September 13, 2005

Spiraling Once Again

When did everything change? When did everything begin to fall apart? I feel like I'm clawing my way through life, fighting for every breath, every step-- and I never get ahead.

I cut last Friday morning. It had been a long night, only got about 3 hours of sleep, and I woke up already dreading having to make it through the day. I love the solitude of night-time. The quiet stillness when everyone and everything around me has stopped flying through the day in warp-speed, always on the move. Granted-- my thoughts don't stop when everyone else slows down-- but lessening the external chaos lessens the magnitude of my overactive mind.

I even skipped class last Friday because it was such a "not good"
day. If one were to look up the term "self-sabatage" in the dictionary, I'm sure I'd be referenced somewhere amongst the definitions. I'm going to school to finish my degree, and yet-- when things get too overwhelming, school-work sorta gets put on the back-burner, so-to-speak. I end up giving in to Ana, instead of going to class. It's only the 4th week of school and I've already missed at least one day in each class.

It's no one's fault but my own (well, minus the two days I drove around campus for nearly an hour looking for a damn parking space within a 2 mile radius). The other days I either fell back asleep after Pete left for work (instead of going to the gym... I'm such a lazy fat-ass) or because I simply couldn't find the energy or motivation to leave the house. I missed one of my lecture classes because I fell asleep in the student center and woke up 45 minutes into the hour-15 min class.

I'm digging my own grave, and I know it, and yet... I just keep digging. Despite the hands outstretched to help. Despite the knowledge of what I am doing to myself and where this path will eventually lead me. I just keep going, falling further and further down this spiral. And I wonder how long before I reach the bottom. I wonder how much more of this I can take.

It helps that I've been going to Judy's on my short-schedule days. It's easier to stay focused on studying when I don't have other distractions around (like the dogs or the phone or any of a number of other things I find to do instead). It also keeps me safe from myself. Last Friday and Monday both had the potential of turning into days of continued self-destructive behavior. I debated for a little while about going to Judy's on Friday. Ended up going, which was good. And then Monday, I went to the office for about 5 hours. Both her office and her house are safe places for me. I don't know why-- but they are. And safety-for me- is hard to find. I carry my blades on me... my purse, backpack, car. It's a sick form of safety in knowing that should the overwhelming need arise to cut, I can do it. Monday-- even at Judy's office-- was tough though. I considered cutting. The blades were right there just an arm's length away. I spent most of the day trying to study, simultaneously trying to keep the thoughts at bay. Didn't work so well, but at least I didn't cut.

I hate it when Pete notices the cuts. I know how much it hurts him, and I hate that I am the cause of it. I hate it. But I don't control it. I've been wearing long-sleeved shirts around him since Friday, even though it's been in the 80's and 90's. Sometimes, I really AM cold-- even in that sort of heat-- but he figured out the other reason for the long-sleeves. I guess when Pete woke up this morning to get ready for work, he turned on the light. During the night my sleeves had moved up putting the cuts in plain view. The last week or so I've been up late (2 or 3 a.m.) studying, and so Pete's been letting me sleep in a little. Not today. Today he woke me up. I could tell just from the way he was acting that something was up, cause he was quieter than usual. He went outside to put his shoes on, and I followed him, intending on telling him goodbye before he left.

From out of nowhere, he brought up the cutting. I instantly felt sick. It's more like a mix of anxiety and fear and shame and guilt and probably a bunch of other things, all spinning around inside. When Pete asks about things like that, I can't lie to him. I don't WANT to in the first place. (It's more that if he doesn't ask, I don't say anything). I apologized (once again), and his only response was "I know", a conversation we've had on numerous occassions. He brings it up, I apologize, but he won't accept it.
I could sense the disappointment in his voice, in his actions. I hadn't cut in about a week or 10 days, and "you just threw it all away." (his words). Fuck. As if I don't know that already. As if I'm not aware of that every time I do it. I don't even count days anymore, cause I know it doesn't last.

