Cutting

It is a drug.

I find myself turning to this when I feel like there is no other way out. It IS my drug.

My first experiences began in the 9th grade. Although my initial intentions were probably not the right reasons, I found it as a way to release all of my supressed feelings; anger, anxiety, hate, depression. everything negative. I never did it much though; I have no physical scars left on me from those days. I stopped after about a year.

Recently the urges have been revisiting me. Back in October was when I gave in again. It felt so good. My body immediately felt the "pain vs. pleasure" and for once in a long while, I felt...free. (for lack of a better term, my apologies.) I started light; on my ankle with small amateur-like scratches. It eventually grew to deep cuts throughout my thigh, shoulder, and "cushion" area on the side of my foot. This was all over a few short months.
With a concerned boyfriend, I promised to stop. And I did.

But tonight, I gave in again. And here's why:
I figured I was being resonable. I didn't just jump to cutting as I usually did. I let my true emotions take control first. I cried my eyes out until I couldn't breathe and felt like puking. But that still was not enough. So I took out the blade that I keep in my panty drawer. Just two little cuts to my left thigh (previously all my thigh cuts were on the right) was all it took. Just enough to break the skin and allow the blood to trickle.
I don't know it is about this, but it leaves me feeling relieved. And that's why I do it.

**I'm still not ok with the situation that occured tonight. Cutting never takes away the real pain. But for me, it gives me the same side effects as a drug might.


***Cutting is not something you should do. I recognize that it is unhealthy and something I should not be doing. For now, it takes away what I am feeling, and that's what I need...for now. I have gotten help, and do receive professional help when I feel it needed. For anyone out there struggling, know that this really is not a "cure-all" answer. If you need help, be good to yourself and get the help you deserve.

--signing off, disheartened.

A Two-Story Vent

Today has been, well...I've had better.
Two Stories.

Here is the Prologue:
Talking with my boyfriend he tells me he and a (girl) friend have plans to go out Friday (tonight) evening. Having met the girl and know their friendship, I am not bothered by his plans; I am not the jealous type (especially after he told me a few other friends would be joining them). I don't even bother trying to include myself in his plans as I know they will be going out for drinks in bars. My problem is my 21st birthday isn't until this coming May. So until then, I get to sit at home and take shit from being "the youngest". You have no idea how much this infuriates me.
Which is why I contacted my good friend *Amy. We made plans for us to go out for the evening and having coffee and a conversation, as our bi-weekly meet-ups usually go; all of which had been planned after boyfriend had made plans of his own for the evening; note: excluding me.

Story One:
I was really looking forward to tonight; it isn't everyday that Amy and I get to hang out.
Unsurprisingly, however, she text me later the evening to say she really needed to finish writing her huge paper and asked to raincheck. Being the compassionate, understanding friend that I am, I told her it wasn't a problem at all and granted her wish.
Though, I say "unsurprisingly" because she is known by some of my other friends as the "flaky" one. Too many times will she make plans, just to break them. Grant it, I'm sure she has no prior intention of doing so, things just..."come up".
Whatever.
So, sitting at home, bored, *Mark messages me on facebook chat. (oh the lovely commodities of this generation.) It wasn't until talking with him that I learned of Amy's real plans. Turns out, she ditched me (and Mark apparently) to hang out with some other friends, also in hopes of going to a bar. (Amy just turned 21 a few wks ago. Ever since then, she hasn't stopped going to bars or just going out. It upsets me.) This wouldn't be such a big deal to me if she would have just told me the truth; if she would have just said, "I want to go to a place where you can't go yet". Yes, it fucking pisses me off that I get that all the time, but I would rather be told the truth.
Needless-to-say, I was not happy. At all. "Angry" just skims the peak of my initial emotions.

From there, the night went completely downhill...or uphill...whatever the hell that saying is.

Story Two:
...All the while Story 1 is occuring, and ending, Story 2 begins at the peak of my emotions held over from Story 1. Probably not a good thing.
Boyfriend (whom I have not decided to or not to name yet) is texting me every so often throughout the night. Basically just letting me know what they're doing. He tells me he's had a bit to drink, and I worry. (He knows how I feel about drinking and driving...so I'll put this little notice up so you can know too...
DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE!
Alright.)
Now, with every text he continues to send me, I can feel myself just becoming so completely infuriated. By now, I am hating where I'm at...sitting at home, yes; but being 20 fucking sucks! So I'm hating that. I'm hating that Amy ditched me. And am now feeling like boyfriend is just rubbing his happiness all in my face.
And then he sends me this text:
"Oh god, now she wants us to dance dance."
("She" being the original girl he made plans with...the girl I am NOT jealous over.) My first reaction is "k". I could careless.
But then I become paranoid. I re-read the text. And then I read it again.
"Dance dance"? What the hell does that even mean?! My next first thoughts were of that Fall Out Boy song.
"Dance dance"?! It kept playing through my mind. Still becoming more and more angry, to the point of tears, and really, for no reason, I know, I'm just working myself up.
I text him back again as there was no response from my "k". I then reply "whatever".
No response.
The next thing he sends me is about them not being able to get into a club for whatever reason.
I'm so infurated that I text him the following back:
"Listen babe, I'm gonna be up for a while. A long while. But unless it's an emergency, please don't tell me what ya'll are doing."

And really, I'm not crazy. It was just making me depressed. I've been the "blunt of the joke" for too long it seems.

The story ends with me in tears, as I'm sure, predicted.

I could say more, but I won't for now.
So, Goodnight...or Goodmorning.