kinda feeling the day

No one told you who you were, so you relied on thoughts. Your self imagery screaming at you, telling you how fucked up you are, how much you need to lose weight, how choosing the wrong people is good. The people you knew brought you further down. You weren’t good enough for your dad and your depressed mother became even more depressed. So you thought, “It’s all my fault.”. Your siblings weren’t “problem children” like you were. You weren’t good enough for them. You weren’t ever good enough. Not for your friends. And when you found someone who you thought was right, they tore you apart. Love is a vulnerable thing. It’s pulling yourself to pieces in front of another person, it’s letting them see anything. And then they fucking destroy you and they’re gone. Because everyone leaves. So you looked at your scarred wrists and decided to cut again. You needed a different kind of pain to mask what you had already felt from other people. I have a tendency to hurt myself when people hurt me. I can be a bitch but when I get hurt, it always feels like my fault. Everything does. This was a story about someone else and I realized I was writing about myself. What am I, 9 months clean for alcohol? Around that number. I haven’t taken a drink in 9 months and I’m still an alcoholic. I still think about drinking and I want to do it to kill my pain. But by killing my pain, I almost killed myself. The last time I drank I ended up in the ER at 2am thrashing and screaming, in and out of consciousness. I almost died that night. That whole night is a blur. My blood alcohol content level was through the roof and my parents wouldn’t even tell me what it was. My parents didn’t talk to me for weeks after that happened. I have to leave the apartment to pick up my boyfriend from work and then probably smoke a bowl or two before I’m on here again. Night

 

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