"Never did I wanna be here again/And I don't remember why I came." -Voodoo, by Godsmack.
Sitting like a proper Victorian girl is terribly uncomfortable. Legs down, back straight. I like to sit cross-legged and ruin my posture. Why am I sitting like a proper girl, you ask. Because my scabs will split otherwise, meaning cleaning with rubbing alcohol, the smell of which brings back every memory of being poked with needles, hooked to an IV bag, and throwing up. The smell sickens me. Who doesn't hate hospitals?
So here's the occurance of events.
1. Home alone.
2. Feeling sick, as always.
3. Feeling very nauseous, which happens less frequently than feeling sick, but far more often than I would like. I keep my mouth shut about it most of the time [for more than one reason...get it? Barf humor?]
4. I sat on the bathroom floor dry heaving, but couldn't throw up. Which hurts one's abdominal muscles terribly. And the gag reflex muscles in your throat. "Make yourself throw up, you'll feel better!" Nope. I tried and ended up having half my sinus infecting come out my nose and mouth instead. That was unpleasant.
And then I thought, "I can't take this anymore."
And in a sudden breakdown, I went downstairs in my room and found one of the many plastic vials of exact-o blades I have, courtesy of Weber State University. I then took one of my pillows [it needed to be retired anyway], pulled off the pillowcase, and put on some comfy capris.
I put the pillow in the bathtub and wished bathtubs were lined with pillows because I could probably sleep rather well in them.
"I'm...infected
I'm infected
I'm infected by your genetics
Shilo, I'm the doctor
Shilo, I'm your father
Oh, Shilo, that was close!
Take your medicine
I'm infected by your genetics
Shilo, you're my patient
Shilo, be more patient
You have limitations-don't go chasing flies
I must be protective
You cannot be reckless!
That's what is expected when you are infected
I'm infected by your genetics
I'm infected by your genetics
And I don't think that I can be fixed
No, I don't think that I can be fixed
Tell me why, oh why are my genetics such a bitch?
It's this blood condition
Damn this blood condition!
Mother, can you hear me?
Thanks for the disease!
Now I am sequestered
Part of the collection
That's what is expected when you are infected
That's what is expected when you are infected
That's what is expected when you are infected
How much of it's genetics?
How much of it is fate?
How much of it depends on the choices than we make?
He says I have her eyes-did I also inherit his shame?
Is heredity the corporate? 'Cause stop it
Or am I a slave?
I'm infected by your genetics
I'm infected by your genetics
What hope has a girl who is sick?
My dream of a life beyond this fence
It really makes no difference
'Cause I know that I'll never be fixed
Tell me why, oh why are my genetics such a bitch?
Oh, I want to go outside
Outside
Oh, I want to go outside
Outside."
-Infected, from Repo! The Genetic Opera.
I needed to cut, of course. I didn't plan. Spur-of-the-moment. "It's quick. It's clean. It's pure. It could change your life, rest assured..." After all, it's much better than using drugs or alcohol or sex, yes?
"Did I want to live
Within the empty space
My sleep numbed my pain
Now I'm awake
My sanity has gone
Little girl screams
For life's release
Don't hold me back I want to fall
Little girl pleads
For life's disease
To mourn away my soul
Did I want to die
Pain consumed me inside
Heaven on my tongue
Drunk down with suicide
Beyond self control
My urge has gone
Little girl screams
For life's release
Don't hold me back I want to fall
Little girl pleads
For life's disease
To mourn away my soul
Time does not heal
A shame so surreal
Little girl screams
For life's release
Don't hold me back I want to fall
Little girl pleads
For life's disease"
-"Suicide on My Mind," by Angtoria.
I put the pillow in the bathtub, laid down, and opened a capsule of blades. Unlike some, I don't have a method to cutting. Ambidextrous in all directions and destinations.
A few cuts wasn't enough this time.
