Black and White

Can you hit rock bottom while you are simultaneously experiencing what is supposed to feel like the best day of your life thus far?

I think I'm there.

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It happens every year. June rolls around and I turn into a fucking crazy bitch. It's my father's birthday on the 6th, and everyone else is celebrating father's day this month. What has made me this way? Maybe it's from making too many meaningless cards for my uncle or my dead father in elementary school that would just get shoved under my mom's bed. Or maybe it's just like how penguins are hard wired to just suddenly know they're supposed to migrate and probably die during the journey.

Every June I'm supposed to self destruct.

I forget about it too. Every year. And then I'm sobbing and screaming and reaching for sharp objects and it all comes back to me. "Where's a calender?! God what day is it?"

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I just weighed myself. 126. Early last week I was down to 118 again after all the graduation food that was shoved at me. Now? Well, I'd talk myself into saying it's just food weight blah blah, which some of it is... but my measurements are up too. On my arms and my waist. So I'm restarting ABC with tomorrow being my first day. 500.

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Got a prescription for Ativan. But it's too late. The anxiety attacks aren't nearly the source of my problems right now. It's my desire to destroy myself. Old habits have returned. Binge drinking, SI, eating eating eating.

Locked myself in the bathroom and found my poorly hidden kitchen knife. Performed the ritual. At first BF ignored me and didn't notice it. Then when he did, we danced the somber dance of silently cleaning me up and bandaging my wounds. He bought me ice cream and root beer which I began to eat, hoping to feel something other than empty.

Then I stopped. I began to feel too much. Happiness began creeping in and BF decided to go to bed, thinking his trip to the corner store had saved the day. I locked myself in the bathroom again and pulled off the band-aids -- the only things standing in my way of numbing myself again.

This time BF wasn't as supportive. "What the hell? Do you know how unacceptable this is? You don't get a bandage this time. You don't deserve it." I must have cut deeper than I realized, because blood was dripping down my leg this time. I don't know what I feel now. I agree with him though. I don't deserve to be soothed and told everything will be ok. My head is fucked up and I destroy everything I touch.

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Oh, this past Saturday BF proposed. I'll comment more on that some other time when I feel less like putting my fist through a wall.

All my love and support to everyone and all my readers. I'm sorry I haven't been commenting as much. I'll get better. But don't worry too much about me... I probably make my life sound worse and more dramatic than it actually is *hugs*