Ok so maybe I am having one of those paranoid days when i think the world is against me but in all seriousness I think that in the same way that long term patients, or soliders become institutionialised; that we all to a degree are conditioned to hurt ourselves.

Maybe not in some exterme house elf - esc way but we are as humans a glutton for punishment. Curiosity kills cats, and humans well we kill and harm ourselves. We absorb the BS on a daily basis from friends, family, partners, media hell even the government that we have done this wrong and that wrong and we're to blame for this and the other. And as human beings (especially British Human Beings) we feel guilty. We are then inbuilt with a sense of justice. To rectify the wrong. Why else would so called "civilised" society have the law of Tort?

You add these social factors to someone of a catholic upbringing, and you add more gulit. Even a non-believer who has had that backgroundpicks up the ethos of guilt from the RC church; and it amplifies around your mind.

Add both of these factors to someone like myself, with a background involving a father who justifed abuse as some sick fomr of a. "right as a father" and b. a "righting" of a wrong apparently commited by me (something as simple as getting my jeans muddy); and what do you get?

For a start a f*** up granted. But in many ways; someone who is predestined to be dpressed, feel guilty and express that in forms of pysically punishment against themselves.

It's not even a choice any more; it feel like my nature, and my purpose to hurt

Voices rage within my numb mind,
My concentration strains for one that is kind.
A hopeless search for some audible comfort,
Over the insults, the slurs and the conflict.
A focus that wavers through the pointless venture,
Of a positive comment of the past, present of even future.
Hours of contemplating but to no avail,
Another manner in which I will always fail.
To achieve, to believe, to enjoy or to smile,
Seems a concept that I’ve not grasped in a while.

A mind that is poisoned by darkness and grief,
Could never muster the energy for the fallacy of belief.
Instead it races for a solution, a cure or a stall,
Again failure looms until you recall,
A technique, an action that has eased the cold ice,
Of numbness; if you do it one or twice.
So simple, so effective, but yet such a taboo,
Apparently cutting yourself isn’t the best thing to do.
But how could they ever understand why?
They don’t see the dark suffocating your minds eye.
They don’t know the pain, the hurt nor the fight,
That you already faced before you gathered your might
To take action in the only way to make progress,
Although knowing that really it doesn’t make it hurt less.
A distraction at best, is all you can hope for,
Perhaps more this time? One can never be sure.
Logically; it’s the only thing that makes sense;
So no need to stall now or sit on the fence.
Pick up the knife and choose your first cut;
But you can’t stop there; you start to glut.
The red droplets fall soon forming a flow,
Incisions placed carefully so you don’t have to show.

So I've been off the radar for a bit... I wish I could say I spent that time trying to get better but if anything I've been practising the art of avoidance. I resorted to my old failsafe distraction to ignore everything and push everything and everyone away. Work. I've just been working, vaguely eating, and occasionally sleeping.

Thing is this whole avoidance through work thing isn't as easy as I remember it being. Its just outright exhausting, my mind is constantly racing so I can't switch off and sleep. I kept thinking “how the hell did I used to do this“. And then I remembered the one variable, which is that this time I'm not using coke. I'm trying to take that as a positive. Or at least as some sort of yard stick of progression. At a push perhaps even hope.

Thing is... This lifestyle is working for me right now. I got a promotion at work, which is one I wanted more than the one I was turned down for the other month, and my relationship is good because the promotion has helped me pull off a passable facade of confidence... Which seems to make me more endearing and attractive.

For a moment there I could almost kid myself that I had been resurrected into a healthy well adjusted person. Fact is, cutting occupies my mind each time I have a moment to breath, and I'm acting on those thought whenever I get a moment to myself£ fact is, my binge and purge cycles still tick over. Actually its like two indepent but correlate cycles at the moment. There's my daily cycle which is nothing short of a military operation, and then a fortnightly rotation of extra purging.

I need help, obviously I do but I can't find the words, hell I've even manage to sculpture a life which makes it impossible to find the time.

