What am I doing?

I might as well rant since nobody reads this stupid thing anyways. Well I’ve started again, even though I swore to myself I never would. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, but my boyfriend noticed that something was up, and I told him. I made him swear not to tell anyone else, and he didn’t. Then I asked a long distance friend of mine for help because I knew she had been doing it too and I knew she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone anyways. I told one more long distance friend because I tell him pretty much everything, and I’d want him to tell me if he was being as stupid as I am. So three people knew. I tried my hardest not to, but I didn’t get very far. And it’s all my asshole of a father’s fault. Making me feel worthless and like shit. Spiralling all these feelings. Planting all this doubt in my head, I mean if one of the people who is meant to stick by you no matter what and be there for anything and everything walks away without a backward glance, why would you believe that someone else would CHOOSE to stay, simply because they want to. Especially when I’m not the easiest person to be there for, as you need to be there a lot because I’m sick, a lot. So after my “Dad” left me and my 15 year old sister on the side of the main road an hour from home, and drove away without even texting us to see if we’d been picked up by an uncle (on mam’s side) that lived nearby, I felt pretty shitty. I wanted to do it that Saturday night, but instead I drank myself silly. I held off until Monday night. Then I couldn’t take the urges anymore and. . .

Again Tuesday morning, and Wednesday night. Then I thought I was doing okay. And I was for a while, despite the fact that I was kept in the hospital longer than planned. So from Wednesday the 24th, until yesterday I was okay. This time I really don’t want anyone to know. I’m hiding it. I can get over this. I think. I hope. I just don’t want to disappoint everyone again.

What makes it worse is I have just gotten into a wonderful relationship with a wonderfully amazing guy, and I start doing this again? The last thing I want to do is make him feel like it has anything to do with him, because it doesn’t. It couldn’t be further from it. If anything I think it would be worse if he wasn’t around. I love him so very much, and I don’t ever want to lose him. I couldn’t handle that.

Scars

knife in hand,
looking at the scars on my arms,
scars on my legs,
scars that mean so much,
scars that torture, scars that will never fade
scars, scars, scars,
scars that can’t be stopped,
scars, upon scars, upon scars

all the scars of life.

No, I’m not vain.

I’m not vain, but is it too much to ask to look nice in something? I went shopping for swimsuits today. Firstly I can’t even look at bikinis, not because I’m fat or anything, but with my Cystic Fibrosis I have a feeding peg in my stomach.

It looks like this. So as you can imagine, if you saw this sticking out of someone’s stomach you’d stare. And I’d be very self concious. Anyway, it would be worse because my tube is red and inflamed, it’s not contagious or anything. It’s just irritated.

So I went to the full suit section, picked out one or two that I thought looked nice. Tried them on. I felt horrible looking in the mirror. Some of organs, like my spleen and liver, are swollen, and when I wear a swimsuit, it’s very obvious. I look terrible, I look weirdly fat, or slightly pregnant. It hurts, because I’m not fat, I’ve struggled with putting on weight all my life, and now I can’t even strut around like a sexy thin person because my body is all disfigured. It’s not vain, is it? I started crying there and then in the dressing room. I see my sister walking around with her perfect tummy and bikinis. She thiks she’s pudgy and needs to lose a few kilos, but she doesn’t, she’s absolutely perfect. And I’m so very jealous of her figure.

Another thing that upsets me, is the size of my boobs. Yeah, sounds silly, but I’m 18 years old with literally no boobage. I don’t want to be Jordan or anything, but a decent pair of boobs would be nice. Something to make me feel more feminine.

The fact that I can’t wear tight revealing clothes upsets me. That makes me sound slutty, but I’m not, it’s just that because of all these things I can’t wear certain clothes that would make me look sexy and attractive. I cover up my body with loose large hoodies.

Blocking out the world, I find this song works.

Give Me Novacaine – Green Day

Take away the sensation inside
Bitter sweet migraine in my head
Its like a throbbing tooth ache of the mind
I can’t take this feeling anymore

[Chorus:]
Drain the pressure from the swelling,
This sensations overwhelming,
Give me a long kiss goodnight
and everything will be alright
Tell me that I won’t feel a thing
So give me Novacaine

Out of body and out of mind
Kiss the demons out of my dreams
I get the funny feeling, that’s alright
Jimmy says it’s better than air,
I’ll tell you why

[Chorus]

Oh Novacaine

[Chorus:]
Drain the pressure from the swelling,
This sensations overwhelming,
Give me a long kiss goodnight
and everything will be alright
Tell me Jimmy I won’t feel a thing
So give me Novacaine

~This isn’t goodbye, even as I watch you leave, I swear I won’t cry~

The end of Westlife, the end of an era. The end of many people’s childhoods. I grew up listening to Westlife. I had their first album on casette. The first CD I ever owned was a Westlife CD. It’s hard to believe they’ve finally split up, and ended their joint careers. People think Westlife are silly, or “gay”, but if you’ve ever seen them in concert, you know they’re amazing. I’ve seen them three times live, each time better than the next. People said the tickets were expensive, I thought they were fairly cheap considering it was their last ever two concerts. And it was amazing.

