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I occasionally scroll through my posts on This blog and just go, “gosh golly gee, glad that’s not me anymore”. I think, st very least, I have learned to cope.

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I found a lot of photos of when I was in shape and past self harm and past conversations. I’m so saddened by how angry and hurtful I’ve been. I just want to fix things. I know I’m calmer now than I was but I don’t think my progress is enough. I don’t know. I’m hurt by who I was. I’m just hurt. I ruined some good things. I feel like I haven’t made enough progress yet I know I’ve made a lot and I’m just so conflicted.

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It's only eleven hours into September and I already want to die

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At this point my medications make it so I'm just. Not. Ever. Hungry. I forget to eat for days sometimes and.nobody notices and I'm losing weight but I know it's not healthy and I know I should stop. But I'm LOSING. WEIGHT. and somehow that is so much more important to me than actually being healthy just like it is so much more important to me that I do more to lose it faster. I feel like I have nowhere to turn.

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I want to write out truths in sharpie so they aren't rattling around inside me but I'm also too afraid to face the truths and leave them for someone else to find.

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I figured out which tattoo I’m getting next The la dispute flower and (possibly/probably) a quote from A Broken Jar. Goal is to have it by my birthday and to have that dark destructiveness brought to light and inked into myself to show that side of myself and to attempt to achieve personal radical acceptance of that part of myself.

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I think I figured out why the old guy upsets me so much. I feel exploited. People get tattoos to show them not be sexualized it's fucking art and now I'm afraid to show people the art and that really bugs me

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Do you ever have those scenarios you make up in your head or something and in the scenario you’re this bad bitch that takes no shit and you’re like I’d never take that I’ll smack them till their head spins And then it happens to you and suddenly you freeze and you don’t know how to escape so you just keep going with it and to everyone else is just looks casual and normal and you’d lose your composure except you’re too numb to so you just keep letting it go Because I was just at iverson on the swings like I always am. And I was swinging low and listening to music. And this older gentleman approaches me, he noticed that tattoo on my leg. I show him. Then he asks if we can sit and talk. And I was like sure. And then he asks when I graduated, I’m still oblivious. He asks if I have a boyfriend. If I have a girlfriend. Then he asks if I have other tattoos. I’ve only felt a pinch of uncomfortable so I overlook it and tell him about each one. When it gets to the one on my chest, he wants me to show him. I’m uncomfortable but I do it anyways. And then he asks about my piercings. This time I lie and just say my facial piercings and my ears. And then we sit in silence. We talk on and off about the scenery. He keeps commenting about the people around us. Like they’re inconvenient. But I’m banking on their always being at least one other person to see. I wanted to run. My flip flop falls off. He offers to get it. I rush to beat him to it. He backs up. He keeps coming closer though then he’ll back up and then he’ll get closer again. I’m so uncomfortable. Now he’s facing me and looking behind me. He keeps pointing out stuff behind me that I’ll have to search for. I barely glance back and say I’ve seen it even though I didn’t register it in the slightest. I consider messaging someone. Pretending I’m getting a call. I don’t know how to get out of this. I can’t be mean because what if that escalates the situation. I’m afraid. He offers to push me on the swing so I can go high. I quickly blurt out no thank you. He backs up again. He notices the cross around my throat. He wants to see. I don’t want him to. I want him to leave. But he steps closer so I try to hold it out away from me. He tells me the cross is beautiful. That he likes what’s below it too. He can tell I’m uncomfortable. He asks “no?” Like it’s a question. Like I asked for his attention. Like wasn’t just trying to be polite. Tears are close to my eyes as I finally tell him I have to leave. I can’t stop looking backwards as I walk to my car. “What if he’s following” “what if he sees my license plate”. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so afraid. I have never wanted to cover my body in my life as badly as i did I have never hated my body as much I cannot explain it any better than unwanted attention I just thought he was a lonely man who wanted to talk about the weather. I was told to respect and listen to my elders. I have never been so afraid of one of my elders before. Even when I realized it was all about to go very south. I sat through it. I begged people to just come close enough to help me. To intervene but nobody did. I don’t think it could’ve looked more uncomfortable. I don’t think I could’ve done anything more obvious other than scream out. Iverson was my safe place. The place I went by myself when I was afraid to call on someone or didn’t have someone to call on. It was my place to get away from the knives in my kitchen. It was my home away from home. And I’ve never been more afraid of a place I called home. I don't feel safe

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That was a fun mental breakdown. Be excited to do it again next month.

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The old me (I shouldn't read my old journals) 4/13/17

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This anxiety is going to swallow me whole

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I got diagnosed with Bipolar and Borderline Personality Disorder over a year ago and I'm just now starting to see myself as one person again. I'm just starting to realize I have to take blame again. I'm just fucking clueing in on the fact that I'm not multiple people I can separate off and not take blame for their actions. I'm just starting to step back up again. The scary thing is, my old therapist, when I first got diagnosed tried to warn me. And I did it anyway. And I'm not sure why I went dark again but those dark bouts scare me. And taking blame scares me. Apologizing scares me. Rejection scares me. I'm so afraid of living. And my arms are a mess of angry red scars. And horrible descriptive words. But honestly. I shut out the only person I really know how to tell all of this. Not even shut out, I slammed the door in her face. And now I want to fix it but what does that even mean or matter? I got afraid. But that's no excuse. I thought she was leaving. Still no damn excuse. So Instead I hurt her for being happy. For finding something good. Because what? I was jealous and afraid??? And I just. I don't know. I don't know enough. I don't know how she feels. I know I hurt her but I know nothing more. I know nothing.

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I had a dream that she got to pick a tattoo for me and it went on my left bicep. It was a flower idk what kind, but the stem went straight down almost to my elbow. And that tattoo keeps reoccurring in my dreams. I feel like it means something but I have no idea. Tomorrow she’s picking up the rest of her stuff and I feel like my opportunity to apologize is slamming shut. And I’m going to have this guilt sitting on my chest for a very long time. As well as all this regret weighing on my soul.

[awolmonarch-blog]

A thought I had while driving on the interstate as a red car passed me: (note: I have a key lime a pie green car) WAIT come back!!! We could be Christmas!!! (Red continues to speed past me) C'MON!!

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The v-mags all race up their towers, where they're turned bottoms up. They sit in silence for a moment. Then all at once, in slow motion, the substrate inside of them, oozes out. Slopping into their funnels to be fed through the extruder and race down the line. Last one through the fryer loses.

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Lately the main think I think is "I'm not sure anymore" in reference to a La Dispute song.

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The last like five records I've gotten are all things I want to share with somebody I'm too afraid to try to patch things up with. There's Panic and Avenged and Jon Bellion and Ed Sheeran. Mostly the Jon Bellion. Weh.