Resolution

     I'm making a resolution. I'm taking control of my life. From here on out I'm done with thinking about cutting myself. I don't need to do it. I need to find other ways to cope. I can draw, I can talk to a friend, I can write, I can go for a walk or run. I don't need to hurt myself. My body deserves to be treated better than that and my mind needs to stop thinking about it.
     I'm ready to be happy and it is time to move on. So I'm making a resolution to stop thinking about self harm and to stop using rubber bands. I'm done with all of it. There are healthier ways to cope and I'm going to find them. I'm going to use the things I have now and I'm going to find more. I don't need to do this anymore. I don't want to do it anymore.
     I'm taking control of my life. I will feel anxious, I will feel overwhelmed, I will feel sad, angry, or frustrated. And that is okay, because I have people who understand and who can help me deal with these things. I'm deciding to be happy, even if it is just for now. I'm going to do my best to keep the clouds away. This is my life and I would rather be happy than sad.

Slip

     I have them just in case. They're hidden away, but I know where they are. They're there in case I slip again. Just in case it becomes too much to handle and I need that release. There have been moments when I thought I might need them, but I always change my mind. I choose to lay in bed rather than actually make the effort to go get them.
     I retrieved them right before a fantastic weekend. I was feeling awful and I thought I might need them. I thought I might need to bring them with me. But by the time I left, I promised myself I didn't need them for this trip and I left them behind. That this was going to be a good one. And it was. I didn't need them at all. Never had the urge once.
     I've been sticking with this feeling - that I don't really need them. But I won't get rid of them. Although I don't know if I'll ever use them. I want them. I want to know that I have the option. I want to know that they are there even if I'll never use them. A safety net of sorts. A last resort.
     I've decided to be happy. I'm sick of feeling cloudy and unfocused. But what if I feel lost again? What if I need to bring myself into the clear? What about when everything becomes too much again? I want them around when that happens. I want to have them ready. I probably won't use them until I lose it again. I haven't used them yet, but I might someday. That's why I won't throw them away. I'm not sure how long this feeling will last and I don't want to risk it. I don't want to slip and not have them. So I'm keeping them - hidden - until I need them.

A Stitch Away From Making It

     In the words of the Fall Out Boy song The Afterlife of the Party, "I'm a stitch away from making it and a scar away from falling apart". I feel like my life could go either way at this point. It could go either way in any given day or even hour. It's like the moment I start thinking about something too much I could easily tear my stitches out. I could easily create a new scar. What little is holding me together might not be enough.
     I feel like I'm in an unstable state. Being on the fence is a scary feeling. I feel like something that I see or hear could push me over the edge. I'm working on not letting things bother me, but sometimes I just get so overwhelmed that I can't handle it. Those are the moments when I'm convinced everything will fall apart and I'll slip back into the confusion and constant state of drowning that I feel like I just clawed myself out of.
     The last thing I want is to feel that way again. Like nothing I do will ever be right. Like I will never belong. Like I'm invisible. Lost and alone with no one to talk to and no one to care. My options are being okay, being happy, being around people I love, having direction in my life, being how I feel a lot of the time. Or I can slip back into sadness. I don't want to go back there, I just don't know how to stop myself from getting overwhelmed. I don't know how to stop myself from feeling the cracks. I don't know how to stop myself from creating problems in my head.
     I don't know how to hold myself together. And I know that not everyday will be a good day. There will just be days where it is overwhelming or something makes me sad or angry or frustrated. I know that this will happen. This is life after all. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. I guess what I'm afraid of though, is that one of these moments is just going to send me over the edge. I won't be held together anymore. I'm afraid that I can go either way so easily and it's a guessing game as to which way I will fall.

Snap Shot

     Last night I started reading Ariel by Sylvia Plath. The version that I have is the restored version with the forward by Sylvia Plath's daughter, Frieda Hughes. While I was reading it I began to realize that she was strongly emphasizing that Ariel contained poems that were just a moment in Sylvia Plath's life. All of her writing was an example of her feelings at a given time. A snap shot of the way she was feeling. And just because Ariel happens to contain some of her latest works - the ones closest to when she killed herself - doesn't mean that  these were her feelings throughout her whole life. Frieda does say that her mother was plagued by depression her whole life, but that the feelings that ultimately led to her suicide would have eventually passed, just as other feelings had passed before.
     This got me thinking about my own journal. I'm no Sylvia Plath. My writing is solely about my feelings. I cannot channel the energy into anything great - a poem or a novel. But like her poems and The Bell Jar, my journal is a snap shot my life from early December until mid/late summer. Everything I write is a freeze frame of how I am feeling. Some entry's are very sad, some are very happy, some are drawings, quotes, some are completely irrational, sometimes I color. All of this is held together in one little book.
     I got an unlined journal because it made me feel free. I wouldn't have to abide by the lines. I wouldn't be confined and obligated to write between them. With no lines I am free to write sideways, draw, color, scribble, write really big or really small. I like this. I like having that freedom.
     To go even broader an document is just a picture of a certain time and place. A journal or a scrap book. A newspaper, a book, a photograph. These all show a different time. A time that is now passed, even if it was just moments ago. That moment is gone forever, but it is still there in the story.
     My journal is a snap shot me as a 19 year old, a 20 year old, someone who is lost, someone who is trying to figure out who they are, someone who is struggling sometimes, someone who is fragile, someone who is on the edge of either really succeeding and figuring life out or failing and being destined to live in the fog of her brain. My journal tells who my friends are. It tells what I did. What I liked and didn't like. Someday I might be embarrassed to look back on it. But I'm not yet. I love looking back on it and seeing where I was in December and what the second half of my sophomore year looked like. Whether I like it or not my journal is a snap shot of who I was and who I am. It may not be an actual photograph, but it certainly paints a picture. My journal is a snap shot of me in one moment of my life.

Therapy

     My first experience with therapy was when I was a freshman in high school. After my mother discovered that I was self injuring (I wonder what she would say if she knew I never really got over it) and was quite depressed over losing my best friend. The relationship was really more than that, but it doesn't matter now. Only a few people know about that, none of which really had a say in the events at the time. No one really knows why I went so crazy. It was a really rough couple of months.
      Anyway off the therapy I went. We went once a week. Sometimes my sister and I were together, but most of the time we were separate. I don't think it helped much. In time I think I just got over the situation. Jenny taught me how to cope by snapping myself with a rubber band rather than self injure. I can't decide how I feel about this. I didn't get much accomplished in therapy at 16. I was really uncomfortable being alone and I think really unable to articulate what my feelings on the situation were. Anyway, hindsight is 20/20.
     Flash forward a few years. I've always been a pretty anxious person. Terrified of change or death. Or both. I guess they can go hand in hand. At the end of my freshman year of college my anxiety was starting to get a little worse. Like kind of at actual panic attack status. I had learned to manage the chest pains in high school. But over the summer it was fine. Enter sophomore year. I had a rough time adjusting to living with another roommate other than my sister. We drove each other crazy. First semester was awful. By second semester things had cleared up though and we were good again.
     I wasn't good though. My life had shifted in ways that I couldn't fathom. Now I'm alright with the changes, but at the time I felt like my world was crashing down around me and I couldn't even tell which direction it was coming from. I was just incredibly sad all the time. Nothing made me feel better, not for long anyway. So my roommate and I decided to try out going to the counseling center. I wanted to learn how to cope with change and kind of get my life back together and I think she just wanted to try it out because she was in a counseling class.
     I've always been a person that wanted to try group therapy. Watching movies like Girl Interrupted made it look very interesting. I'm also incredibly nosy. I want to know everyone's life. What better way to get that than to go to group therapy. So while I was doing my intake interview and group gets brought up, I get super excited. I've always wanted to do this, right?! Wrong.
     Group therapy was not really for me. It is an experience that I wouldn't give up, but I am not very good at speaking up and initiating talk about my feelings. I also realized I still had problems articulating when speaking out loud and I started to develop anxiety about having to speak up in front of the whole group. These issues all point to the fact that I should probably stick with group, in order to get over them, and maybe I will.
      My issues - anxiety about death and dying and trying to deal with separating from ones twin - are somewhat unique issues. Especially the twin thing. That is something that I guess is kind of hard to relate to. Or rather, maybe just not group topics. And maybe my feelings went deeper than these two things. Maybe I don't even know what I'm anxious about, because the list is constantly changing.
     I thought that going to group would be different. I had a romanticized version of how it worked. I did not really learn to cope with my anxiety and I only spoke up a handful of times. Hopefully the third times the charm. Maybe I'll do both individual and group therapy in the fall and see what happens. So far my experiences with therapy have been interesting. The second definitely an improvement from the first. So it can only keep getting better, right?

