would you save a place for me?
today i feel so overwhelmingly sad. so many things built up inside, i can't focus or concentrate on anything.... i went to the psych yesterday. she was kind, very kind, called me "love" and "sweetheart" and seemed compassionate to the things i was telling her, but it was hard, speaking from too deep within, answering her multitude of questions:yes, my future seems hopeless. no, i don't talk to my parents much. yes, i have people who love me. no, i can't concentrate. no, i don't hear or see things that other people don't. no, i don't know what caused this. no, i have never been raped or otherwise seriously traumatized. yes, i think about suicide. yes, i've had an eating disorder. yes, it's recurring. no, i don't know what to do.
no, you cannot see my cuts.
even the process of thinking about it in my mind is overwhelming. she said i looked miserable; maybe i was, but what i do know is i was scared and nervous, pulling my sleeves down over my fidgeting hands. feeling the coldness grow in my stomach and the pain building behind my eyes in the form of tears i couldn't let out. struggling for words, feeling my voice break sometimes in pain and at other times drop to a whisper.
as soon as the appointment was over and i was alone outside, i walked straight to my car, got in and cried. i watched out the window for john's 4-runner, he had taken off work for half the day to meet me when my appointment was over, and i was thinking that maybe he had gotten lost, praying that he'd come soon. and he did, parked right next to me; i got out and walked around to meet him. it was the sight of his face, familiar and reassuring, that made relief rush over me; just the knowledge that he was there, big enough to hold me and strong enough to not let go. if he hadn't been there... but he was, and he held me and talked into my hair, wanting to know what was wrong and why i was crying, but i only cried harder.
there are some things i can't explain, like how i don't want to go on medicine, how it frightens me. i don't want to see another doctor. i hate it here, i can't think of anywhere to go, anything i want to do except sleep. life looks so terrible from where i'm standing. i want to shrivel up and disappear.
something that deborah (the psych) said also shook me up, because she asked me i was ashamed of my cuts. so i told her, i'm not proud of them. but she said she thinks it goes beyond that, because look how careful i am to always cover my arms. maybe she's right. but that led to the question of whether or not i think cutting is morally wrong. i paused when she asked that, and answered that people tell me it is. she shook her head and asked again what i thought, not what other people think. and i realized then that no, i don't think of cutting as wrong. not by any means a good thing, but not wrong per say. maybe i should, but i don't. somehow it's justified to me, so that when i screw everything else up, it's alright to cut. which makes no sense, don't ask how i arrive at that conclusion but i do.
i ended my 12 day cut-free stretch last night. once with a knife, once with scissors, twice with other sharp things laying around. this morning, once with a safety pin.
i just want to disappear.
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"if i told you that i was thinking of moving east, would you save a place for me? i'll come home because it's worse than i expected. a place in my heart for my home to the west where we'll watch the same sunsets, and when i doubt... i'll look east and lock my heart in a brass box to newfound mass. i'm breaking off but this is my home. i'd do anything for you, give you the world if i could. is that what you want me to do? these bridges and boundaries are bringing me closer to you."
--get up kids