the thread i'm hanging on to is being streched so fucking thin.

dear readers of my lj,

i'm so sorry for scaring all (most?) of you off with my daily misery rant.
sorry for going on and on about parts of my horrible horrible past.
sorry for going into detail about my self-injury.

bubbly entries from now on, iz try.

no one does want to talk though, get away from me with your problems go just go just go somewhere else go to therapy go to counseling go talk to someone who gets paid for this go to church even yeah, you're not religious i know but go just go just get just get some kind of help from someone who's not me
they have their own problems, their own lives their own friends their own everything that takes up too much space to listen to want to listen to want to hear and i'm always going to wonder what it's like to go through this with a best friend type, with a helping hand that's not metal, with anyone who'll listen really- it's a bit romantic but sometimes i think my cure would be someone who listens without getting paid someone who lets me let go. i mean talk talk talk about it and they would still be here and find the strength to hold me if i happened to cry and that would be all and it would be over and the nightmares would be gone and i'd walk back to normalcy and i'd be a friend in return see i wouldn't need these i wouldn't need this i wouldn't need this

somebody please fucking come over i can't do this i can't do this i can't do this

note: this entry is redundant. if you don't want to read for the upteenth time about how i freaked out when melissa told me she had her own problems when i told her i'd be leaving as my father had died, if you don't want to read about how i started hurting myself again after the big quit: skip this.


coudln't sleep. too early. tired. waiting a bit before i take the sleeping pills, i figure, i don't want to mix that shit with the caffeine, at least, not tonight.
i keep thinking about that moment dan found me screaming and crying, an exercise in trust. also because shortly after that was probably the first cut after what, 4 years? i think this is really what i'm remembering.
to be fair, by the time he opened the door, i believe i'd stopped or was trying very hard to stop screaming. doing this hurt the most: hands to my head bending over with a pain so sharp you'd swear it was physical. he sits close to me and says he's sorry but i say don't, don't be sorry without explaining why. i feel like i might break over him, cling to his shoulder to him bury my face in his clavicle crying but i don't, i stop, i stop crying try to smile "i'm ok" because i'm afraid that he'll tell me he has his own problems, i'm afraid he'll have to go when i need him the most, i'm afraid i'm bothering him with this incessant crying while he's in the middle of moving. and because i say i'm ok, it's allright when he goes, i mean, the door's wide open, i mean, the car's parked outside and i bet the meter's running, i mean, he's in the middle of moving so god why can't i shut the fuck up, and so i do.
and when he leaves my hands go back to my head and bending over i- STOP. stop screaming stop crying stop stop please, please, please stop crying and here comes the mistake- i grab a piece of broken beer bottle and put it to my skin, this is to stop, this is to stop crying, just stop crying aren't you happy someone came? someone saw you someone came to see you be happy be grateful stop crying. this is the first cut in months, years, years.
stop crying stop just calm down please calm down he doesn't deserve it, he doesn't deserve it why are you crying over someone you HATE, he's dead, he's dead, it's over he's dead, i mean this is your father not your father- your mother's ex husband remember? you don't call him father but mother's ex husband so STOP fucking crying what the FUCK are you crying over. this is the second incision right alongside the first
and i lie down over the mess of wine bottle bits mixed with labatt blue pieces and under my spine, it's corona necks, rickards in my hand broken off in that spot where you'd hold the bottle, and in my hair, under my feet, legs and shoulders it shines blue and brown and gold and clear, champagne and white wine and vodka and beer, rememeber the good times, remember the good times when they were your friends. shh be quiet now, be quiet now, be quiet now, and this is the third.
the phone rings and it’s sarah, the other sarah b see this is how we started talking as we’re both sarah b’s, sarah b and sarah b both in poetry and fiction class and poetry and fiction class, well, that shit brings people together. so we’re talking and she says i sound like i'm on drugs which is ironic since i've been telling everyone that i'm just itching for some drugs but the truth is i'm clean, i'm clean and yet i feel like this can't be me, i'm floatin somewhere but it ain't pretty and so i say i'm not, i'm not i say. and this is when she says something like joel's coming over, i don't know, floating still, but i guess the fact of the matter is that joel's coming over. someone's coming over and not because they overheard me crying from the hallway and opened the door, he's just coming over. i say okay and stay on the floor. see, you have to shut the fuck up now, you can't cry now, so keep your mouth shut and this is the fourth, the fourth parallel that says shut the fuck up.
i've broken a dollarama razor at this point, taken both blades (because there's two in them) and hold them. it's okay because i don't shave, i wax. why do i have razors anyway? on a subconscious level, in case of emergency.
i don't realize when he comes because the bell surprises me, hell, i coudln't tell you if anyone had called in between. but this is my mistake, i open the door and shuffle outside, the hallway, the hallway's better, you can't see anything, no bottles no blood (am i wearing long sleeves? i don't fucking know) so see i'm ok let's and this is my mistake because you see i want the floor, i want to fall, fuck it i am falling but i catch myself, i am screaming but i bite my lip and turn it into some kind of small talk and this is my mistake because we're in the bus now and i close my eyes for what's half a second maybe but shit is just spinning, like i'm drunk, high, fucked up on whatever substance makes the whole fucking world spin, but then i open them and laugh at all the jokes, smile awkwardly and HEY, i'm okay i'm okay i'm okay.
and we're at sarah's now and i'm getting drunk but still, shit is spinning and i bring my hands to my head and STOP- i run to the stairs take a breath take a breath take a breath but it's not air, it's not air and i'm drunk so i mess up and cut too high, hell, it's been a while so i've lost my skills, the small and deep imperceptible ways i'd learn to scream, i'm gonna have to relearn that shit cause that there on my wrist is a mistake. and i come back and drink some more, the next morning i get off work cause i've slept over and it's too much of a hassle to figure out how i shower, get dressed and find a way from her place to there and i could stay but i don't because it's sarah, sarah and joel, and is it phil in the next room over? i'm intruding. i'm intruding and it's palpable, so i leave and maybe this is a mistake too as well because from then on, i go out of my way to smile, laugh, drink and be merry, laugh and be merry baby laugh and be merry
and holy hell
i can't keep up.

hello this is me i took some pictures today omg.
heh.



i know right, i'm not usually one for self-portraiture but when in lack of friends and in possession of a camera one cannot afford to have purchased, one must uhm... take pics of self!