Late night blogs. Thank God for the internet. I feel lost. My girlfriend and I had a chat tonight. She said I’m an alcoholic. She said I’m an addict. I cried. I didn’t say anything. I just cried. I had no defense. I want a defense, but I couldn’t think up a lie quick enough. She can see it in my eyes. My hunger. I feel very defensive. I don’t, I can’t, give it up. I can’t give up everything. What will I do with just myself? No tools? No mind altering substances? Just me. I hate that I need people. I feel like I love too much, I trust too much, I FEEL too much. I’ve always, and I still, feel like I do not deserve help. Where did that idea come from?
When I “grow up” I want to be a therapist of sorts. I love psychology, I get it when reading and studying, I just don’t get myself. It’s ok for anyone else other than me.
I miss my grandma. A lot. I try to not think about it. I try to avoid pictures and memories of her. I miss her so much. Even typing about it right now in my home in the sunshine state late at night, alone, It doesn’t really feel real. I’ve run from living all my life. Why? I’ve been so desperate. “This house made of glass is shattering, I’m setting me free.” Those are the words of Beth Hart….I feel like I’m breaking.
Don’t tell me it’s wrong. It’s love. Love is love is love. It’s you who won’t see the woman I am, the fighter in me. I swear there is a part of me who is strong, I know somewhere she is there. She is the one who lost 70 lbs, who was determined and motivated and accepting of herself.

I’m SO close, but still in a type of denial. I can’t explain it. I so want to heal but I’m so scared. I’m scared to tell my parents still. I’m scared to admit to anyone in my life that I’m addicted. I don’t generally post lyrics on anything because to be honest I don’t usually read every word of songs people post on here. I went to an Alanis Morissette concert about 3 years ago and 3 years ago it meant nothing to me but pretty music.

I feel on the verge of something great and scary. I’m so scared, I’ll be the first to admit I’m terrified of living without self-injury, living without alcohol, living sober. I can’t imagine it, but I’m tired of hating myself. I’m tired of hurting myself. I’m tired of feeling ashamed, I’m tired of the physical pain, and I’m tired of the secret.
I’m gay, I came out to my family a little while back and there is a lot of pain with that. The one person in my family I thought I had on my side told me yesterday that he didn’t approve of my choices, my lifestyle. I tried to put on a happy face, I tried to pretend I didn’t care. He’s my little brother; I’m supposed to be the strong one. I’m supposed to be invincible and fearless. I’m not. I’m scared and alone and addicted and trying to recover and fix whatever went wrong in the past and be healthy.
I couldn’t. I went home and I sat on my bed and I thought about it, I made the choice to self-injure. I could have chosen to just sit there and cried like my body was telling me to. In that moment I couldn’t deal with that pain and I couldn’t process it so I self-injured. I hurt myself until tears came but then I held it back. Why? Why can’t I just sit there, alone, and cry? Crying is good, cleansing, healthy, and beautiful. I was so hurt though, I thought he was my companion. I hurt myself over it, but I’m not giving up on the road to recovery. It HURT to know he doesn’t understand, I feel shame and weak… but a part of me wants to heal and I’m choosing to go with that part. I’d encourage anyone reading to know that our thoughts aren’t always right. We DO have a choice. In the moment of unspeakable, undesirable, or indescribable hurt, it’s a choice to feel the emotional pain and go with it and learn from it or go with the quick fix and suppress it. Cover it up.
I chose the quick way out of my pain yesterday. Tonight I chose to blog and reach out and I can’t promise I won’t hurt myself but I refuse to give up. I miss my grandma. I do, I miss hearing her voice, it makes me cry but for the moment I will let myself cry. It doesn’t hurt to cry, it’s awkward maybe but it doesn’t hurt physically. Self-injury hurts me, It hurt you or you wouldn’t have gone as far as to read this.
I refuse to give in to my demons. If I slip up, it’s ok. It’s ok if I need people too, but they can’t do it for me. I have to do it for me. Day one, start over again. , Music really can be therapeutic, read the lyrics ?
Reborn and shivering
Spat out on new terrain
Unsure unconvincing
This faint and shaky hour
Day one day one start over again
Step one step one
I’m barely making sense for now
I’m faking it ’til I’m pseudo making it
From scratch begin again but this time
I as I and not as we.
Feign brave with steel intent
Little and hardly here
Day one day one start over again
Step one step one
With not much making sense just yet
I’m faking it til I’m pseudo making it
From scratch begin again but this time I as I.