October 24, 2005
Downward Spiral
I knew exactly where I was headed before I ever got here. It's like I stood back and watched me take those deliberate steps backwards, knowing what I was doing, where I was going, and yet-- not giving a f**k about the downfall.
So here I am, once again, looking up from the bottom of this hole I've dug myself into. How much further can I go? I guess the question really, is do I want to find that out in the first place? Part of me says no. Part of me says hell yeah.
I met Nicole at the gym last night. 4 hours later I returned home, and she to her apartment. Pete wasn't happy. Said 4 hours at the gym is too long. I tried to justify it all by saying, "well, we didn't do cardio the whole time." (as though that were a perfectly valid excuse for the obsessive-compulsive, neurotic trance-like state I tend to find myself in when I'm at the gym, where Time doesn't exist). Pete seemed to accept that answer. Or maybe he was just extremely tired as it was nearly 2 am when I walked in the door.
I dunno. Does it matter? Back to wearing the knee brace again. Damn it. Runner's knee. Tendons pulling away from the bone. No pain, no gain, right? That's what vicodin is for. painkiller. Kill the pain. Just make everything fucking STOP already. Inside. Outside. Somebody just make it all go AWAY. I just want to disappear.
I don't know what the hell my problem is these days. I've woken up each morning feeling a little lower than the day before. And it only goes downhill from there. I feel a miasma of emotions all at once, and yet I couldn't name them if I tried. All I know is I've got this perpetual... lump in my throat, like I could cry at any second. But I won't give in. I won't. The more I try and pretend I'm fine, the worse it becomes. I think with the reduced Effexor, I feel more. Before, I was pretty much numb all the time. No extremes either direction. And though I can't name it, it's all there. But ya know what? F**k the Effexor. I'm not going to take it anymore. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life in some state of pseudo-happiness or pseduo-reality, simply because I can't maintain a state of semi-normalcy on my own. It's a cover up. It's only hiding the true thoughts, true feelings beneath little peach pills marked 75mg, under the excuse that it's a "chemical thing", as though that alone is justification. As though that answer is good enough.
I was on three a day. 225 mg. I'm down to one though, just 75 mg. Another week and I'll be off them totally. I know I can't just stop taking it all together, as the withdrawl effects are enough to make one seriously consider some form of suicide. Anything to end it. And for one like me who's already harbored those thoughts in many different ways, many different forms over the years, that's probably not the best place to go. I may be mental, but I'm not stupid.
I kinda like the mini-withdrawl effects though. I'm getting used to it. It's strangely like little.... explosions going off inside my head at random times throughout the day. My eyes get blurry for just a brief moment. It feels like my brain is just floating around... swimming around and around inside it's own little sphere of.... nothing. Like having a constant head-cold, or being just a bit high. That swimmy, semi-disoriented, not-quite-there-but-functional-disassociative state of mind. It's strangely comforting. Like feeling the old familiar feeling of hunger pains. Or sore muscles. Shin splints and runner's knee. Blade on Skin. Rip me open. Tear me apart. Make me bleed. Only because I can hurt myself so much harder than any of you ever could. My own little F**k You to an ever darkening world. Am I just being irrational. Or is this some sort of morbid documentation into the depths of darkness. Something concrete. Something tangible. Something they can all print off and hold in their hands later and read and maybe understand me..... post mortem.
I'm not me. I don't feel like me. Where did this sudden anxiety, anger come from? Tense and agitated and I want to cut. To run. To self-destruct in the most extreme way possible. The hardest way. And what better way than to starve. To draw it out, slow and painful. To end it all in some quick method is too good for me. I don't deserve that luxury.
I should have gone to Judy's on Friday. I spent the day trying to get out of my head. Trying to get out of the clutches of this all-consuming depression... or anxiety.. or whatever you want to call it. I cut again. Cut on Saturday too. I knew it was only a matter of days before I gave into the incessant thoughts and feelings of actually carrying out the action. Been fighting that all week. Should have gone to Judy's this afternoon as well. At least it would have kept me out of my head... in a safe place.... not by myself. But lately-- I consider going, and then this other side kicks in and I feel guilty for it. Like-- at 26 years old, I should be able to handle being by myself without resorting to some form of self-destructive behavior. But, whatever.
The weekend pretty much sucked. I don't know how much of it was due to the physical self or the emotional/mental self, or perhaps some morbid combination of the two working against an already overloaded mind.
The only good part? I met Nicole on Thursday night. Amazing, yet sad how much we have in common.
Random hypothetical question for the day: What's the point in life if you're not gonna live it in the first place? Hypothetical. Hence the words in bold. I don't need to be 302'd somewhere. (302-- code for being held against will for 72 hours to keep one safe from oneself.) This is my journal. My thoughts. But-- ya never know who just might stumble across it. I'll take the risk though if writing means I gain just a fraction of an ounce of sanity, stability back. At least for a few more hours.
I want to cry, to scream, to pull out my hair and beat the shit outta something. But I'll just go to the gym, then go home. Smile. Bury the anger, the anxiety again. Cause I don't know where it's coming from in the first place, and part of me is quite afraid to find out.
Posted by Wendy on October 24, 2005 5:03 PM
Comments
My name is Cassidi. I am 17, and as you probley have guessed, annorexic. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that I always look foward, and read what you post. I am most likely drawn to your writing because I can relate it to my life so often. I find you saying often "I should have gone to Judy's today." I find that ironic. Every time something bad happens, you should have just gone to Judy's. Just wanted to tell you that I admire your writing and think you should take the risk and post on this diary, especially if it helps you escape reality as well as others. Take Care:)
Cassidi
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Hey Cassidi--
Thanks so much for posting. You know-- you're right. I never realized it before until you pointed it out. On my bad days, I DO always say, "I should have gone to Judy's." It's like I KNOW that, but it never really hit me until you brought it up. I wonder how many of my bad days could be avoided if I got myself in a "safe" place before the "bad day" and bad habits kick in.....
wendy
Posted by: Cassidi at October 24, 2005 6:31 PM