sometimes I pray I don't die, I'm a goddamn hypocrite.
I just got myself out of the lowest low point my life has ever been at.
For the past month or so of my life, I've been spending every waking second with Brian. I stopped going to school, I stopped going to work, I spent abnout 88% of the time strung out on drugs, whatever drugs we could get our hands on. We spent so much money. Just so we didn't rip each other's throats out. We can't stand eachother when we're sober.
To tell you the truth I couldn't stand him when he was high either, but I normally just kept to myself.
The other time I spent asleep. Feeling so fucking dirty while he would try to touch me.
I tried to get my act together for the one day a week I would see my family, and the one hour a week I would see my therapist, but normally I was so depressed and hazy from not having the drugs, I was just withdrawn.
My doctor is trying to give me every drug in the book to make my life functional again. Of course, he doesn't know about any of this. No one does. He says that I have a passive death wish.
Well, if that's the way it has to be.
If I ever had a character to begin with, I've been doing things so out of it.
I cry all the time, I smoke like two packs a day, I ignored my friends, I cut, I just shut up while Brian called me a retarded cunt, and left bruises and marks all over my fucking body.
I just sat there and cried when he held a knife to my hand and told me that he was going to cut both of my fingers off at the hand or I would have to cut one of my own off.
I just got back up when he punched me so hard in the stomache that I blacked out.
I just closed my eyes and counted while he said he was going to shove a knife in my dad's back while he was in the shower and kill my entire family.
I just put my fucking head down while we were out in public and he told me to walk away while some cute girl was looking at him.
WELL LET HER BE FUCKING TORTURED THEN. LET HER HAVE THE CUTS AND BRUISES AND BRUISED EGO. LET HER RUIN HER WHOLE LIFE AND QUIT SCHOOL AND STOP GOING TO HER JOB AND LOSE ALL HER FRIENDS BECAUSE I DONT FUCKING WANT IT.
When I woke up today after another night of being fucked up out of my mind, I told you I wanted to go home.
I don't know why I thought I could do this. Every other time I've told you I wanted to go home you said you've have me killed before I got there, you followed me back into my house and wouldn't leave me alone, you laughed and dared me to walk out the door.
Maybe because I knew you were still high.
Maybe it's because I read your texts and literally didn't care what you did to me because I was heartbroken.
Oh you're positive that she's the one you're searching for?
Well fucking hightail it to South Carolina and LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.
Care enough about me to let me keep searching.
And after one of your episodes that left me holding my arm or throat or breath you would lay in bed and cry and tell me how sorry you were, and that you didn't want to hurt me, and that you felt you had to hurt yourself.
Has anyone ever watched someone cut their wrists to ribbons?
Don't you ever wonder what it would look like?
Hewould always ask me this after encouraging me to committ suicide.
And sometimes, I did wonder.
The first time I cut was after the first time he choked me. He told me to get the fuck away from him so I grabbed a razorblade and went outside. Nothing serious. Just a couple cuts on my thigh. Nothing that I thought would kill me. I didn't want to die.
I think I just wanted to show him that I could do it. I threw his razor covered in blood back on his dresser and said, "that didn't feel that great."
But the truth was, it did. After all that pain I fucking felt day in and day out. From someone that I really cared about beating the shit out of me and degrading me EVERY FUCKING SECOND of my waking life, I couldn't make it go away and I couldn't control it. If I want to hurt, I WILL.
And that's what I never understood about cutters.
We haven't had sex in the past two weeks. Both of our pills and the drugs killed our sex drives. We had nothing between us anymore.
Why the fuck did he try and keep me around?
Was it too hard to break someone else in? Are you scared I'll call the cops.
He monitored my texts and calls for the most part. Sometimes when we were high I'd let something slip to someone.
But it's ok, because NO ONE really delved that deep into my life. NO ONE really cared that much about me to really wonder where I was or what I'd been doing and I'm fine with that.
Because I didn't expect to and this is no cry for help.
I want everyone to act the same way they've been acting and don't ever bring this up to me ever.
Don't ask what the cuts and bruises are from.
I keep them covered for the most part.
With clothes
and the ones on my neck with make-up.
Don't ever tell me that you miss me
because no one misses me more than I do.
I've totally checked out.
For lack of a more creative metaphor.
Like I said this isn't a cry for help.
This is a documentation of the last 6 weeks of my life.
I don't ever want it to be forgotten or suppressed or whatever I do with bad memories.
And really
I'm not her
I'm not her
I'm not her
I look at it EVERY FUCKING DAY
and I'm so sorry.
Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry.
For the past month or so of my life, I've been spending every waking second with Brian. I stopped going to school, I stopped going to work, I spent abnout 88% of the time strung out on drugs, whatever drugs we could get our hands on. We spent so much money. Just so we didn't rip each other's throats out. We can't stand eachother when we're sober.
To tell you the truth I couldn't stand him when he was high either, but I normally just kept to myself.
The other time I spent asleep. Feeling so fucking dirty while he would try to touch me.
I tried to get my act together for the one day a week I would see my family, and the one hour a week I would see my therapist, but normally I was so depressed and hazy from not having the drugs, I was just withdrawn.
My doctor is trying to give me every drug in the book to make my life functional again. Of course, he doesn't know about any of this. No one does. He says that I have a passive death wish.
Well, if that's the way it has to be.
If I ever had a character to begin with, I've been doing things so out of it.
I cry all the time, I smoke like two packs a day, I ignored my friends, I cut, I just shut up while Brian called me a retarded cunt, and left bruises and marks all over my fucking body.
I just sat there and cried when he held a knife to my hand and told me that he was going to cut both of my fingers off at the hand or I would have to cut one of my own off.
I just got back up when he punched me so hard in the stomache that I blacked out.
I just closed my eyes and counted while he said he was going to shove a knife in my dad's back while he was in the shower and kill my entire family.
I just put my fucking head down while we were out in public and he told me to walk away while some cute girl was looking at him.
WELL LET HER BE FUCKING TORTURED THEN. LET HER HAVE THE CUTS AND BRUISES AND BRUISED EGO. LET HER RUIN HER WHOLE LIFE AND QUIT SCHOOL AND STOP GOING TO HER JOB AND LOSE ALL HER FRIENDS BECAUSE I DONT FUCKING WANT IT.
When I woke up today after another night of being fucked up out of my mind, I told you I wanted to go home.
I don't know why I thought I could do this. Every other time I've told you I wanted to go home you said you've have me killed before I got there, you followed me back into my house and wouldn't leave me alone, you laughed and dared me to walk out the door.
Maybe because I knew you were still high.
Maybe it's because I read your texts and literally didn't care what you did to me because I was heartbroken.
Oh you're positive that she's the one you're searching for?
Well fucking hightail it to South Carolina and LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.
Care enough about me to let me keep searching.
And after one of your episodes that left me holding my arm or throat or breath you would lay in bed and cry and tell me how sorry you were, and that you didn't want to hurt me, and that you felt you had to hurt yourself.
Has anyone ever watched someone cut their wrists to ribbons?
Don't you ever wonder what it would look like?
Hewould always ask me this after encouraging me to committ suicide.
And sometimes, I did wonder.
The first time I cut was after the first time he choked me. He told me to get the fuck away from him so I grabbed a razorblade and went outside. Nothing serious. Just a couple cuts on my thigh. Nothing that I thought would kill me. I didn't want to die.
I think I just wanted to show him that I could do it. I threw his razor covered in blood back on his dresser and said, "that didn't feel that great."
But the truth was, it did. After all that pain I fucking felt day in and day out. From someone that I really cared about beating the shit out of me and degrading me EVERY FUCKING SECOND of my waking life, I couldn't make it go away and I couldn't control it. If I want to hurt, I WILL.
And that's what I never understood about cutters.
We haven't had sex in the past two weeks. Both of our pills and the drugs killed our sex drives. We had nothing between us anymore.
Why the fuck did he try and keep me around?
Was it too hard to break someone else in? Are you scared I'll call the cops.
He monitored my texts and calls for the most part. Sometimes when we were high I'd let something slip to someone.
But it's ok, because NO ONE really delved that deep into my life. NO ONE really cared that much about me to really wonder where I was or what I'd been doing and I'm fine with that.
Because I didn't expect to and this is no cry for help.
I want everyone to act the same way they've been acting and don't ever bring this up to me ever.
Don't ask what the cuts and bruises are from.
I keep them covered for the most part.
With clothes
and the ones on my neck with make-up.
Don't ever tell me that you miss me
because no one misses me more than I do.
I've totally checked out.
For lack of a more creative metaphor.
Like I said this isn't a cry for help.
This is a documentation of the last 6 weeks of my life.
I don't ever want it to be forgotten or suppressed or whatever I do with bad memories.
And really
I'm not her
I'm not her
I'm not her
I look at it EVERY FUCKING DAY
and I'm so sorry.
Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry.