Posts Tagged ‘mental health’

I hate days when I end up craving the oblivion of narcotics and benzos. Today is a day when it feels like it’s all crashing around me. The last two-ish weeks have been really awesome. But without really thinking about it consciously, last night I crumbled beneath the weight of the fun. When I wonder when it’s all going to crash around me, it starts to.

When I start feeling guilty for making friends and having a life that is totally my own, I know how far I still have to go. When I feel trapped and cornered when the barriers are purely in my mind, it drives me even more insane.

So I break under the weight of small things, and the physical pain I’ve been experiencing and brushing aside for weeks flares with such intensity, I curse the stupidity of detoxing this year and wish I still had a bottle full of painkillers.

I napped over two hours this afternoon, a desperate attempt to ease my exhaustion and escape the pain for a while. Which worked while I was asleep, but now I can’t quite move. And not being able to move makes me panic. It means I am trapped.

And so the carousel continues to turn.

It’s the small realizations: how far I am from those I love, how foreign everything and everyone is here, how I still can’t, for the life of me, admit I feel like I’m dying from pain today. How innocent the other kids are here. And I realized yesterday that they really are kids, posing as badass miniadults. While I found it amusing and cute observing this, I can’t help but wonder at the badass stories of those who say nothing, but have the same half smile on their faces. And the thought I love most of all “what the fuck are you doing here, you’re just a whore”

Bleh.

Time to go lie in the grass to catch the dying rays of the sun.

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It’s now been six months since I detoxed from psychotropics and narcotics. I actually had to count out the months.. It feels like a lifetime has passed. And really, I have my um, birthday rapist to thank for all the positive changes I’ve gone through. I brooded for two months, then decided life as I was living it was completely unacceptable to me. So I changed it.

Six months on and I know there are still plenty of things that need changing. Mainly my ability to relate to other people outside of a sexual context. I’m being pretty forgiving towards myself in this aspect. Here’s why:

I’ve been mostly isolated for years, I cut out positive friendships because I didn’t feel I deserved them, and gravitated to those who were more damaged then me, or who affirmed my belief in my worthlessness. I cut all those people out too. But was too scared to make new friends. Plus, how do you create a friendship when the only friendships you’ve had for years would be created out of sex?

So I find myself in a weird position now. My beliefs have changed. My actions have changed. The way I life has changed. But I’ve only really been confronted with having to positively interact with others very recently.

So I find myself having to adjust while around people I’m trying to or want to befriend. Which is really weird.

I guess I would call this stage confusing. I’m breaking old patterns and I’m breaking through the brainwashing.

While the last six months (and longer, actually) have mostly been me by myself, that’s no longer the case. I’m actually trying to connect with other people in a positive way.

Which leaves me… unsettled.

I’m trying to find a new normal. And it’s working. But then every so often I’ll do or say something that reflects the person I used to be, and not who I am now.

I was trying to figure out why I kept acting on this compulsion. Cause I don’t do things believing I deserve nothing better, or to objectify myself intentionally.

I’m just trying to adjust. Which is hard. And could also be a sign that I have to stop placing myself in situations where I’m vulnerable to acting stupid.

To which I can say to myself, “duh”.

Anyways. It’s something for me to mull over.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4G4IaCOglE (warning: it’s loud!)

Stay safe ❤

 

My vision of the city I grew up in comes to be in flashes of Technicolor.

Doctors offices, roving doors of emergency rooms, psychiatric wards, rooms made to look comfortable while having my mind probed. Medication. Violence.

This city:

It’s the scent of desperation coating my skin. Hopeless that smells like Chanel *5. The scent of death in its sweet seduction. The scent of choking on the very air you breathe, gasping out without sound.

This city:

It’s the feel of silky stockings, riding up to my thighs. Sexy in heels, and covering up red gashes of misdirected anger. A multitude of sin wrapped in a pretty package yet still rotting.

This city:

It’s the blurred location, blurred vision of bedrooms, blurred vision of faces. Meaningless. Endless.

This city:

It’s the feeling of violation. Of violent penetration. Of silent pain.

This city:

It’s the reflection of a person I don’t recognize. A familiar face masked in death. A body waiting to expire and eyes who’s light has extinguished.

This city:

It’s the relentless drug of sex and money. Of devaluation, objectification, and money purchasing worth and consent.

This city:

It’s the loss of any sense of Self, of no longer being an autonomous entity. Body and mind a product belonging to those posing as loved ones.

This city:

It’s forced orgasms, forced screams, posing and pretending, terror and anxiety.

This city:

It’s the unbelievable question ‘Is this making love?’ while being raped. And as the customer is always -always- right, it’s my flirtatious answer and another blow to my soul.

This city:

It’s being indebted to my pimp after running out on a client turned violent.

This city:

It’s the inability to hold onto tainted money. And the lasting incredulity of minimum wage. The knowledge what I can make in an hour. And knowing I never could.

This city:

It’s filth. The inability to feel clean. The feeling of scalding water and abrasive surfaces and sobbing in the shower.

This city:

It’s degrading names, and derogatory terms, and shame. Of isolation. A conviction of corrupting anyone near me.

This city:

It’s finding false redemption in hatred masquerading as love. It’s waking up on the floor of a hotel room mostly dead. It’s anger at not being allowed to die.

This city:

It’s survival. It’s forgiveness. It’s redemption. It’s healing. It’s mine.