Laying Under My Bed

     I feel safe there. I've never done it before. Never thought to lay on the floor of my room and just slide myself under. I took a pillow and blanket with me and just laid there, staring at the bottom of my mattress, focusing on the metal grid that supports it. For someone who generally freaks out in small spaces, I felt incredibly safe there. I felt like my feelings were manageable.
    My room was just too large. Everything from my head was swirling around and filling up all the available space. Maybe going under my bed was a way of hiding from all of this. I guess it was. Because once I was under there I felt like if I just kept staring at the one intersection in the grid I would be alright. I could talk myself off the ledge. But only in this small, semi-dark space could I do this. My room was too much to handle.
     Of course I was freaking out over ridiculousness. I get overwhelmed and my brain can't handle it. Everything goes immediately cloudy and I curl up into a ball and cry or rather try not to. But for some reason going under my bed felt like a good idea. I had calmed down a little by the time I decided to crawl in, which I think helped.
     I was eventually talked off the ledge the first time I emerged by a friend. My friend did a fantastic job of making me feel better, because when I first came out I started to freak out again. But I took my phone and my computer back under my bed and everything was alright. She kept talking to me and I was able to start working and I was much calmer. I don't think she knows how helpful she was. I wouldn't have done anything without her help and encouragement.
     I can't explain these feelings of safety and security that came from lying on my dirty floor under my bed. It just happened. I was able to tell myself that it was going to be alright. That what I was overwhelmed about was really manageable. So between hiding in a space that came maybe 6 inches from my face for a while and my friend talking me down to a normal level, my night actually ended pretty good.

Speaking with Caution

     I never tell people how I feel. I can't even tell a professor that I loved their class or that I learned so much from them. I can't even do this, so I definitely can't tell the people that mean the most to me, that they do. I can't tell someone that I love them. Not in the serious, I can't live without you way, let alone in an I want you way. 

     I feel like other people can do this so easily. They can walk up to someone and say "hey I like you". They have no problems talking to professors or people they look up to. I envy these people. They don't care if people know how they feel. They aren't afraid to just say what is on their mind and go for it.

     I don't do this. My friends mean the world to me. I couldn't live without them. The people that I surround myself with are the ones that keep me sane or insane, depending on your point of view. But I rarely if ever tell them this. I'm writing it here, but to say it out loud would be very difficult for me. If I felt something more for someone I would just assume take the secret to my grave. Vocalizing it would be too much for me to handle. 

     When we vocalize things it makes them real. It means that what you are saying is now a "thing". It's not just that thought in the way back of your mind that you had little to no intention of acknowledging. But then you say it. The words come out of your mouth, and sometimes you want to take them back before the sentence is even out. Other times it's a relief to finally tell someone else what has been on your mind. 

     Saying what we're feeling can lift the world off our shoulders or it can bury us under a ton of rock. I guess it depends on the person and the situation There are some situations where I can tell that what I say will either relieve me of a massive burden or make me wish I was buried under those rocks. Sometimes I can't tell at all. Those are the worst ones. Where you have to weigh the odds and risk ruining everything you've ever wanted. A situation where you can make things worse than if you'd just kept your mouth shut. I'm usually one to err on the side of caution, especially when it comes to people I love. So I'm not really one to say anything, if it could seriously change something. But by doing this, I'm just guessing as to what would happen if I did say something and I'll never know if that could make things better. That is the price we pay though. We have to make decisions that could change our lives forever, and what we say can decide one way or the other. 