"... Don't label me,
not a minority
Society created me
First cut's the neatest, I didn't feel a thing
Don't show me your pity
Second cut's the deepest, a release from within
Don't try to analyze me
Carve pretty pictures of hatred
Avert your eyes, my artwork doesn't lie
Refuse to acknowledge me
I'm not what you want to see
So inject and study me
Pump me with hypocrisy
Third cut's the longest, I just lost control
No doctor can save me
Fourth cut's the boldest, I've an eye for detail
Don't try to admit me
My condition has no name
It's not like I'm insane
Redirect your empathy
My body's my vengeance
I'm addicted to pain
No one understands me."
-excerpt from "Do You See Me Now?" by Angtoria.
What was going on in my head, you ask, that would cause someone who's better off than 95% percent of the world to do such an 'abomination?' It was rather a frenzied flurry of thoughts, so I will list what I can remember and then you, reader, must squash them together so they all occur at once.
1. I can't keep living like this.
2. I'm always sick and always will be.
3. The illnesses have only been considered legit within the last few years and has rarely been explained to or seen by the general public, whose skepticism makes me appear lazy and attention-deprived. I mean, would you have heard of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome if you didn't know me? Or believed it?
4. My insides don't match my insides. Why should anyone believe I need fifteen hours of sleep when I'm exhausted from lounging around the house? I don't look sick. Therefore, convincing people I'm not a liar for so long makes me want to be a liar because that would be so much easier. Take a chemo patient and a person with Chronic Fatigue. They're both exhausted all the time. But who would you donate money to? Who would you jog a marathon for?
5. Why aren't the pills working? Why aren't the hundreds of dollars giving me a result-an improvement? It's been four fucking years. I'm sorry-I don't swear unless I'm at the end of my rope and mean it.
A second part was addressed to God, who I have to assume exists based on other people's words and happy feelings. Any other Mormon would condemn-look down at me for "doubting" but if God exists, he gave me a dysfunctional brain that releases or doesn't release chemicals like thy should, therefore meaning I'm too depressed [which isn't all sad, whiny, stuff, you know]to get your standard Holy-Ghost-testimony-thank-a-thon-testimony-meeting-happy-content-feeling and because of that, I'm on pills that also mean I wouldn't get that anyway.*
*Antidepressants don't fix chemicals in your head. They lessen the severity. Meaning you're rather apathetic and "blah" all the time as opposed to "this is a futile existance-blah." You don't get "happy chemicals." That's not the purpose of the pills-it's to lessen the sad gloomy doomy feelings and to keep you from hitting the lowest of the low. The pills keep you in between and they make you numb. They make you a functioning member of society and get you out of your room, but nothing further. You do feel happy when you get your favorite food, when your favorite team scores--just a little and you see other people be truely happy [if only for a moment]and realize that's never going to happen to you. Making you depressed again, making you get more pills, and the cycle repeats itself.
"Happy, happy, happy, all the time-shock treatment, I'm doin' fine/ Gimme gimme shock treatment, gimme gimme shock treatment, gimme gimme shock treatment, I wanna wanna shock treatment!"-an excerpt from "Shock Treatment" by The Ramones.
And then people have to resort to drugs for happiness. I haven't done that. I paid attention in the DARE program. I'm not stupid, but sometimes it'd be so easy to find "zydrate" [Repo! reference there], being anything from pot to morphine to crystal meth-just for a moment of happiness, just so I know it exists.
Back to God.
I was in hysterics during the event. Really, I was screaming and kicking and the whole shebang. I carved "Why has thou forsaken me?" on my leg. Kinda choppy font, ha. Why? Well, I have no proof for myself the guy upstairs exists, but it was poetic. Could be addressed to humanity, too. And my health.
"...For once, my Lord, please help me believe in you..."-The Prize of Beauty, by My Dying Bride.
1. Why would God make a body that is physically unable to determine if he exists, let alone incapable of having the chemicals required to "feel his presence" if he wants to be believed in?
2. Why would God give me these illnesses that people don't believe in? To make me stronger? It hasn't. I'm not fucking Job. Having some one-on-one talk with God would make the loss of animals and wives and crap make sense and therefore not a trial.