Resurrection my arse, I'm just more organised in my ###$ up-ness

Saint

The light at the end of the tunnel always seems to be an oncoming train to me... However, the past couple of days have been positive. Which frankly freaks me out.

Essentially I've been triggered like a gunhappy nutcase constantly for perhaps the past couple of months? And it's been more than sending me back to square one. It's all been ten, a hundred times worse than ever. The last of these crashes was a few days ago now and resulted in another admission, and not by choice. I jibbed out for a cigarette and ended up speaking to someone who was simply awesome. It seems like we spoke about nothing, and everything, and judged everything, but cast no judgement at the same time. I couldn't even tell you what we spoke about. Its all a bit of a blur. But I walked away positive. Like actually positive. I can honestly say I have never been positive before in my life, as I have never felt that way before. There was hope, and I beleived it, in fact I knew it.

Something had clicked in my head. And that something had over ridden the self destruct sequence that had been playing. I sat in a cubicle and instead of noticing the ridiculously small flaws in the decor, or the stiching of the bed linen, or doing my weird count everything in binary thing I normally do... I just sat there and arranged my head. It was like filing. Categorising and segmenting every thing and putting it away somewhere. And everything seemed so clear.

I didn't even get the persons name. And noone is more shocked than I that I felt such a rapport with a guy. Not just because of the whole being a lesbian thing, but literally my grandad is the only man I have ever trusted and I will only speak to men if I have to I.e. At work. When I try and recall our conversation whilst we were smoking I don't recall what he was wearing. I recall his face and very little else.

With my head clear and only the straining for the memories of the conversation left, a doctor interupted my thoughts. What they said went over my head, so instead I asked if they had seen the gentleman and described him. The doctor asked when I saw him and I admitted to nipping out for a smoke£ the doctor said I had been sedated for the past two hours so it must have been a dream. Prehaps it seemed more vivid or real as it was a drug enduced sleep.

Needless to say that really messed with my head. Either I've had the opposite of a mental break or doctors are trying to make me feel like a nutjob.

Eitherway, dream or not its done me the world of good. I feel like a new person. I discharged myself and have just been really taking care of myself, and the house, and my mum who's just been discharged after surgery. I'm not saying I'm all better. But I feel hopeful I will be. I've taken to spending 30min a day exfoliating and moisturising, and other little skin and hair care regime which seems to calm me a bit and help a tad with the ol' confidence. I wouldn't say I'm eating completely healthly but I haven't binged nor purged, just not eaten loads or 3 meals a day. But I am eating and not binging and/or purging. I've not self harmed since either. I even had a bit of an honesty discussion woth my girlfriend and came clean about what has gone on with me recently and why.

I'm used to feeling forgotten at the bottom of a black hole, voiceless and hopeless. I'm not saying that everything is sunshine and lollipops but I can at least see the sun for a change.

Just hope this isn't all a dream again

I can't actually remember the last time I sat face to face with another person and spoke. I mean like really spoke, not chitchat or small talk, but an actual dialogue about things that matter. With questions and answers that are truthful and genuine inquiries rather than questions closed and imprisoning so you say what they want to hear, or answers such as "fine".
"Fine". I love that word. It's the biggest lie ever. Noone who says they are fine, are actually fine, that is to say "ok". Someone once told me that "fine" would be a perfect response for me... "F.I.N.E. - f##ked up, insecure, neurotic and emotionally unstable". Like anyone has the balls to actually answer that frankly. I'll stick to the acronym thanks.

How pathetic is it that the most dialogue I have in any given day, week or month is with myself? I'm starting to think that I'm posting because of this. That way it feels like I'm talking to someone else. But I'm not. It's rare anyone has a real dialogue on these forums. Alternative sites that could venue my procrastination from myself seem just as vacant.

The doctors and therapists to whom they try and direct me are just as vacant.

I've never felt so alone. And even moreso that I'm back under the judgemental eyes of these quacks again. Don't see what good it is to keep me here... They patched me up ok. They know as well as I do that I'll do it again. Maybe next time I'll wrote DNR on my forehead before I try it