Today has not been fun.
Let's start in the most banal way possible: I've unfortunately had to introduce gluten back into my diet, as I've been literally eating nothing but vegetables for a while and my energy levels are running low. Problem is I either have severe anxiety reactions after I eat it, or I get possibly psychosomatic bodily reactions that leave me shaking and make my vision spin like a top. Either way it's horrible and it ALWAYS happens, God knows why.
Even better? Even AFTER the surgery, it makes me get terrible hernia pain. Nice freaking job.
So yeah, after that disturbingly vivid rape/murder dream this morning, all the pain I've been through with this stupid body today, AND that godforsaken reset-scratch not having worked the way I wanted it to, my suicidal tendencies are back full force.
I would seriously cut off my left arm if it meant I would never have to eat again. You have no idea how much I loathe having to do that "to survive." To heck with that. I would rather starve, but thanks to my bizarre upbringing, I've got this hard-wired predisposition to only eat scraps, and ALWAYS eat scraps. "You're not allowed to waste food," but "you're not supposed to eat that." So now, when I see harmful or unhealthy food, I don't want anyone else to suffer through eating it, so I force myself to IF I can't throw it away in secret (because I hate food and would burn our entire kitchen to the ground if I could, regardless of our financial state).
I HATE being hungry too. No, not "stomach empty and actually hurting as I haven't eaten in over 24 hours" hungry. I LIKE that pain. I HATE when I am forced to eat to avoid passing out, and then my body is all "holy sharks there IS food!" and decides it's starving. SHUT UP, YOU GLUTTON. Eating makes me feel like a complete whore and I hate it vehemently. Emphasis on "hate," seriously. I cannot put into words how much I despise that act.
Ironically it might even be tied into my "orange problem," to use ridiculous shameful jargon again. Eating makes that worse, and that makes eating worse. They are tied together somehow. And, they both cause me the most traumatic pain (the "curl up in the corner screaming and sobbing hysterically" kind) when they force me to take things
in. I don't care what the context is. If stuff is going INTO my body, I will feel so horrendously violated and terrified that I will want to die, literally and with mindless fervor-- and, if there is a weapon or harmful object nearby, I WILL IMMEDIATELY ATTEMPT TO DO SO.
So that explains why my worst dissociative/ abusive meltdowns ALWAYS follow eating of some sort, and always have. It demands an immediate retribution, a balance, an atonement.
However. My mother accidentally saw the leg scars from Holy Saturday (because, as they happened in a dissociative state, I forgot they were there and stupidly wore shorts with her around the other day), so now is she not only coming with me to my therapy appointment on Tuesday, but she told me flat-out that if she saw any more scars, I'd be shipped straight back to the psychiatric ward.
To be blunt, that makes me
really freaking angry. I don't know how to make people understand. Maybe it's my lingering in this cursed Red slot, or maybe it's the bad Black energy that Infinitii warned me about... either way, for YEARS upon years, since I was a tiny kid, I have had a dangerous obsession with pain. I clearly remember writing an old entry about that
here, but it demands reiteration. I really was smitten with pain and death back then. My parents never knew about the worst of it, as it stayed in my head-- the darker adventures of Zimbo and the Jewel Aliens and so many others. People would bleed, and die, and I would watch with rapt fascination, unmoved by their sufferings. Maybe I was even incapable of empathy back then, who knows. I know I still get that now, on my bad days... the total apathy, the wanting nothing more than to watch those events play out, regardless of who has to pay the price.
Lately, though, I've been the one paying, and I love it. That's what I don't know how to explain to people. I am obsessed with self-destruction. I love the feeling of starving, I love the feeling of blades slicing through my skin. Sharp pain is my favorite. Dull pain, well, that's the kind I don't like as much-- the pain I have now, from my terrible digestive issues and surgery recovery and sleep-deprived muscles. I don't like this pain anywhere near as much, as it doesn't
feel like pain; it feels
dirty, filthy and wrong. Then why do I keep perpetuating the situations that cause that sort of pain, you ask?
Simple... because, as I mentioned earlier, dull pain must always be cleansed by sharp pain. Overeating means I get to slice myself up with a knife. Getting angry or sick means I get to bite, or punch, or otherwise inflict blunt trauma. There's always a remedy for the filthy pain.
That's what I'm having trouble communicating to other people. When you don't LET me abuse myself in those sharper ways, I will abuse myself WORSE through "duller" alternatives, in the desperate need to "cauterize" the lingering psychological dirt that rubs off everything and
sticks. Every hellish trigger catches like a burr, and you can't tear that tar out-- you need to burn it. Taking the matches away is only going to make my hands bleed all the more when I start clawing at the parasites.
When I suffer through mornings like this one, I need every iota of pain in the world to feel clear again.
It's why I love Laurie so much. Yes, she started off as a "personification of pain," hence the superego title she gained almost instantly. Her formation anchor was
abuse-- it was sheer pain, of all sorts, but the sharp kind, the kind that stings like lightning and doesn't fade. When that faded from my life, and I
needed it to heal, she was born from the ashes, and immediately took out her axe.
It's why I am terrified that I ruined her forever by wearing down her edges. Her brutality made her
sacred to me. It literally made her a living force of divine retribution, cutting through the dark threads of sin and despair, freeing me from their tyranny.
When I bleed, I bleed
out. THAT'S my native energy flow. It's sacrificial. I have this constant driving need to
purge everything, and I mean EVERYTHING. I don't like eating because it's just more stuff that I need to get rid of somehow, eventually, so I force myself to throw it up immediately. I don't like the fact that I can't lose weight because that's more
substance that I cannot stand and fervently wish to tear away. I don't even like people touching me for this same reason-- every point of contact is more tangible data being transmitted, quickly overloading until I snap and release it all in brutal physical attacks. Make sense now?
Cutting is the quickest way to purge the overload on any level, because blood carries the weight. Pain helps to "shock out" the foggy sense-oriented stuff (which, incidentally, is why I can't wear certain clothes; the simple feeling of certain fabrics can make me start screaming and clawing at my skin, trying to erase the sensation), especially when it's auditory, as that is some of the WORST lingering filth and I can only erase it through sharp pain. Blood, however, carries out the internal stuff. Bleeding erases the rage and terror and mindless screaming.
Whenever I can't bleed downstairs, and I'm desperate, I run to Laurie upstairs.
To this day, she will take out her axe, and do her job.
People downstairs would think me mad if I admitted that one of the most relieving sensations in the world is having my skull cleaved in two upstairs. It's a direct dump of all the pent-up pain on that level; just crack it open and bleed it out, all at once; it's incredibly cathartic. If that doesn't work quickly I usually get an axe to the face, which is arguably just as helpful-- once my head is gone, my self-identity disappears for a while! That way I don't have to feel or see or hear or do a single thing, I can just be vaguely aware of the bleeding and breaking bones, and relax into the nothingness. At least, until Laurie forces me to respawn, that is.
Anyway. That's enough of that.
