hi.

matthew pautsch, you are a beautiful writer. :)

just thought you should know

Thursday February 25 2010

It’s a weird feeling when you cut yourself. Tonight I cut myself twice, deep. In the bathroom. Then I cut myself twice more sitting on my bed. They weren’t as deep. The first two--They made my arm feel heavy and numb….but it didn’t really hurt. Not too much anyways. The pain was in the first initial cut. And then my arm just felt strange. And now, after the next two cuts, I guess it hurt a bit more than the first two…but still its not excruciating or anything. Now the pain is just there, maybe like a mosquito bite or a paper cut. It hurts in that area but I guess its more annoying than anything. The rest of my arm feels like an ache. Like someone hit it or something?? It still feels heavy. I guess it kinda feels like one arm is sitting lower than the other. Right now, the worst part is the dissatisfaction of the whole ordeal. I still want to cut. I want to cut until I feel real. I want to cut until the blood stops flowing. That’s the problem you know, the blood eventually stops coming out. I want to cut myself all over sometimes. It’s frustrating this thing. It really is. Sometimes I just have strange urges to harm myself. And theyre weird too. Like whoever may be reading this, get ready because you are going to think I’m clearly nuts. One time I remember having the strange desire to slice my tongue open. And other times I feel the urge to take a drill to my temple and just start drilling away. Other times, I feel like heating up a fork over the stove and then hitting myself with it as hard as I can. There’s more too. Like once I felt the urge to take a dull spoon and start scooping away at my flesh until I reached organs. They go on. Tons of strange strange urges that I get to harm myself, rather than the normal cutting. Anyways, it’s not always dissatisfactory. Sometimes I feel like I’m clearly going insane….and I’m talking about mental institution kind of insane involving white rooms and padded walls, but then when I finally give into the cutting I feel incredibly calm. Like nothing was ever wrong, and I can finally breathe again. It’s a strange ordeal. Right now I guess I feel slightly satisfactory. I like feeling the constant dull pain on my upper arm/shoulder, it actually makes me smile for a bit. But at the same time, I do feel unsatisfied…like I could cut a few more times and that would be better. Sometimes after I cut myself, I slap myself on wherever I cut as hard as I can…sometimes it makes it bleed again and I like it.

I cant explain why I’m like this. Why I need this pain. Why I always end up resorting to this. People may judge. No, I guess people will judge—its inevitable. But they don’t know me. And I honestly don’t think I can change anymore. Do I think I will get better? Maybe. Do I think I will stop cutting or causing self harm? Probably not. I’ve tried so many times to just stop it. To get better. To just stop being depressed. And I cant. I’ve gone to psychologists, counselors, doctors, and psychotherapists. And I’ve taken medication after medication. I’ve tried to channel my energy into something productive. I’ve tried other ways of feeling the zing of pain. And sure it helps for a while….but eventually this is where I end up. I always end up hurt and with blood flowing out of my arm. My shoulder. My hip. My leg. Hell, even the bottom of my foot.

And I have to say, I guess I can always depend on it. My knife and I.

Is that all I’ll ever be?

"Help, I have done it again

I have been here many times before

I hurt myself again today

And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame"

why am i still here

as of lately i have been ridiculously happy. and yes i suppose some of it has to do with ian, but it seems like everything was fitting into place. classes were going good, i was finally getting along with my old friends and also making new friends, everything was fairly good. but now...i have no idea whats going on. i found out that other people have been calling me a slut now. perfect. and to make matters worse it's one of ians friends/housemates. ian told me not to worry about it, and held me when i was crying. it was the sweetest thing. but then that got me thinking, i am so incredibly selfish. i dont deserve anyone who'd do that. remember? i deserve the jerks. the ones that use me and treat me like shit. i havent the slightest why anyone so nice and so good would want someone broken and a "slut" like me.

another thing, my friend stefi just completely spazzed on me. totally made me cry (in the closet when she was gone) and yeah it hurt. i guess i shouldnt be surprised. people are mean and they hurt other people. i guess i just didnt expect HER to be the one that hurts me. she always tells me that shes always here for me, but its never true. everytime that ive gone to her because i was depressed or suicidal or upset we would talk about it for a while and then the rest of the time we'd talk about her. so eventually i just stopped going to her.

people are mean.

and the people who are nice never stick around.

or are fake.

why am i still here?

Nicole Orsargos

TWLOHA's posted this. Yes, it is very long but it proposed some interesting things that I hadn't thought about. The "other side of the story." You (whomever is reading this, if anyone) dont have to read it, but I thought it was beautiful

I guess some would say that I have been through a tragedy. I say that I've been through a life-changing experience and that it has made me a better person. I don’t like that T word - it's pretty harsh. When Zeke died, I thought my life had ended. In some ways it had. I went through a whirlwind of emotions, some that I can’t even remember. I had so many questions; What did I do wrong? What was he thinking? why did he leave me? Someone once told me that people that complete suicide are selfish - I’m not sure I agree. Once someone is gone, it is easy to contemplate what they were thinking, and only think about the mess they left you with, and the struggles ahead. But isn’t that selfish? I mean this person just took their own life - I can’t imagine how they came to that conclusion, but I can only believe and hope it was not an easy one. I quickly learned that I was the selfish one......I was so obsessed with why he chose to do this to me, but soon realized that he did this to himself; it was not about me. That is hard to accept.

When I talked to friends or family, they always told me “I know how you feel.” Those words used to make me so angry. How did they know? They weren’t in my head, they didn’t find him in this horrible state, they didn’t lose the love of their life. They were able to go home at night. I had to go anywhere but home. I began to get so bummed about that answer to my thoughts, I realized I needed help understanding the emotions I was going through. I started seeing a therapist that helped me learn that everything I was experiencing was “normal.” She told me that only I would know how to push through the sadness and learn how to grow. Sometimes when I went to see her we never even talked about Zeke. We would talk about the most random things - shopping, wine, going to the gym, work and sometimes the news. At one of our meetings she said “I’m not going to let you avoid the subject, we need to talk about him.” It was the first time that I broke down crying in front of anyone. I’m not one that usually feels comfortable crying. I don’t like people to see me that way. I was surprised by my reaction, but I felt so much better. I guess that sometimes when you keep things bottled up, those feelings can come out even stronger than ever. I’m glad that it happened with her; she helped me open up and finally speak about what was going on in my head.

It is coming up on the anniversary of Zeke’s death, and I’m not sure what I will do. I used to hang with friends and take way too many shots of tequila. Probably over the past month, I have realized that I am drinking way too much. I think I drink to hide my pain; I still miss him. Wow, that is the first time I have admitted that. At first I used to sleep with one of his dirty tee shirts so that I could have his scent with me; it helped me a bunch. Then the smell went away. After that I would drink to sleep. The only way I could fall asleep was if I just passed out drunk. It really wasn’t until lately that I thought I had a purpose without him. It has taken me awhile to realize that. Zeke inspired me to be creative. We used to bounce off of each other's artistic abilities. It was so funny when we would be getting ready to go out for an evening and we would be “that couple,” the ones that were dressed alike. I used to tell him he had to back and change. I used to paint, write, build, and design. After his death, I had a hard time even picking up a paint brush, I didn’t know how to hold it in my hand. Now I am slowly learning to keep his spirit in my heart, and create again. I started writing down plans, sketching furniture, and painting pictures. I used to be so on-the-go and not have time for anything, but now I am slowing down and doing things that are more fulfilling in my life. So, I think that this January 5th, I am going to finish my projects I have started. I am building a window seat box out of what used to be our bed, Zeke had built us a platform bed. I will have it filled with his stuff and have a special place for me to sit and think about him, and be inspired. I think I finally have been able to re-focus my energy into how to be happy, how to be me, without him. I probably will stick to one of my rituals, visiting him at 1st street; bringing him a sunflower, and telling him I love him. Then I will go back home and pick up my paint brush......I think I know how again.

- Nicole Orsargos

Choices

choices. i take making choices. being forced to choose between one thing or another. why cant i just have both?

two things regarding choices sparked my attention now. cutting and boys. seemingly unrelated, but youre wrong. the two almost go hand in hand. anyways, i guess i'll start with boys. i kinda like two of them at the moment, and i guess im being forced to choose one. its messy and i dont like it. i feel extremely happy when im with both of them. theyre both cute, but not drop dead gorgeously sexy like the kind of guys i oogle over with my friends. (oogle is kind of a disgusting word. yep, pretty sure i dont like it...) theyre also both a little geeky. but i like it. :) but one is just so different from the other. i cant quite put my finger on it because they are a lot alike in many ways. but he's just a genuinely nice guy. i guess im not used to the nice ones, having guys like me back, treating me well, and having good intentions. it scares me. and i dont know what to do...i ur im so used to being hurt, to being let down. i read in a book once (it was a fictional story but still a good book) a character said something along the lines of, "it feels good to be let down" again or something like that. i know the feeling. if you are treated poorly for so long, if something changes and you are treated nicely it's almost like you are waiting for them to mess up and treat you like shit. therefore, making it feel good to once again be let down.

anyways, cutting...here i am, sitting at my desk, writing this blog with my arm exposed and my exacto knife to my left. the blade is also exposed. ive already prepared physically for the cuts, by removing my t-shirt. but i guess im still contemplating whether or not to actually do the deed. ive already pressed the flat side of the blade onto my skin, feeling the coolness of it all. and scrapped around a little bit. and yet the knife is still on my desk, with the blade exposed but not doing anything. yet.

i want to cut but i dont want to have to hide more scars. my arms and legs and now even my hips are starting to become pretty scarred up. and while i find beauty in them, i also find a very deep ugliness to them. maybe ugliness isnt the right word, it doesnt sound right, but i guess i sometimes feel ashamed of them. especially the quantity of them. at the same time, i dont want them to disappear, and even fear the point in time where they will disappear! i wear them like its my story, a life story, on my sleeve. i guess in a weird sort of twisted way i am proud. maybe thats not the right word. but i can imagine one day being proud of them, a reminder of what i have overcome. hopefully i will get to that day. right now ive even given up on hoping to get to there SOON. in the long run, i dont care if its soon or not, but eventually would be nice.

so all these choices...i guess for now they remain unresolved.

was this a let down? a sucky ending to a long blog?

too bad...this is life

suck it up

Self Destruction

i dont know why i am so self destructive.  i mean the cutting is the more obvious one but others too.  i mean i dont smoke often but i will admit to smoking my cheap cigars or cloves on occasion.  why do i do this?  well i have nothing against smoking but i thought i'd never do it.  i thought id never smoke. so why?  and i guess a small part is the "glamorization" of it all.  but when it comes down to it, i figure that if i cant commit suicide then i will take up smoking and kill myself slowly.  its not an instant fix but maybe it will speed up the process a tiny bit.  its not only smoking.  why do i drink?  this one i know can damage the liver and such but i dont drink for the same reasons i smoke.  i drink for a couple reasons...its fun and social, its rebelling against the New Life life, its become a college social norm.  but what it comes down to is that it is a place where i can escape.  for those instants that im drunk i can be funny, fun, attractive what have you. and i can escape from what i truly am.  the person that i have been gradually starting to hate over the years.  its an escape from myself and in those instances, life is good.

another thing, self destruction, is it just smoking and drinking? no.  of course not.  it wouldnt be.  but also eating.  ive never been anorexic.  no i love food and junk food way too much.  but being depressed makes me think of it.  and to speed along death, wouldnt it be easier to starve yourself, rather than eat yourself to death?  idk i think about it.

and another thing.  the guys i choose to "go after."  more than not its the jerks.  the ones who just wanna "get some." so what then...we get drunk, flirt endlessly, makeout, maybe do some other stuff (but never all the way) and then thats it.  its usually the story.  and i know how it makes me look.  i know that the type of guys who are nothing but trouble.  i pretty much know which guys just want to have fun and which guys dont.  and yet i still go for the jerks.  its easier to stop feeling and just go for the physical stuff.  and i know i will end up getting hurt, i know that.  it always happens.  whether it is right away or not, i always end up losing a part of me.  and yes, it does hurt.  and yet i keep going back for more.  what the hell is wrong with me?  i know that all of these are self destructive behaviors and yet i cannot change.

i really hate myself.  why cant this all just be over?