3. Why is suicide considered a sin? Excluding people who'd take a cyanide pill to protect their country or kill themselves before being tortured to dead, because those are excusable. I've been 'wired' to kill myself. There's already plenty of martyrs for mental health. IF God said, "Okay, your big life struggle will be with depression," then I am exempt from consequences, having not a physically right mind, and maybe even supposed to try and kill myself.
I lost one of my friends to suicide, so I have thought these questions out. I'm becoming more like Bones daily. Hrm. And wouldn't you have questions when you see so much hypocrisy in all religions? Didn't Joseph Smith do the same thing?
"Being consciousness is a torment
The more we learn is the less we get
Every answer contains a new quest
A quest to non existence, a journey with no end..."
-excerpt from Epica's Sensorium.
"Indoctrinated minds so very often
Contain sick thoughts
And commit most of the evil they preach against
Don't try to convince me with messages from God
You accuse us of sins committed by yourselves
It's easy to condemn without looking in the mirror
Behind the scenes opens reality
Eternal silence cries loud for justice
Forgiveness is not for sale
Nor is the will to forget..."-excerpt from Epica's Cry for the Moon.
"[I. Impasse of Thoughts]
I can't see you, I can't hear you
Do you still exist?
I can't feel you, I can't touch you,
Do you exist?
The Phantom Agony
I can't taste you, I can't think of you,
Do we exist at all?
[II. Between hope and despair]
The future doesn't pass
And the past won't overtake the present
All that remains is an obsolete illusion
We are afraid of all the things that could not be
A phantom agony
Do we dream at night
Or do we share the same old fantasy?
I am a silhouette of the person wandering in my dreams
Tears of unprecedented beauty
Reveal the truth of existence
We're all sadists
The age-old development of consciousness
Drives us away from the essence of life
We meditate too much, so that our instincts will fade away
They fade away
What's the point of life
And what's the meaning if we all die in the end?
Does it make sense to learn or do we forget everything?
Tears of unprecedented beauty
Reveal the truth of existence
We're all pessimists
Teach me how to see and free the disbelief in me
What we get is what we see, the Phantom Agony
[III. Nevermore]
The lucidity of my mind has been revealed in new dreams
I am able to travel where my heart goes
In search of self-realization
This is the way to escape from our agitation
And develop ourselves
Use your illusion and enter my dream..."
-The Phantom Agony, by Epica.
I don't know how far I wanted to go. If I wanted to die. I was stepping in shallow water, and then I'd take another step, and another. I'd have my proof if I did die-something or nothing at all. So I went step by step. The deep ones out of rage, the words out of philosophy hoping for an answer that never came, little ones I don't remember much, and some longer ones tested out on the arms-experimenting, tempting fate. There's a phrase to cutting if that's your suicidal route: "Don't run across the street, walk down the sidewalk." Long cuts down your arms are more efficient-they cover more blood vessels and don't have to be as hacked as vertical wounds would. The science of suicide.
And I was tired. I wanted to sleep a little before continuing. I am always tired. "I know it can be worse than this/So I prefer to sleep." Sometimes I dream lucid and can take control and be healthy in a dream; I'm running around doing things with friends and then I wake up and I cry because I can't run around and don't have friends to do it with.
Don't have friends? Nope. I know people. They've done what they're supposed to do. Move on. Just watch Animal Planet-only the strongest survive. They go work, go to school, go out and post their happy little pictures on the internet of them and the new people they've found. They claim to be too busy to hang out, but then they post cutesy little pictures of them with "the crew." Why should they care? I'm not terminal. I'm not going anywhere. The lying does sting though, and they think I don't notice, but I sit at a computer all day [what am I to do? It's my link to the outside world] and you gladly display them for the public. Oh-you have free time and friends and smear it in my face. But I don't pull a Columbine or try and damage your reputation on the internet. Nope. I suffer at the sidelines because science, history, instinct-because I know my place and hold my tongue like a proper lady does.
