Just what exactly does what life want out of me? Why don’t I get out of suffering even when I can? I meditated today after a long time. It was so peaceful and fulfilling. But I, purely consciously and deliberately, right in the middle, crashed it all up, torn it all up. I just couldn’t handle the peace! What the hell is wrong with me? What do I want? Is all this suffering not enough? I must be either mad or the most fucked up crooked donkey of a person on earth. (You know the property of a donkey? He gets fat in winter and starved in spring. That’s because in spring the grass is all around him and he can’t make up his mind where or what to eat and end up starved. While in winter grass is scarce so he eats with single-mindedness and remains happy.) I will never be free because I don’t want to be free. I am doomed.
I can’t believe I’m so frustrated over sausage!! So the people I live with have been super nice and insisted I eat real food instead of live off of ramen. I think I’m gaining weight from not being so starved and having food besides ramen. Ramen is all I can literally afford on my own. But they made sausage in sour kraut 3 nights ago and have had me drooling over it. But then, it was to be saved for the next day. And then the next. And then the next. It’s driving me fucking crazy!! All I want is a god damned sausage! Geez how priorities have changed. I used to get frustrated over the guy I have loved/love, but now I’m frustrated as fuck coz I’m never gonna get to have any of that sausage!
You never let me do anything. You “said” you always wanted me to “grow as a person” but whenever I didn’t do exactly what you wanted, you hit me. You starved me for days without food, and called me names nobody should ever be called. You measured love by success and trophies, and made sure to cover up all my bruises before a competition. You stole my glory from me. My victories were never MY victories, whenever you talked to admiring parents, they became YOUR victories that I had gained because of you. While enduring this, the flute became my only friend. Well you know what? I don’t want these trophies. Throw away all the certificates of my performances at Carnegie Hall, melt the trophies that I earned when I came out as first place in the National Chinese Music Competition. I’d throw away all this “success” just for normal parents and a normal life. But I still have to thank you guys for teaching me a lesson I won’t forget. I may not have learnt a lot, but I’ve learnt how to NEVER treat my children.
My first diagnosis–clinical depression–was made shortly after I turned 11 in fifth grade. My first antidepressant was Zoloft when I was starting eighth grade. I’m 34 now. My medication history reads like the shelves of a pharmacy: antidepressants, benzodiazopines, sedatives, and antipsychotics galore. When I was 25, a doctor pinned down the correct main diagnosis, and I learned what stigma among the mentally ill is like. No one likes people with Borderline Personality Disorder, no matter how unlike the stereotype that person is.
I had two periods of time when I thought I had healed. One was last summer until very recently. I know otherwise now. Twenty-three years in, it’s time. I’m tired of being a source of stress and pain for the people I love. I’m tired of people walking away. I’m tired of being so physically starved for touch–simple, comforting touch, not sexual–that I catch myself absently rubbing my own arms in a soothing gesture. I’m tired of hurting.
I’m glad I found this site. There are some amazing people here, and I hope that you can find the peace that I could not. I hope to be gone within the next couple of weeks at the most. Namarië.
I thought about it so many times but i wanted to stay positive and not starve again…but sadly it just didn’t happen. High school- a place where you will be happy, have a great education, and figure out who you really are. I really wanted this to be the definition in my words, i really wanted to tell everyone how awesome it was to have friends and be beautiful and have harvard grades, i really wanted to be like my brother…it sucked. Because no matter how hard you tried, it would stay the same. I still remember all the people who called me ‘fat’, ‘ugly’, a ‘whore’, ‘stupid’, ‘worthless’, and many other names. I think back and cry sometimes and i feel so weak. A girl said that i should eat a lot less. A guy in my class said that i was the only fat person in the class and everyone laughed…i excused myself and cried in the bathroom. That was only yesterday too. I starve myself now and i feel like i’m crazy but in a way getting somewhere good in life..i always wanted to be skinny enough to fit in..literally (no pun intended). I will admit that i’m not really dramatically heavy but i need to lose 10 pounds or so. I am confident sometimes, but people say something and suddenly i’m drowned in a pool of insecurities. Not too long ago, i tried to commit suicide. Five people in one day said something about my weight, my mom yelled at me because i did something wrong that day, and i was so depressed. my mom had no clue. So i just did it. I took any pills i could find. i drank nail polish remover and acne blemish liquid remover. i remember me barely walking and my mom being very suspicious, wondering what was wrong with me. I told her after an hour of questioning me. She was angry and yelled at me. I cried, wanting her to actually love me and try to understand me…but that wasn’t even the worst part. My dad came home, knowing every detail of the situation from the phone call from my mom. He ate his dinner glaring at me. suddenly he through his plate. I remember the glass breaking and him yelling at me and my mom. I was sobbing and shaking…i was scared. He took me to my brother’s room since my brother was away at college. I remember the rage in his face. He smacked me so many times and cried..i was shaking, i even peed..i was just scared. he grabbed my arm tightly and pushed me onto the floor, then the bed. he smacked me again. then it got more violent…he punched me. my nose was bleeding and my ear rang. i remember the ring in my ear…i really thought that my life was ending now…i was dying. The pain became so numb eventually. I cried for my mom but i remember her watching me saying to be quiet…that honestly hurt me the most. i still cry just thinking of that memory. It eventually stopped and bruises along with a bloody nose and ringing ear did not stop unfortunaetly. I went back to school and people called me names again.. i just wanted to burst out in tears and just scream out my awful night that had just happened. I went back home and i was scared. i still can’t believe it….i am scared of my own home…the one that everyone is supposed to feel safe in. I barely talked and i went to the hospital after the beating that my dad gave me. he apoligized but i was too scared to tell him that i don’t accept it….i didn’t want him to beat me again so i said its okay. I told my mom that i didn’t trust her anymore and that i feel as if i don’t feel safe here with her or my dad. she cried and i know that it had to hurt. I’ m crying now and it wasn’t even me getting the news. I starve now. I cry now. I hate now…my life is the worst mess it could possibly be
The worst part about being on the receiving end of pain, is that sometimes yer smart enough to notice why. Sometimes that makes it better, because you notice reluctance, guilt, sadness. Other times you notice self-indignat anger, disgust, fury, & and a little hatred.
But mostly, one can’t help but notice that people don’ think they’re hurtin’ ya. Actually, they don’t even look at ya. That’s the worst kind. The frigid silence that makes one feel small, the eyes that will not notice, and the title-looking. That’s what I hate most. We all have titles. They float over our heads, self-given, peer-given, mentor-given, lovingly given. But not all of them are there. The ones people give us to better themselves, and they ones they proclaim with pride as if relation will send all the fame or infame over with a jas a few words are the right place and at the right time.
But who are we? They very fact that one is on this website gives another title and another personality. Some people jas hide it better than others.
Hi. I’m not abused or bullied. I’m just emotionally starved.
So last week, I’ve been cutting free, didn’t cut for a week (meanwhile I did relapsed several times since tuesday). It wasn’t my intention to stop cutting or so, but it just happened. I just didn’t cut for a week, because I didn’t had the energy for it. I was so depressed, I ate almost nothing, slept a lot, but I was really tired, and I felt so miserable, that I was too depressed to pick up that blade and go cut myself. So I didn’t for a week. Although I didn’t cut, I did scrathed myself (which looks horrible now) and I starved myself. I’m not proud of the fact I didn’t cut one week (which is my.longest) and I really hope that I’ll soon feel better, ’cause I can’t take this any longer I’m afraid :'(