Monday May 25, 2009

Monday May 25, 2009

I don’t know why but it still hurts me when I think about thor.  I don’t know why I was so affected by him.  But I still get pangs in my chest, and urges to stab myself in the chest.  Literally.  Im not fucking around when I say that, I have actual, honest to God urges to take an exacto knife and stab myself in the chest.  And when I think about thor, it just makes me wanna do it even more.  On one hand I am ashamed of my scars, ashamed that I am the way I am, but on the other hand I yearn for it.  I want to feel that blade against my skin.  I want to see myself bleed.  I want to squeeze as much blood out of the cuts as I can.  And when they scab over, I want to pick them until they bleed again.  I want to pick off the scabs, slowly, watching as it slowly breaks away from my flesh and watch as the blood rises up and kisses the air.  I want to feel the pain.  The pain when the blade slices my skin.  The pain the next few days, cuts still tender.  The pain when the scabs are being ripped off, over and over.  The pain when I look at the scars and remember what caused them.  Well maybe not that last one.  But the other ones, I want that.  I desperately want to feel the blade of my exacto knife on my skin.  I want that so bad.  Why?  Why do I get so much pleasure out of making myself bleed?  Why am I so satisfied after I cut myself?  Why?  I don’t know why I am the way I am.  And I don’t know if I will grow up to be just another normal person, or maybe this shit I’m going through will make me famous?  I don’t know if my life will actually make a difference.  I don’t even know if my life will be much longer.  It saddens me to think that when I grow up I might have a life that is just ordinary.  I want all of this shit, this living hell, to eventually make an impact on the world.  But at the same time, wouldn’t it be a miracle if I could just achieve normalcy?  Yes!  But somehow, somehow that’s not good enough.  If you were to ask me where I would like to be in ten years I would answer with this; in ten years all I truly want is to be genuinely happy.  And while it sounds like a pretty decent answer, even while typing it, it also sounds like the worlds biggest cop out.  What are my goals?  Really.  I don’t know.  I want to be alive I guess.  But at the same time I wish life could just be over now.  Can I see a career?  Not really.  I can’t see myself actually doing anything for a living.  I love art and fashion and music.  But I couldn’t picture myself doing anything with them.  And I couldn’t see myself in an office either.  Can I see a relationship?  Maybe, I’m not sure about this one.  I think I’m one or two steps away from believing that men plus me doesn’t equal anything.  Can I see a family?  No.  Do I want a family?  Yes of course! But I couldn’t bear passing this hell onto an innocent child.  It’s a selfish act, and while I do eventually want children, it hurts -hurts so much- to think of the possibility of my child going through what I am going through now.  No, that is much too selfish.  So you see, the easiest answer to that question is the one I gave because I don’t know what I want and it’s too scary to make perfect goals that I will never achieve.  One thing that has been on my mid lately is memoirs.  I’ve been toying around with the idea of writing one.  I think it would be amazing, beautiful, if I could write a memoir.  But it scares me.  That is a huge commitment, and if I decide to do it I want to commit to it.  I don’t want to write a few pages and then give up on it.  I don’t even know if I am capable of writing like that.  I have never been able to write a decent story, so I cant imagine writing page after page.  But it would be mine.  It would be MY memoir.  But the thing is, I wouldn’t even know where to start!  I wouldn’t know how to write it, or what kind of style to write it in, what kind of voice to tell it through.  It’s all so complicated!  But I wont give up on the idea just yet, I just need to dwell on it for a while.