fact of it was that I was miserable—though my misery wasn’t so much sadness as it was a shrieking unease, a gnawing despair, which I had been trying that morning to cut out of myself. –Caroline Kettlewell, Skin Game
I started cutting because at a particular point in my life I ran afoul of a certain unique set of circumstances for which neither experience nor my own emotional constitution had equipped me. I can’t say what precise conjunction of factors led me to choose self-mutilation as my recourse, nor can I say how my life might have been different if any one of these factors had been otherwise. All I can say is that my skin itself seemed to cry out for an absolution in blood.
I kept cutting, because it worked. When I cut, I felt better for a while. When I cut, my life no longer overwhelmed me. I felt too keenly the threat of chaos, of how things can get away from you in a thousand ways… Entropy keeps eating at the ramparts, and I cut to try to shore them up. –ditto
I stopped cutting because I always could have stopped cutting; that’s the plain and inelegant truth. No matter how compelling the urge, the act itself was always a choice. I had no power over the urge, but the act itself was always a choice. I had no power over the flood tide of emotions that drove me to that brink, but I had the power to decide whether or not to step over. Eventually I decided not to.
Stopping, however, was not at all the same thing as ending the desire. Even now, I still sometimes ache with a fierce, organic need for cutting’s seductive, minimalist simplicity. I expect that I will always be the kind of person who is too much aware of the boundlessness of chaos; it’s like having an unfortunate sixth sense, alive to the teeming, invisible undercurrents of anarchy streaming past us as every moment. I don’t say it makes me stronger, or more interesting, or gives me character; it’s just a part of my fabric of self. –ditto
It serves a lot of functions in my life. I use it as a way to punish myself, I use it as a way to medicate myself, I use it for the tension release when things get too strong or too built up. –Meredith, in Jane Wegscheider Hyman’s Women Living with Self-Injury
When I’'m done, after this big huge buildup, then there’s an overwhelming feeling of calmness, an overwhelming sense of peace. –ditto
My woundsdo the weeping
I cannot.
–S. Marie
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Help.
I went through things in the attic. I found old joiurnal entries, some marked with blood from when I cut while I was writing. It brought back vivid memories of nights that I've talked about so often that I feel numb to them, but when I read these pages, it was written so close to the event that it seemed more real to me. I felt off for the rest of the day.
I went to The Creep's facebook page (we're not friends but he's friends with a lot of mine). His profile picture is him with some girl. This girl is very attractive. She's someone I would hit on. She has better hair than me. I got all funny feeling.
And now I want to cut. I haven't wanted to this much in a while. I avoided the hardware aisle in the drugstore because I knew I'd want to buy razors. I have sharp knives here but I have to be careful with those. I don't want to cut too much. It is very controlled.
The scars on my legs are like tally marks. How many times have I felt chaos inside? How many times have I needed to make it go away?
I need to go to sleep. I want to be rested for school. If I start the Monday off tired, it throws my whole week off. But I want to make my insides quiet.
*five minutes passes*
I tried to cut. It didn't work. The blade is too dull and if I pull it along my skin, it's a long knife and I'm afraid it would make a long cut. One that would need medical attention, which I want to avoid. I'm very careful and methodical about this. I always have been. So I scratched. I didn't draw blood but I left a lot of red stinging skin. I feel a little quieter. Not as good as if I had cut, but better. Maybe able to sleep.
I hadn't self injured in 2 years. Fuck.
I went to The Creep's facebook page (we're not friends but he's friends with a lot of mine). His profile picture is him with some girl. This girl is very attractive. She's someone I would hit on. She has better hair than me. I got all funny feeling.
And now I want to cut. I haven't wanted to this much in a while. I avoided the hardware aisle in the drugstore because I knew I'd want to buy razors. I have sharp knives here but I have to be careful with those. I don't want to cut too much. It is very controlled.
The scars on my legs are like tally marks. How many times have I felt chaos inside? How many times have I needed to make it go away?
I need to go to sleep. I want to be rested for school. If I start the Monday off tired, it throws my whole week off. But I want to make my insides quiet.
*five minutes passes*
I tried to cut. It didn't work. The blade is too dull and if I pull it along my skin, it's a long knife and I'm afraid it would make a long cut. One that would need medical attention, which I want to avoid. I'm very careful and methodical about this. I always have been. So I scratched. I didn't draw blood but I left a lot of red stinging skin. I feel a little quieter. Not as good as if I had cut, but better. Maybe able to sleep.
I hadn't self injured in 2 years. Fuck.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
A long goodbye.
I don't really write here anymore. I suppose I don't know what to write about. I wish I didn't have to compartmentalize my life and my blogs.
I think I'm going to leave this one be for a while. Come visit me at this address here to read about my daily life adventures with being a teacher and having mental health issues. This blog has served its purpose. I will come back to it when I need to. So don't unsubscribe it from your reader or anything. If you come read, read my other blog. I'm on my way to updating it right now.
I think I'm going to leave this one be for a while. Come visit me at this address here to read about my daily life adventures with being a teacher and having mental health issues. This blog has served its purpose. I will come back to it when I need to. So don't unsubscribe it from your reader or anything. If you come read, read my other blog. I'm on my way to updating it right now.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Wait, who?
So, you know how I said I was so happy?