Continuing back to the bathroom.
I realized then that someone would come home and find me in the bathtub. How embarassing...not really, but the sister's bound to snap and pull an Ophelia anytime now and the brother would become more disturbed and therefore smoke more and be a drug addict at age fifteen.
"my friend has problems with winter and autumn
they give him prescriptions, they shine bright lights on him
they say it’s genetic, they say he can’t help it
they say you can catch it - but sometimes you’re born with it
my friend has blight he gets shakes in the night
and they say there is no way that they could have caught it in
time takes its toll on him, it is traditional
it is inherited
predisposition
all day i’ve been wondering what is inside of me, who can i blame for it
i say:it runs in the family, this famine that carries me
to such great lengths to open my legs
up to anyone who’ll have me
it runs in the family, i come by it honestly
do what you want ‘cause who knows it might fill me up
my friend’s depressed, she’s a wreck, she’s a mess
they’ve done all sorts of tests and they guess it has something to do with her grandmother’s
grandfather’s grandmother civil war soldiers who
badly infected her
my friend has maladies, rickets, and allergies that she dates back to the 17th century
somehow she manages - in her misery - strips in the city
and shares all her best tricks with
me? well, i’m well. well, i mean i’m in hell.
well, i still have my health
(at least that’s what they tell me)
if wellness is this, what in hell’s name is sickness?
but business is business!
and business
runs in the family, we tend to bruise easily
bad in the blood i’m telling you ‘cause
i just want you to know me
know me and my family
we’re wonderful folks but
don’t get too close to me ‘cause you might knock me up
mary have mercy now look what i’ve done
but don’t blame me because i can’t tell where i come from
and running is something that we’ve always done
well and mostly i can’t even tell what i’m running from
i run from their pity
from responsibility
run from the country
and run from the city
i can run from the law
i can run from myself
i can run for my life
i can run into debt
i can run from it all
i can run till i’m gone
i can run for the office
and run from the ‘cause
i can run using every last ounce of energy
i cannot
i cannot
i cannot
run from my family
they’re hiding inside me
corpses on ice
come in if you’d like
but just don’t tell my family
they’d never forgive me
they’ll say that i’m crazy
but they would say anything if it would
shut me up me up me up me up....."
-Runs in the Family, by Amanda Palmer.
Therefore, I had to make sure it would be a parent who found me, but dad has no cell phone and mum's phone is off. I was so tired I wanted to sleep, but I kept screaming at God and kicking the bathtub. To have enough blood spill so I could pass out and sleep. Little exact-o blades aren't very good at that. To compensate for blade size meant cutting more. So I did. If I had done some better planning, I would have found a bigger blade and saved myself a lot of work. It's economics at work. Sometime during this, in a bloody mess of, well, blood, tears, and phlegm I left Josh a message. I don't remember what I said except that I was thinking about not wanting my family to see me or something. I was thinking between "I can't clean this up by myself" and "I will get a knife and do more damage." And still hesitant about going through with it. Some rationality? And then Josh called and said he'd come and asked if the front door was open. And I dozed for a little while, thinking I should try to bleed on myself so it wouldn't be too difficult to clean up, which I did. I remember that the shirt I was wearing I wore to Sam's viewing and the morbid irony of it all. And I dozed off until the door flew open and an audible "Shit."
The medical half of me was thinking "They're only superficial so far, just get some saltwater" and the other half wanted to be kicking and screaming like I had been because I've had enough and it was all building up. But that'd mean a trip to UNI. That place is terrible at what they do and the very sight of it makes anyone want to rebel. They really are terrible-I'm not just saying that because I went there.