Out of Control

     I've lost control of my life. It's barely even mine anymore. It belongs to everyone around me. I am their charge. Ever since I got home I've felt completely out of control. I can't seem to get a grip. I can't seem to regain control of my life. It's scary and stressful. It's frustrating. I'm worried constantly. I worry about money all the time. I worry about everything. I worry about pleasing everyone. I worry about being good enough. I worry about my relationships with people. I worry about time. I worry about never finding myself. I wonder when this phase will end. I know I shouldn't wish any part of my life away. But I feel so lost and I'm not sure how much longer I can deal with it. I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling like my life is in constant chaos. No matter what I do I can't seem to pick up all the pieces and put them back together. I can't wrap my mind around anything. And I know somewhere in the back of my head everything is going to work out and be okay. But I can't convince myself of this. I'm having a harder and harder time pulling myself back to reality. I'm not even sure I know what reality is anymore. I feel so far away from everything. Like there are things happening and I can't get to them. Everything feels all jumbled up inside my head. Usually I can keep everything separated and straight. But everything is nagging me. I've tried making 'to do' lists, but that doesn't really help. I can't stand feeling this out of it. I can't pin point my emotions. I don't know how to fix it. Take things one step at a time? Day by day? Hour by hour? I don't know how to manage my stress. I don't know how to get control back. And it's driving me crazy. It's pushing me over the edge.

Actually Happy

     Tonight I was really, truly, able to feel it happy. I saw the show Next to Normal at the Wood Theater in Glens Falls, NY. I've seen the show twice on Broadway. Once with Jessica Phillips and once with Alice Ripley. I loved both. I love this show. I love the music. Everything about it is so beautiful to me. I find myself relating to the topic despite not being mentally ill or having anyone close to me be mentally ill. I don't know what it is, I just love the story.
     I went with my friend Maddie and my sister. We had originally had plans to see the show while it was still on Broadway. That never happened though. We never saw it together. Tonight was Maddie's first time seeing it. I was excited to see it, but also a little eh. Essentially I had my reservations. But as we were sitting in our seats staring at the stage and waiting for the show to start, I realized how happy I was to be in that place, in that time.
     This never happens to me. I go through life relatively content, but not really blindingly happy. Tonight I was that happy, and I haven't felt that way in a long time. Getting $10 tickets and seeing a show I love with people I love was amazing. Being in a city no matter how small also didn't hurt. The cast was great, which definitely helped. It was a great feeling. But I know I couldn't handle being that happy all the time. I would go crazy. I was losing my mind. But now I know what it is. The feeling of tonight verses how I've been feeling lately were polar opposites. I need to have more moments like that. So for tonight I'm going to revel in my blinding, crazy happiness.

Waiting for the show to start in the park.

My Obsession With Fiction

     For anyone who doesn't know - I have an obsessive personality. When I find out about something and I like it I charge ahead full force. These obsessions are usually relatively short lived. They last for a while - some as many as years. But they are never as intense as when the obsession first starts. Although I suppose that is kind of obvious. Just a list of some past obsessions - Charmed, Grey's Anatomy, RENT, Wicked (book and musical, mostly book), volleyball, Next to Normal, The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath, The Good Wife, Rizzoli and Isles, New York City, Criminal Minds songs that I listen to until no one can handle it anymore, and most recently The Hunger Games. The list goes on and on. Some of these obsessions are still going on. Some aren't as strong. The only one that doesn't really exist for me anymore is Charmed. But I'm not one to turn down a few of the older episodes if I happen to catch them on the TV in the morning.
     As a child I loved fiction. Fiction was everything to me. I would devour book after book, practically living at the library. Good thing it is right down the street. I loved the stories. I loved reading. I still love reading. But high school and then college effectively pushed my love of free reading to the way back burner. I pretty much stopped reading much for fun. Granted, I did fall in love with Wicked while in high school and I did still read. But it wasn't at the rate that I read at when I was a child.
     Lately I have made my way more to nonfiction. Reading things about the abortion debate or feminism. Something that I never did. I was never a fan of nonfiction. I always wanted to be swept away to a world that wasn't real to be with a character that I loved. So falling in love with some nonfiction was a big change for me. The Bell Jar is semi-autobiographical, but still fiction and Wicked was definitely fiction. These have been my two books that I've been holding on to and refusing to let go. They were the books I would turn to when I needed that escape. I never sought out new books to read. But I've been waiting to find that story that completely takes me away. A story that I can lose myself in. It's been a long time since I was obsessed with a book.
     This summer, and by that I mean a few weeks ago, I decided to read The Hunger Games series. A friend had given me the book and I finally finished the book I was reading (Lolita). So I decided what the hell, I want to see the movie eventually and I want to have read the book first. And I had heard that they were really good. So I started it. And I couldn't put it down. I read the first one in 3 days - unheard of for me. The second one in 3 days and the 3rd one in 4. It was quite the emotional roller coaster. The first and the third were definitely my favorite. I liked the second one, just not as much the first one or the third one.
     The second and third books brought up a lot of feelings and questions for myself and my beliefs about politics. I resented the controlling nature of Snow and then of Coin. I always have. But my left leaning beliefs naturally depend on a larger government. Which leads to a lot of questions that I'm trying to work out. I loved Katniss from the beginning and I definitely was a Peeta shipper. I liked Gale too, but Peeta more. Which made some of the things in the third book upsetting.
     I loved them though. I was told they ended abruptly, but I didn't feel that way. I did have closure, which sometimes doesn't happen. And I can add them to my list of obsessions. It has been a long times since a book completely stole me away and transported me to another world and another time. It has been a long time since I fell so completely in love with a set of characters and a long time since I cried over a book. I love fiction and I found a series that has restored my faith in the genre as well as led to my most recent obsession.