Jedward and The Wanted were support groups. Jedward are something to see live, wow their energy! The Wanted were good too, I suppose, but I’m not a big fan of them. I don’t hate them either.

Then Westlife came on and the crowd went wild. The atmosphere was amazing. It was just incredible. I can’t put it into words.

The Butterfly Project

I didn’t make this up, but I feel the message needs to be spread.

The Butterfly Project:

The Rules are:
1. When you feel like you want to cut, take a marker, pen, or sharpies and draw a butterfly on your arm or hand.
2. Name the butterfly after a loved one, or someone that really wants you to get better.
3. You must let the butterfly fade naturally. NO scrubbing it off.
4. If you cut before the butterfly is gone, you’ve killed it. If you dont cut, it lives.
5. If you have more than one butterfly, cutting kills all of them.
6. Another person may draw them on you. These butterflies are extra special. Take good care of them.
7. Even if you don’t cut, feel free to draw a butterfly anyways, to show your support. If you do this, name it after someone you know that cuts or is suffering right now, and tell them. It could help.

Nightmares.

What actually defines a nightmare?

night·mare

[nahyt-maire] noun

– a terrifying dream in which the dreamer experiences feelings of helplessness, extreme anxiety, sorrow, etc.

Many people think that nightmares are generally something scary like ghosts, zombies, being chased by dinosaurs, stuff like that. When in fact it could be something very simple. And the simple ones, the ones that could actually really happen scare me the most. You don’t always realise how terrifying they are until you wake up in tears. The ones that stay with you for days or even weeks afterwards. The ones that scare you so badly, you’re sick to the pit of your stomach. That you’ll occasionally forget but then you’ll randomly remember and almost break down on the spot. You’ll get over ghosts, zombies or dinosaurs because you know that in reality those will never happen, but something as real as losing a child at four months pregnant will haunt you. Even when you tell yourself over and over it was only a dream, it didn’t actually happen. That’s not the scary part, the scary part is that it could happen in the future.

Amounting to something…

I never know what to write for these blogs, I just hope that inspiration will some how find me. It doesn’t always, thus my silly short little posts that nobody reads. Or if they do they’re not intriguing enough for people to post on and let me know they’re reading, and would like me to keep writing nonsense each day.

I dream of amounting to something but so many things are holding me back, my health mainly. The next thing would probably be means to develop an idea. My perseverance is greatly affected by my lack of stamina because of my Cystic Fibrosis. It’s demotivating. I wish I could do something with my life. I recently thought of doing a short film of my daily routine as I have so many things to do. Medication, nebulisers, feed, ventilator at night, more and more being added to my routine as I get older. I mean I don’t even go to school, I have to get taught at home because I don’t have the energy for school.

Just let me know.

It feels like you’re avoiding me. You have every reason to, I just wish you’d tell me you were. Rather than leave me sitting around waiting for you to tell me you’re free for a while. A least I wouldn’t get my hopes up just to have them dashed. I’m probably paranoid though. You’re more than likely genuinely busy for the weekend. And you really don’t have a clue if you’ll be free or not at any time. You probably are just forgetting to let me know that you’re free when and if you are. I mean I haven’t been in your life for nearly two years now. Why would you suddenly remember to remember me.

Feeling blue.

Don’t know what to do, I’m close to curling up again. I have nothing to do, nobody to talk to, nowhere to go.

I wish someone could put the joy of life back into me. I’m tired of this continuous cycle of getting better and then falling back into despair again. It’s tiring. I really want to just feel okay, know that everything is going to be okay, everything is – never mind everything, I’d settle with just knowing I’m going to be okay, that I’m not going to fall apart, that I will get better, that I won’t trudge through life just making it by. Alive, but not living. Unable to do the things I want to because I’m held back by my illness, my breathlessness, my bad lungs.

It’s not even that all the time, it’s the utter loneliness that comes over me in great waves of pure aloneness. They’re the worst days.