Yeah, I take that back. I cried in therapy Friday for the first time in a long time. I don't cry much anymore, but before I knew what was happening, I felt tears not only in my eyes but sliding out down to my temples...my head was tilted sideways, in my hands. I was starting to talk about how I am fitting into my new identity, and figuring out what that is. Loren asked me how I felt about that. Cue the tears.
How does it feel? Well, it feels like I've stepped into someone else's skin. It doesn't fit. I can move around like I did before, but the way my body responds is unfamiliar. I look at myself in the mirror. I see hair growing out, a nice sweater, and nice makeup. I have a counter full of vegetables and tofu in the freezer. These might all be objectively good things, but they are foreign to me. Me, the fresh-faced, hoodie wearing, spiky haired, Taco-Bell eating person.
What I cannot figure out, and what's impossible to ever know, is if this is really Em minus bipolar, or if this is Em On Medication; medication that changed my personality and preferences. I hate the thought that so much of my identity was wrapped up in bipolar. I WANT to feel wild and crazy. I want my spark back. I'm boring myself. I used to be opinionated and interesting. Now I sit at home eating tofu reading books. I'm not ready for this. I don't want to take my medicine. I can't even take pictures. I can't see things anymore. I miss the person I was. I'm grieving for her.
The more people tell me I seem different, the worse I feel. I just want to know if this is the real me. What IS the real me?
And I still get irritable so it's not as if I'm a zombie with no mood changes. I guess my lightning fast flashes are gone. I should wait and settle into myself for a while, I know. If I go off this particular med for 3 days, I have to start all the way back and titrate back up. That would really screw with me, as well as make the side effects resurface. And also, that means I'd have to get the prescription for the starter pack and that means telling my doctor. She would not be happy. And I'm a people pleaser.
It all just feels so strange. I'm glad I don't spend all my time angry or down, but I'm not sure about all these changes. Just not sure.
Yeah, I take that back. I cried in therapy Friday for the first time in a long time. I don't cry much anymore, but before I knew what was happening, I felt tears not only in my eyes but sliding out down to my temples...my head was tilted sideways, in my hands. I was starting to talk about how I am fitting into my new identity, and figuring out what that is. Loren asked me how I felt about that. Cue the tears.
How does it feel? Well, it feels like I've stepped into someone else's skin. It doesn't fit. I can move around like I did before, but the way my body responds is unfamiliar. I look at myself in the mirror. I see hair growing out, a nice sweater, and nice makeup. I have a counter full of vegetables and tofu in the freezer. These might all be objectively good things, but they are foreign to me. Me, the fresh-faced, hoodie wearing, spiky haired, Taco-Bell eating person.
What I cannot figure out, and what's impossible to ever know, is if this is really Em minus bipolar, or if this is Em On Medication; medication that changed my personality and preferences. I hate the thought that so much of my identity was wrapped up in bipolar. I WANT to feel wild and crazy. I want my spark back. I'm boring myself. I used to be opinionated and interesting. Now I sit at home eating tofu reading books. I'm not ready for this. I don't want to take my medicine. I can't even take pictures. I can't see things anymore. I miss the person I was. I'm grieving for her.
The more people tell me I seem different, the worse I feel. I just want to know if this is the real me. What IS the real me?
And I still get irritable so it's not as if I'm a zombie with no mood changes. I guess my lightning fast flashes are gone. I should wait and settle into myself for a while, I know. If I go off this particular med for 3 days, I have to start all the way back and titrate back up. That would really screw with me, as well as make the side effects resurface. And also, that means I'd have to get the prescription for the starter pack and that means telling my doctor. She would not be happy. And I'm a people pleaser.
It all just feels so strange. I'm glad I don't spend all my time angry or down, but I'm not sure about all these changes. Just not sure.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Hey beautiful people
I know I've been gone. I've been too busy to really consider many of the things I discuss here.
I'm so happy. Lamictal saved my life. For the first time in, oh, 8 years, I feel...sane. Normal. I'm not being dragged around by my emotions. My entire identity revolved around my emotions and mood swings. So much of it was tied to my bipolar. Now that it's taken care of, I don't know what to do with myself or who the hell I am. I'll write more about that later.
I want some vegetarian recipes. I'm not sure I'm actually going totally veggie, but definitely cutting down on meat. And also, how do you people eat vegetables? I grew up in a meat and potatoes family. No idea how to eat veggies except in salad, and that can get boring unless it's spiced up. Help!
PS-I've been having trouble with spam commenters. I might have to add the word verification on here, even though it's a pain. Sorry. I'm just tired of deleting the spam.
I know I've been gone. I've been too busy to really consider many of the things I discuss here.
I'm so happy. Lamictal saved my life. For the first time in, oh, 8 years, I feel...sane. Normal. I'm not being dragged around by my emotions. My entire identity revolved around my emotions and mood swings. So much of it was tied to my bipolar. Now that it's taken care of, I don't know what to do with myself or who the hell I am. I'll write more about that later.
I want some vegetarian recipes. I'm not sure I'm actually going totally veggie, but definitely cutting down on meat. And also, how do you people eat vegetables? I grew up in a meat and potatoes family. No idea how to eat veggies except in salad, and that can get boring unless it's spiced up. Help!
PS-I've been having trouble with spam commenters. I might have to add the word verification on here, even though it's a pain. Sorry. I'm just tired of deleting the spam.
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