Feeling Extra Twinny

I haven't had a post related to being a twin in a while. So while I'm feeling extra twinny and I'm in a good mood - a positive post about being a twin.

This is my tattoo. My sister has the same one. We got them in almost two years ago. This tattoo celebrates our love of the musical RENT, but more than that it celebrate us. I would consider this our "twin tattoo". They are on opposite foots and they face different ways. Where my "I Die" is, that is where her "Without You" is. I'm so happy that this was our first tattoo and that they are for us. This tattoo is a small sign of our twinship and I believe that it is true. We may not always be physically together, a fact that has been hard for me to  accept in it's reality, we will always carry the other with us. I will always carry Melissa with me, even if we are far apart. She is a part of me not matter what.

Some Nights

     Some nights I want nothing more than to feel the pain against my skin. I need to feel it take my breath away and take me screaming back to reality with a screeching halt. I need my anger, sadness, and frustration to go away. Inflicting pain seems to be the fastest, most effective way to do this.

     I would do so much more if I wouldn't get caught. If  no one ever had  to find out I would have scars up and down my arms. I've always loved scars. Loved what they symbolized. Concrete evidence of where I had been and what I was feeling. But I can't have scars up and down my arms. I have two conflicting sides in me. I just want to do it, but I can't have anyone know. Arms are too noticeable. People would see them and ask questions. Tell me that it wasn't normal and something was wrong. Maybe they would be right.

     Not that I ever got that intense. Really only scrapes or burns. But if I could, sometimes I think I could use something sharper, something more permanent. Something that would leave an actual mark and an actual scar. Not the faded trace of a scar that only I can see. I can only see one, although there are more. Though those ones seem to have faded away forever. 

     I don't use anything but rubber bands now. That's what the therapist told me to do. They don't leave a permanent mark. Only for a few days. Still hard to explain away though. If someone saw them I would have to admit that I never learned how to cope. That therapy didn't help. It just gave me a way to bring myself back without an lasting evidence. Supposedly better than "self injuring". But how is it better? Isn't it just a different way? A way that makes me look more normal? A way that doesn't reveal that there is a problem to begin with? 

     I never got over it. It is still something that I feel the need to do. It is my most effective way of coping. Sure writing helps sometimes. But there are times when I need that sharpness, that quick snap, the pain shooting up my arm. Those are times that there is too much going on to write. Times when writing won't bring me back. Sometimes I wish no one could see. That the scars that I would create would be for my eyes only. Because my fears of getting caught and being an outcast in society are the only thing keeping me from having scars up and down my arms. 

     If other people could see them then they would know something was wrong. It would be written right in front of them for the world to see. And I'm not ready to admit that something is wrong yet. I don't know what it is. I'm not ready to admit that I might not be normal, and not in a good way. I'm not ready to admit that something may have snapped in me when I was 16 and it hasn't been right since. I'm not ready to admit that the pain is like a punishment in my own twisted way. I don't want people to know that I'm not okay.