The sick thing? The deeper I cut, the harder I do it and the more times I do it (in one occurrance), the longer I go between cutting. The cutting takes awhile to heal, and while it's healing-- I don't always have that pressing need to cut again. But then again, I interfere with the healing process as well, believing for some reason (fill-in-the-blank) I deserve it.

I tell Pete I promise I'll call when things get bad. I'll wake him up; I'll do ANYthing but give into the behaviors. And at the time, I have every intention of doing so. But when it comes down to it-- in those moments I feel completely and totally alone. It's just me and my thoughts and I'm not the one in control. I tell Judy I'll call, but I rarely ever do. I think it's more from guilt than anything. I feel bad for having to depend on other people to get me through. I feel bad for waking her up in the middle of the night just because I can't deal with my own head.

I'm already spending 13-15 hours a week either at the office or her house. I wonder sometimes why she suggested it in the first place. Why would she do that for ME? Why not one of her other clients instead? As much as I need the safety, I also feel guilty for needing it in the first place.

Anyway, Pete started talking about how he hates watching me slowly kill myself; how he hates feeling so helpless. He went on about how he's never seen me this bad; he's never seen me so out-of-control. Said the past doesn't matter anymore and I have to stay focused on the future, OUR future specifically. I know that. But what I don't think HE gets sometimes is how helpless I feel in not being able to control this. How desperately I wish I could just make this all go away, and that I could be 'normal'. He gets choked up when we talk about it. The guilt I feel for causing HIM to feel that way immediately makes me feel like cutting again. A never ending cycle.

Pete asked if he was going to have to start doing "checks" to make sure I'm not cutting. Then, when I didn't respond-- he said he thinks he's going to anyway. Just the same as when they used to check HIM for track marks. He was inpatient for a month. He didn't get the choice to go or not. I was given the choice starting at about the age of 17 (still legally underage), and when I refused-- no one questioned my decision. I think sometimes it would be easier if I had no choice in the matter. Then it wouldn't be ME deciding, so I wouldn't have to feel guilty for it.

This never ends. Never goes away. I want more from this life. But I don't know where to start. Don't know what to do or what to say. Everything falls apart just as quickly as I begin to rebuild what breaks. I'm not strong enough to do this on my own, and I don't know how much more of this I can take. I'm falling fast inside this illusionary dream-world of illogical rationalizations and self-destruction. And yet, I believe every word. I'm my own worst enemy, fighting myself day and night, even when I sleep. I don't even know the number of times I've woken up in a panic, wondering if the dream I just had was real. Wondering if I ate or not, terrified that it just might NOT be a dream after all.

And it only sets me up for further self-destruction.

Why don't I ask for help in those moments? Quite simply, I'm at my weakest, most vulnerable point then. And I quickly learned years ago that vulnerability is not safe. When Judy or Pete see me like that-- fear takes over. Maybe it's remnants of certain.... er.... things from the past, that still rise up and haunt me when I least expect it. I don't know anymore.

No one seems to understand how strong the thoughts are these days. I don't think I have enough words to adequately explain it all. No one seems to understand the fear, the anxiety simply even walking into the kitchen causes me. I can't even look at food without instantly debating whether or not I'll eat. And if I DO eat, then it's just one more fight as to whether or not I'll purge. And yet-- I can't allow myself to say half of what I want to. I try to make light of everything. Try to laugh it off, even when the nervous-laughter is only a means of keeping things at the surface. Pete says I'm not "congruent" with what I say and do. I say I'm fine-- but he can see differently. Judy said the same thing a few months ago.

Waiting day after day for someone to free me from my self-created prison. Yet, all they can do is find the key, unlock the gate. I'm the one who has to step outside it's borders.

I just wish this all would end.

Posted by Wendy on September 13, 2005 10:44 PM

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Posted by: Cristina at September 17, 2005 6:14 AM

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