alltheavenueslookugly

molly, underneath you are finding me

when i am unstable or unable – or unreasonable – to carve up my arms.

when i don’t think about or don’t care enough to carve up my legs.

but i’m always going to find a way to hurt myself, and you have always known me to do this –

and i think i was 16 years old – not long out of the state psychiatric hospital – when i was threatened – if my parents or psychiatrist saw any fresh cuts on my arms that i would be sent back to the psychiatric hospital. no questions asked. i didn’t bother to ask if they meant the shitty little two to three week local ones that i had visited four or five times or the state one that i had just spent three months in. thinking back on it now, i seem to remember them saying it would have been the state one. so fuck that and i had to find new ways to harm myself. there was no way i could go through life without doing so. i know somewhere on this blog i have discussed why i’ve always felt the need to do this – the feelings i have had and the reasons and why it is absolutely necessary, etc.

so for years after that my biggest and most favorite form of self harm became drinking while taking pills. it’s easy and you are unable to see just how bad i hate me as you scan my body for the cuts or the scars or the evidence –

as most of my readers know i am on an impressive (?) amount of medications – an amount that my doctor always cringes at when our conversation turns to drinking, because he knows what i am doing and he hates it – and i know that drinking hurts me. all of my past suicide attempts have been handful upon handful of my innocently enough prescribed medications taken in excess with extremely frowned upon amounts of booze. there are reasons that my doctor tries to prescribe me the minimal amount of medications possible between our visits. he knows me and he knows my tendencies but he also knows that i will never lie to him – even if i have any intention of doing something that i shouldn’t be doing –

does it possibly mess up the way your medication reacts with your body?

god fucking yes. and next question.

and after so many trips now to the emergency room. after so many charcoal tubes forced down my throat and after violently throwing up not only all the pills that were still intact but everything else that was in my stomach, i should have learned my lesson.

i should have learned my lesson and i have not even over the years.

and i still won’t, and i never will. and here i sit now and i swear i’m not going to.

i know this lesson – it’s the same words that years ago told me that slashing my arms or my hands or my mouth was a bad idea. the same words that told me that getting scared of going home and drinking gallons of bleach was a bad idea. that all of this was not goddamn cool or whatever but i do need some way to let this out. these pills you give me just don’t do the trick. i’m not an alcoholic but just somebody who is interested in testing how far i can go before my self-harm carries over into pre-suicide ideas and you fuckers lock me up because who knows who i am when i am foaming from the mouth or vomiting most of these out and yes this is a suicide attempt because i don’t feel like shooting myself in the head or making some dickish attempt at slashing my wrists and i have always been fond of the idea of just eating meds and being drunk and just drifting off to sleep and never waking and never waking up – but tell me and coax me and if you can instruct me on how to peel back the skin of my the chest and let the flocks of birds spit shit into my ribs if it will give me heartburn and i’ll accept that as some sort of punishment –

but you can’t tell me how it feels to be so lonely here in this life and if this drunk is awfulness it is helping me to hug a stranger then go the fuck away.

and i did or i do because i did or i do

i can give the excuse i always gave when you caught me finally after wearing long sleeve shirts after weeks and weeks in the burning hot summer sun and nobody noticed except to make some jackass remark but never followed up on it.

‘i know what i am doing. and shut the fuck up and leave me alone.’

because of course i do. i know how far i could go and how much i can do before i begin to feel queasy and blood loss holy shit faintly and how deep before i begin to flirt with permanent muscle loss and although i never really meant to leave such permanent scars on myself they are there and will always be and fucking leave them because they belong and i wouldn’t know what to do without them – like ugly children except strangers will always tell you how ugly they are.

most nights when i come stumble home into my quiet and lonely apartment and i realize it is just me and i can see my empty couch and my empty kitchen and my empty bedroom – and i know i have my evening medication to take and i shake it out of my pill container and there it is, all huddled together and almost every time i do this, even when i’ve been drinking – especially when i have been drinking i smile to myself and think about the gamble.

don’t forget just how many pills i am taking every evening. most.

maybe this is the night.

maybe this is it.

maybe you wake yourself up choking and puking all these things up all over your bed. ugh.

or maybe tomorrow morning you don’t wake up. maybe your body has just had enough. it has finally called your bluff and it is time to go.

maybe i might be upset if i had not already had my epitaph and obituary written – and you should have seen your face when i mentioned this to you, doctor.

but honestly, i’ve had that going since high school, since before, since i never thought i would make it this far.

i wonder, molly, when i see you again, will you come and help me limp out of here and hold me until i felt like a fucking human being again? you beautiful i can’t even describe you like more than some sort of angel because it’s always your face i see when i’m doing all these things and i know i’m making you sad and i wish i really wish i could stop just to make you smile and of course i never will –

and i am so so sorry.

~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2014/10/26.

Posted in october 14
Tags: alcohol, anxiety, apologies, bipolar disorder, depression, guilt, happiness, hating self, medications, mental illness, posts about suicide, psychiatric hospital, self harm