This girl, alone, sitting patiently beside the bar while her picture is being taken by, who knows what partner that evening, has died.
The night this picture was taken, I had thrown together an outfit and gone out with some friends at the last minute. This was how I dealt with difficult situations. Get dressed, slap on a smile and some mascara, and go get wasted. Try ANYTHING. Give me more of EVRYTHING. Love me, rape me, MORE, more, more.
My fiance at the time was at his apartment, probably drinking himself stupid as well. I had found another girl’s t-shirt in his laundry that day. The laundry I was doing for him while I was cleaning his apartment to surprise him when he got home. I wanted nothing more than to belong to HIM, to wear the white dress I’d already picked out, to be a wife and a mother in the future.
Finding the t-shirt was a great excuse to get pissed and get DRUNK. I found the t-shirt AFTER I found out that the baby in the belly of another female was his. Yeah.
I stayed with him because, well, he was my purpose in life. He was my future. But like I said, I got drunk every night to deal with it. I got drunk before I saw him. I got drunk while I was with him. I got drunk after he left to go out on the oil rig he worked on. And just because you don’t see the alcohol in the photo, doesn’t mean I hadn’t had more than a few sailors could handle. I was always sneaky with alcohol. Always hiding it.
This girl in the photo you see has a shirt on for a dress. She wears make up on her arms and dark stockings on to cover her cuts. The adorable “come here” grin is a fake smike that she practiced in the mirror. She is no longer alive. She is a disease, She is lost and miserable. She feels worthless so she self destructs in every possible way, every minute of every day.
She leaves with the stranger taking the photo that evening. She wakes up, scrambles out of the house, gets in her car and RUNS as fast as she can back to her cheating fiance. A vicious cycle of addiction that rarely has a happy ending, and if it does, it gets unimaginably worse before it even begins to get better.
If you’re into philosophy, I highly recommend Sophie’s World, by Jostein Gaarder. That’s for you out there, in Oregon. <3
I finshed steps 4,5,…. and then I dove right on in to 6 and 7!
Yeah it took about two YEARS. I only wish I’d done this sooner.
Now then. That being said…
If you’re interested in me, Mister, forgive me, because I’ll have to respond with a ‘thank you’ and leave it at that right now. You see, I’ve been interested in this “me” I’ve heard so much about for my entire life. I’ve only just met “myself”. So please back off, I found her first. She’s kinda hot.
Omg summer is almost over and I haven’t really done anything for my classroom. Eeeek. It’s really hard not to splurge and spend half my pay check making every thing just perfect for my new wittle ones. I am excited though. I know I’ll have everything put together in no time. I have a new assistant this year, and although I LOOOVED my other one who got moved, I think my new one is going to be just as good. Hopefully she won’t be nit-picky and one-track-minded, because I’m really spontaneous and like, 13 track-minded.
My mother is moving to the same school as me. She has done this before, and she left in about two weeks which kind of left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth towards me after that. I am a good teacher like her, but other than that, personality wise we couldn’t be more different. I’m not worried about her though, when things SHOULD stress me out, I am always bombarded by this little bubble of calm that tells me not to listen to anyone of any voice in my head that makes me want to worry. It’s like I have a xanax chemical in my brain. Probably stored up there in a clot or something from all the clonopin I used to pop. HA.
I remember I started this blog because I wanted to get healthier, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Hmm.
Mentally I’m about an 8 out of 10. I feel better than I have in years. I’m taking my meds right and I have been seeing Dr. B. regularly. Not as many nightmares, less anxiety, sober <3
Emotionally I’d say 6 out of 10. I feel better about my self worth, and more humble in general. I’ve mad a lot more friends that I actually like. I haven’t been suicidal except for a few meager occasions and I think that’s just because I made it a habit of “wanting to die” when things got hard. My attitude could use some work. I get really mean and fed up sometimes, but I’m striving for progress, not perfection. When I feel pangs of self hatred and guilt, I’ve really been trying to “self soothe” rather than self destruct.
Physically I have started going to a gym for strength training whenever I feel like it. I like knowing it’s there for me to escape to. I’m not crazy about it, because I’m not the gym rat type. I like outside stuff. Which is why I started the couch to 5k thing. Right now I can run non stop for 7.5 minutes. It’s not much, but it’s more than I could do at the beginning of summer. I’d like to try this gluten-free kind of diet.. but I’m not pushing it. :)
Sometimes I like the walls I keep up around me. They protect me and give me comfort. I sleep easier now without needing anyone beside me.
I stopped clinging to my bare matress that was wet with tears and the heat of my breath from screaming into it, missing him and longing, aching to be held.
This hardness scares me somewhat. I remember being a complete brick at one point in my life. I had a poker face that no one could see through. Toying with people was a hobby, for when I got bored with someone’s lack of intellect or creativity.
I had just graduated and found a soul to prey upon. One night he was out of town and I was staying at his house. I thought no one would be home, but his roommate was and convinced me I couldn’t stay in by myself on New Year’s Eve. I knew what was going to happen the second I got in the guy’s jacked up Chevy. My boyfriend had told me he loved me over the phone for the first time, and I hung up on him, pretending the call had dropped, as I clenched his roommate’s flannel shirt in my fist in front of a party full of people who knew my boyfriend. I didn’t care. Screw him over first before he gets the chance to hurt me.
Somehow, word got back to the sucker I had following me around like a lost dog behind a pork chop. He was destroyed. I never denied it, I just meticulously answered every question he asked in a way that made him trust me, forget his anger, and shut up about it. His roommate was still around when I would come over. I remember slyly asking him to take a picture of my boyfriend and me before we left one might. I posed, arms around my beau and looked through him with eyes of steel as the picture was taken. I don’t know what made me break out of that empty shell I had become, but I did. I’ve always felt raped, like the men I used deserved the pain I inflicted on them. I still get a little satisfaction, now that it’s been 6 years or so, and one of those moronic bastards leaves a voicemail in the middle of the night.