you've got a beautiful brain but its disintegrating from all the medicine

I've fallen under the trap of my narcissistic mother for years. I've done a lot of reading about emotional abuse from mothers over the years, but really finally feel like things make sense. I also have finally started to broach the idea that even as a teen - when I was into stupid pro-ana websites and crap because I honestly believed that I was in control of my life in that illness. But fuck, growing up and knowing that my mom conditioned and groomed me to believe that I was just a fucked up teenager who wanted a problem - that there was nothing really that wrong with me. How I carried that around with me for years and years - how I still do. How I let it consume me. How when I was put in the hospital she told the doctor I was dramatic - that I embellished stories. That i was okay. How one time in the car she just looked out the front windshield and told me that I needed too much.

I have been sick for almost 12 years. 2014 was the first time in my life where I started to make progress - real progress. Working with Lindsey and even that was hard because I literally believed I didn't deserve to be there. And fuck my mom for every putting that thought in my head. For making me feel like what I was going through was fake, that it didn't matter - that I didn't matter.

Most of all, I hate that sometimes I'll be driving in the car and the windows will be down because spring is coming and I'll think I can do this - I'm gonna be okay. And when I see Lindsey in 2016, things are going to be okay. But then I'm back in the house and I want to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.

Because these days, I feel that holding a gun to my head and pulling the trigger will give me the control I never found in my eating disorder.

Sorry, Lindsey.

other people are not medicine

It's already March. In a little over a week, it will be three months since I finished school, which is kind of crazy to wrap my mind around. Last summer was only four months long, and I thought that it would never end.

Being at home is so strange. I guess I kind of realized that I was always going to end up here. I go back and forth a lot between mind frames; one minute, I'm really good. Things are great and I still can feel that girl who walked into Lindsey's office on December 12th for the final times. Other times, mainly the night, I can feel sickness and depression and illness seeping back into my bones and I honestly get torn between telling it to shut up and just letting it move back in. Night is the only time that I ever "consider" relapse. That I don't push the thoughts back out.

I emailed Lindsey last week because I miss her. And I hate that I miss her. Because we aren't friends and we never were, and as much as I have adjusted to not seeing her every week, sometimes it is hard. Sometimes, I do miss it. And sometimes I think it would just be so much easier to not send her an email at all. To just cut it all out of my life, but I know that isn't fair either. And so I emailed her and she emailed me back and it cut in all the places that I didn't want it too. I miss her.

I also emailed LB - six years after the fact. After running into her, or well, I guess, seeking her out on Thursday last week, I finally felt like I had enough courage to confront her about what had happened all that time ago. I sent it to her on facebook, and I know she's read the message but hasn't replied. And thats okay too - I told her I wasn't expecting anything from her. But that the door was open. I just feel like a million times better with it all out in the open. Now she knows.

I really thought I had a lot to say today. But I clearly don't.

under the gravel skies

I'll never be able to deal with how much of an afterthought I am here. Which, I wanted to erase the minute I wrote it because I think there was a time last year - after all my work with L that, it wasn't so much that I wasn't an after thought persay, so much that I could cope and deal with it. But its been almost three months since I've worked with L and a lot of snow has fallen and winter kills everything it touches.

Tonight was the first time since coming home that I laid in my bed, that horrible fucking ache that echoes in the hollow of my heart, so prominent - and I wanted to slice my skin open. I wanted to take the blade I found cleaning and slash my skin. I haven't cut since my anatomy midterm.

Sometimes I wonder what the point of nursing school is - what the point of any of it is when I could just split the vein and drown in the bathtub.

i have to go.
i can't stay.

i will die here.

where do we go from here?

So what's happened over the past two years? My last post was such a positive outlook onto what 2013 could be - and for the most part it stayed like that. Things in my life really did start to change and get better that year. I went to NYC in April with a good friend and got to experience the city in a way I wasn't used to. I worked two different golf course jobs. I went back to NYC in September and met up with my friend K from England who was roadtripping across America. But things started to get a little bit hard after that. I got rejected from nursing school, which I took incredibly hard. Things at home were at an all time bad and I was within days of being kicked out. So, on a whim, I applied to a lesser program far away - my top choice from 2012 that I had turned down.

And I got in.

I moved at the beginning of January 2014, almost three hours away - not really sure what my life was going to be. But I knew that I wanted to make it work this time - that this program was the answer to finally getting into nursing school. So I started working with a counsellor on campus - who changed my life so incredibly. And despite how hard things got at school, I finished first semester as one of the top kids in my class.

Summer - I had to move back home. And I couldn't find a job. Things sucked. Things were really, really, fucking hard. And so I started making trips out every few weeks to meet my counsellor from school to try and hold myself together. And come September, I moved back, and felt very unsure about finishing up my program. I didn't feel I had the same drive or stability after such a rocky summer. I tried to withdraw twice, but my counsellor fought for me to see I had reasons to keep going. And somehow - I really don't know how - I made it. I finished within the top 8 of my class.

And now its 2015. I'm off for the next 8 months until nursing school begins (provided I get in!). And I tried to make it work in my school city, but lack of a job, means being homeless and I had to pack up and come back home. Which hasn't been easy. Home is where things fall apart -where I fall apart against all better judgement because I don't know how to be who I am here. I don't know how to maintain that and fight for that and hold onto that when everybody around me is trying to bury me, break me, push me to the edge.

I don't know where I go from here.
I'm scared.
I'm scared I'm gonna fucking ruin everything. My counsellor is going on Mat Leave and I won't see her for about a year and a half. I'm afraid that when I see her next everything will be shot to shit and I can't even fucking bear the thought of showing up like that.

I don't know what to do. Relapse feels imminent. Like that silhouette you just slip into with ease. That whispers. Shh. It's okay. You're home now. You can close your eyes.

hold on to hope love

Sometimes, I'm afraid that a relapse is just imminent. That I'm going to wake up in 6 months and I'm going to wonder what the fuck happened and how I got there and how I worked so hard to become who I am and it will all be gone.

A lot has happened over the past two years. And maybe when I'm in the mood, I'll blog about it.