Here's an English translation of Rammstein's Zerstören. What I wanted to do:
"I want to tend to my things
and reduce the rest to rubble
Ripping, bashing
Crushing, picking
I go along the garden fence
And feel the urge again
I must destroy
But only if it doesn't belong to me
I must destroy
But only if it doesn't belong to me
No
I'll take your belongings
I'll annihilate them
Sawing, stripping
Not asking, smashing
And now the supreme discipline
Pulling the head off a doll
Hurting, tearing, corroding
Destroying
But only if it doesn't belong to me
I must destroy
No
I would like to destroy something
But only if it doesn't belong to me
I want to be a good boy
But the desire overtakes me
I must destroy
But only if it doesn't belong to me
No
Ripping, bashing
Crushing, picking
Chopping and stealing
Not asking, smashing
Tearing, hurting
Burning, then running
Sawing, stripping
Breaking, avenging
He met a girl that was blind
Shared pain and like-minded
Saw a star go from the sky
And wished that she could see
She opened her eyes
And left him in the same night."
Adults don't throw temper tantrums and if they did, where? People say to punch a pillow, take a walk, draw, write in your journal, do fucking karate. I've done it all to every degree and spectrum-it doesn't work. If I could Zerstören [oh, that's German for "destroy," just so you know] maybe these cuts wouldn't be here so often. I need to ruin something- to quote Angtoria, "
My body's my vengeance."If God exists and he's watching, I hope he saw the monument I built for him on my skin.
I could hear Josh's mum talking on the phone. Why did she have to be brought in? I wish for as little people as possible because then they have me on their heads-another weight to worry about in a world that's halfway down the toilet.
The police came and asked me questions. I messed up the date of yesterday and thought "
Shit, now they'll think I'm high or something." I later found out they filled out a pink slip or something that suggests I might be a danger to myself in the future [that's called being bipolar, fuzz]but I had no behavior to warrant such a suggestion except I was too collected, which I had assumed was a good thing in "emergencies." Like how calm serial killers are. I know a lot of medical things, but if I said I was a nurse in training or something, I don't think I would have gotten that slip. I don't talk like most teenagers. That's the literary knowledge, also considered
"creepy."I was at the hospital for four hours. most of which was useless. The last thing they did was clean the wounds-wouldn't that be first priority? Before they start scabbing and getting germy and have to be scrubbed?
No. Pioneer Valley Hospital has always been backwards when I've been there.
My wrists are bleeding-my urine sample can wait! They did a pregnancy test-what does that have to do with anything? Tetanus shot-understood. I was up for a new one anyway and given I used metal. I didn't feel it. I do now. Allergy shots swell, itch, and ache. Tetanus shots feel like a sledgehammer bruised your bone. And then there were blood tests-five vials. Didn't pass out and if my urine test shows I'm not on drugs, why are you taking my blood? There's plenty of it scabbing on my legs-swab some of that.
The crisis person was too naive to be a crisis person, but judged I could be sent home.
And then they finally came in and scrubbed those cuts open again. When the anesthetic soap kicked in, it wasn't so bad. Cold water hurt most.
I just realized something-the police asked if I needed my purse, which I did, and I instructed them to go in my room since I couldn't go get it myself. Maybe that's why they filed a pink slip-I have a doll of Edgar Allan Poe, a black curtain with bats on it, a bunch of pills [all my prescriptions, mind you], a Stolen Babies shirt tacked to my wall with the image of a silhouette of a little girl with a hatchet, my postcard I bought from Body Worlds of the veins of a rabbit on my wall, and my favorite fictional good looking drug dealer, Graverobber, pinned to my wall. Ooh, I think my book on forensics entitled
Corpse was on the floor, too. Haha. Just your standard goth discrimination. Pisses me off, though. I believe I should know what they saw or heard to consider me dangerous.
Anyway, I got home at one in the morning and didn't get to sleep because the cops took my melatonin. Idiots. It's a vitamin! It's in your skin! It helps me sleep! It's natural! Geez. I fell asleep around 6:something.
I'm on six hours of sleep at the moment. That's about 45 minutes when compared to the average adult. Don't mess with me.
Where do we go from here? I don't know, don't care, and can only wait for the next cycle.
waiting for me. I also found Celtic Woman and two books-one picture book of Frankenstein's wedding [I saw the artwork and had to get it]
and the other was about children's book illustration.
