I wish I could say that I feel numb.
So much has happened. So much has changed.
Everything hurts.
If it wasn’t so selfish, if I wouldn’t leave you alone, I would have been long gone.
I don’t want that.
I want you happy.
I don’t want you to see or feel my pain.
I just want to be happy again. Like I was. I think.
Was I ever happy?
I can’t remember. I must have been.
I’m sorry.

Tw- all sorts of crazy. Self abuse/self image issues/suicide

I tried to kill myself.
Let me back up.
I had spent half my life being told what a disapoinment I was.
The other half was being told that I’ll do. That I’m good enough, just not what was wanted.
When someone tells me I do something right, I want to cry. When they reenforce my feelinings of worthlessness, I, come very close to wanting to die.
I did not do much permanent damage when I tried to end my life.
The first time, I tried to drown myself. I tied myself to the rod under the filter at the bottom of my parents pool. I was revived. I still suffer from some short term memory loss.
The second time, I attempted a different kind of drowning. Vodka and tylenolpm/trazadone/asprin.
Liquid charcol tastes like shit. I still gag a little at the thought.
I suffer from self esteem issues. Now, instead of starving myself and constantly excercising, I don’t care about how I look. One of my biggest fears is that people do not like me. They just put up with me for something I can do for them in return.
Examples:
My husband and I are a packaged deal. I fear that our friends (at least the ones who spend more time with him than me) only put up with me so they can spend time with him.
Old “friends” of mine who only spent time with me because I would spend my money on them. I put myself into debt that way.
People who say they’re my friend to get some benefit that is not mutual.
I sometimes hyperventalate thinking about this. I can’t breath. I’m not even worthy of breathing your air.

I forget my point, but let me say this: I do not want to end my life. Life is pain and insecurity. I’m shit at it. I keep going because I still can. I want to.

It is getting harder to tell if I’m awake or asleep. I don’t know why. The hallucinations are hinting at returning.

TW: Abuse. Sex.

When I was a young girl, things were as normal as can be. 

I had both of my parents, most of the time. When I was three, my maternal grandmother came to live with us. I lived with an older sister and a younger brother. I had two other older sisters and one older brother who did not grow up with us.  

I had a dog, a cat, and two fish. We caught a parrot who we adopted when no one claimed it. 

We had friends through the neighborhood. 

I grew up listening to what I thought was the truth. Mostly that the Catholic religion is the correct one. I started disagreeing with that when I was 8. That anyone who wasn’t white was not good enough. I first disagreed with that when I was 6. Also, that I am not good enough. I am still on the fence on the last one.

My sister tried to get me to ally with her to gang up on my brother.  When she found she could not sway me, she got my brother involved. Every day was near constant torture. I knew that as soon as one of my parents back’s were turned that the pain would start. 

I used to hide. They could not find me. I would crawl through the bushes around the houses of the neighborhood until they passed. If I was not fast enough, or silent enough they would catch me. Sometimes this would mean that I would have to complete an embarrassing task. For example: I would have to ‘moon’ a passing vehicle, or admit that someone was better than me at something, like [name] is so much better than me; they can run faster and I am slow; they are so much smarter than I am, I can not even [do some higher learning that they have covered and I have not].

Other times when caught, they would not let me escape the pain. She would hold me on the ground and hit me. Knees in my arms, feet on my legs, and her fists on my face. She was careful not to bruise me. She tried her best not to leave evidence behind. Sometimes she would hold me under water in the pool until I could feel the water creep into my lungs. 

One night, after watching child’s play (I was 5), she grabbed a chucky doll and made a noose. I woke to it spinning on my fan. The closet door creaked open and I inhaled- ready to scream, when an arm reached out from under my bed and covered my mouth.  I screamed anyway and found a pillow coming to cover my face. I do not remember what happened next.

When I was 4, my brother 3 and my sister 10, she took us on a walk around the neighborhood. We went to a part I had never seen before. She told us we were lost. We had to grow up without our parents or any other family. Also, because our garden was gone, we had to be cannibals. I was what they were going to eat because I was the second biggest. She rationalized it as the fact she was older and smarter, and my brother was not enough food. 

Sometimes she would catch me alone and make me do things to her like lick her toes or suck on her neck. This is the first time I have admitted to that.

She told me no one would ever love me. She did this at least once a week until she went to college. Then it was down to once every other month.

I believed her. 

To prove my worth, I started sexual relationships at a very young age. To a twelve year old sex = love. My first time included me sneaking a boy into my room, lighting some candles and fumbling around to the neon ballroom album. I kept doing  similar things with the same boy until I was 18. Sometimes it would be the two of us. Sometimes we would bring someone else in. Sometimes we would go off on our own. By the time I was 16, I had already slept with 9 different men and 3 women.

