It’s dark. I’m glad there isn’t enough lights on for you to see my face. I’m glad it’s cold in here, so you can mistake my trembling chin for chattering teeth. I’m glad you can’t feel the tears starting to run down my face. You ask if I’m okay, because I’m hesitant and pull away when you push close. I just kiss you and keep kissing you until I can hardly breathe. You start to ask again and I kiss you harder. Don’t speak. Especially not those words. I can handle the tremble of my chin and the few tears rolling down my cheek, but if you speak those words, the wall will be shattered. If you speak those words, those few tears will turn to sobs. I can not handle that. Please just don’t speak. Be gentle with me. I am not here, not fully, but my body is delicate tonight, my mind even more so. Please, just be gentle with me. Don’t break me more than I already am.
I’ve fallen into old habits again. Waiting to eat my food that’s on the plate in front of me until it is cold, so I’d be less inclined to eat it. Pushing back when I eat, “I’ll eat after I do x,y,z” or “I’ll just have a cup of tea for now and make something in an hour or two.” “I’ll make something at x time/in x minutes.” I have to eat only one thing from my plate at a time. No one bite of this then the next bite of that. Nope. I have to leave something on my plate, never clear my plate. I need to leave a certain amount/percentage of each item on the plate when I’m finished. etc. etc. etc.
I want to fall deeply back into the habits. I want to watch the number on the scale plummet. to go from 98 to 88 in the matter of a few short weeks. I want to set a new low weight. I want to be sick. I want to not be able to do anything. I want to be too weak for anything. I’ve lost ~15 pounds already, what’s another 20?
98. ninety eight. 90+8. that’s the magic number on the scale right now. I know that really means I’m 101-102 lbs. But still. I’m so close to actual double digits I can’t stand it. I want the scale to say 96. No, 94. Or maybe 90. I don’t know. I just want it to be lower. I need it to be lower. I can’t handle all the fat on my body, suffocating my bones. I can’t breathe until I lose this fat weight. I need it gone. I want it gone by the end of the year. I want to see bones again.
I can feel each scar burning on my skin as they did the night i made them. The intensity on some of them is so great it is almost unbearable. It is as if my blood is made from lava and is pooling in those spots, waiting to be re-released and flow to the ground like a waterfall of blood.
I’m squirming in my seat, uncomfortable with anything and everything. My skin feels like it is a beast of its own mind and it is crawling and wishing to be splayed open. To release this beast from within me.
But the beast can only be released if the opening was done just perfectly. It is never done just perfectly. so the beast grows ever impatiently inside my veins. Getting angrier and more restless with each failed attempt.
I can see the would have been wounds on my skin. clean and bloodless like I just washed it clean and right before the blood starts pouring from it again. The skin splayed open, parted to let the air in, to help me breathe. After a cut I’ve always felt there was more oxygen in my blood stream than any other time in my life. It was an invigorating feeling. But the burning soon takes over and the oxygen seeps back out of the wound as it closes up.
All those would be wounds on my skin are screaming, all at once in their own voice. the constant chatter in my brain is making my brain crawl while my skin crawls its own way as well. I can feel the burning of the lava under each would-be cut and the searing hotness of the cold blade ripping through my skin.
I’m trying not to hyperventilate from all the things going on, all the imaginary movement on my body and in my brain. It is so much to handle. Almost too much to handle.
Reading that book was a bad idea. I should have never started it. I didn’t know it would have these things in it though, so I can’t blame myself for that. But this books has turned on a switch in my body or my head or somewhere. It’s released a creature in my skin and it crawls around scraping at my skin from the inside, licking it in places to make it burn, slipping poison into my blood to hallucinate these images of my skin carved in just the right way to release this beast. But I’d have to get it right the first time or I will have to try again, over and over until it is right and the creature can crawl free.
But that’s just it. It is never done just right, the creature is always there lurking, it can be captured and caged for a while, but it always manages to start wandering the empty corridors of my veins. Making want to tear open my skin and dig the creature out from my veins, make my body weep it out through a red water fall of blood onto the floor.
I should have never started this book. I don’t know what I’ve awakened.
“Someone once asked me, “Why do you insist on taking the hard road?” I replied, “Why do you assume I see two roads?”
I think one of the things I like about J is that he makes me take care of myself. The only times he’ll take care of me are when I am actually incapable of doing so. I am pushed to my limits and made to take responsibilities for myself and care for myself and look after myself. It’s something I really need people to do for me. I need someone to know just how much they should be taking care of me and just how much they should push me. I mean, there are times where I think he goes over the edge a little (mainly that’s when I’m drinking and he urges me to drink more even though I don’t want to… the whole once being an alcoholic thing is hard to keep under control especially when it wasn’t that long ago that you depended on it.)
I’ve been needing someone to care for me because I haven’t had that. I have had distance with the very rare occasion of caring that ends up backfiring and being used against me later. I don’t have that with J. He pushes me to take care of myself and to take responsibility for myself, but not so much that he seems he isn’t caring (like what dylan would do). He knows what I could be capable of and he forces me to find out that, yes, I am in fact capable of taking responsibilities and caring for myself.
I really need that.