This whole time I continued to feel worthless. I did not know why. 

When I was seventeen, I was involved in something of an orgy. or a train. It depends. I was not sober enough to know what to call it. That is a story for another time.

(TW for rough sexual allusions)

Feel your flesh move past my lips and glide over my tongue
experience the Ridges and the dips, I sure do know whats fun

My hands glide and caress
Every ridge and vein
Grip my hair in a mess
Make me feel the pain

IM tired of all of this

my eyes are heavy my limbs are lead. so many thoughts filled my head.

i cant stand how i am going

leaving so fast i have had so long saying goodbye it seems so wrong

tears would bring relief

but my throat only swells my eyes have no heat i want it to come i breathe in defeat

I waited until 130 am before hearing the tap on my window. I was laying in bed watching an infomercial eating a grapefruit because I thought they were not going to show.
It was my first time meeting Him.
It was Christmas vacation. I cracked my window to bear the cold and told them to go around back. My dad was sleeping and mom was out of town.
I put on some warm clothes and grabbed my backpack. Contents: hospital mug of water (couldn’t find a bottle) cucumber melon body spray, and a knife.
We walked for what seemed like hours, taking the winding and least direct path between our homes. The night seemed like ours and we were free. We stopped at unlocked cars, stealing change and switching goods between vehicles.
We finally made it to his place. It smelled of cats and unclean litter box. There were knives pushed through the walls. His room was a mess.
I brought the water thinking I was going to have my first experiment with marajuana. Turns out, he didn’t get any. My clothes were soaked. We all decided to take off our outer layers to warm up. We smoked cigarettes and flirted. He seemed so cool, he was very attractive with those icy blue eyes and dark curly hair.
I wanted to touch him. I was too shy to admit it.
The time came for me to walk home. I dressed in my still soaking clothes, sprayed the body spray all over, climbed out his window and pulled out the knife. I walked home alone. It took me less than five minutes to make the trip.
The time was now 604 am. My dad left for work at 530. His car had not left. My heart raced. I ran to my window and peeked in. It was dark. I checked every window in the house. All dark. My dad is the type that would sit in my room, in the dark til I came in, thinking I made it, but ruining that thought at the last second.
I silently made my way to the back door. Slipping inside, I head straight for the bathroom and strip down. My body had started to turn grey with the cold. My lips were blue. That could have been the fear. I hide my clothes and dress in my stash of pj’s, not risking the noise of a shower even though I know I smell.
I make it to my empty room, hide the backpack in the bowels of my closet, and get into bed. As I lay there, shaking with cold, I realize it is Saturday and my dad doesn’t work today.
I was 12.

I have had discussions with my 8 year old.
One of them goes like this:
Sometimes there are boys who like girls. Sometimes there are girls that like boys. Sometimes there are girls that like girls and boys that like boys. Some people like both. Some feel love for more than one person. There is nothing wrong with them. It is just the way they are.
No matter what type you are, I will alway love you and be proud of you.

TW: this story is not for people who have trouble with child abuse, rape, murder, or are at work.

My grandmother is a fucked up human being.
One morning, during breakfast, she and I were eating banana and peanut butter on toast for breakfast. She proceeded to tell me a story as she liked to do.
This morning she told me of Penny.

A girl called Pin-up Penny. She was twelve at the time of this story. She got her nickname because her family was so poor, they could not afford thread to mend thier clothes, but had a plethora of safety pins.
Penny was a blond and not very clean girl who developed early.
One day, my grandmother was waiting to walk to school with Penny, who walked through a lightly wooded area with a creek running through it.
Penny did not show, so grandmother went to school and reported her not showing.
Two days a search went on before they found her body.
When they did, they found that she was bitten all over her body. Her nipples had actually been bitten off. Her thighs, butt and face had some of the most bruising. Her vagina had been cut apart and stretched open. Her torso had been sliced open and her internal organs were removed and replaced. Her interior had been crushed almost as her killer had rolled in her cavity after it was empty. Groves were in her internal muscle as if he stuck his hands in and tried to play her like a puppet.

After that last sentence, when she took a breath, I told grandma that I had to go to the bathroom. I did not go back to the kitchen until I had another adult to supervise my grandmother’s actions with me. The above story is a near direct quote.
I was 5 at the time.

I was urged to create an account by some lovely people. Blame them.

Why I am here? To share my views on myself, my past, and present. To get some self assigned therapy as well.
You can expect to see mostly diary entries that will not be in chronological order.
I will also share what I find interesting or important.
Please feel free to ask questions.
The diary entries will be NSFW.