...::Love, Pain, and Crack Cocaine::...

 Hey all.

I’m in a very uncharacteristic mood.

Do any of you listen to Say Anything?

If so, I just want to talk about how amazing I think they are.

The lead singer, is either freakin insane, or is a genius.

I think he is on a fine line of both.

The things he write about is amazing, and connects to my life perfectly.

When I’m depressed, or very sad. I listen to his songs, and it lifts me up, with his lyrics and fun beat. But, right now, I’m angry. Very, very anger. I dont know why, I just am.

Always.

Even when Im not, I only feel something different on the surface, because the anger is always with me, in the very core of myself.

Which, I am sure is not healthy. I mean, I think I would be normal is maybe the anger was with me on only the surface, because it would be easy to get rid of. But, no, mine is on core of me, the very depths on which I wish not to explore.

I put on this fake facade, that I am very happy.

But now, I have been faking so long, I do not have enough energy to fake any longer, and slowly my outer shell is start to disintegrate. Which is not good. 

Im starting to lash out, randomly.

I mean, if someone says something to me, I hurl my vocal knives at them.

I scowl, I frown, Im just calling for wrinkles.

Pain is something I always feel.

Pain and anger.

The two most inner, personal poisons.

I constantly inject into myself, somehow.

I do not know how, perhaps it is left over from my morbid, scarring childhoof.

But, perhaps it is from now, my current state of unhappiness.

Many times I have wished to die, many times I have thought about dying.

But only once, have I ever tried it.

At school, I got brought to the hospital.

Ugh.

How stupid of me to try such a deep, personal thing at such a watching, public place.

Did I know nothing? Obviously not.

Yes, I have cut.

I go through phases in my cutting.

Although, I have only gone through two.

I cut about a half a year back for a while, on my wrist...It was only a couple, only enough to draw a few drops of blood from each. Then I got disgusted and stopped. For a very long time.

Then very recently, about a month ago, I found a razor, I found pain, and I cut.

Oh, did I cut.

It was very, very bad. This time, I did it in a more private, non seeable place.

My inner thigh on my left leg.

I cut almost every night for a period of five days.

Very, very bad. I had 159 cuts when I was done. These cuts werent the little sissy ones either, they were deep, and averaged a length of anywhere from 5-13 inches long.

They bleed so much, I had trails of blood streaming down my leg. I had to wear these black sweatpants to bed, they were thick so they absorbed the blood and it couldnt be seen.

I showed only three of my closest friends.

I soon grew disgusted, and stopped.

It was very painful, for the next three weeks.

Wearing jeans, hurt so bad, the scabs would rub and open them back up.

I couldnt do gym, and it made my grade sink very much.

I felt so much hatred towards myself, I still do.

I tried picking up the razor again, and I sat, and stared at it.

I just couldnt bring myself to do it again. I couldnt do it.

But soon, I’m guessing, I will be able to again.

Very soon.

I have scars on my thigh.

My cuts are totally healed now, and all that is left is wrinkled tight skin and scars.

Very attractive. Not.

I guess I just want my physical features to match the way I feel inside.

Then, I go through other phases too.

Emotional phases.

You see, when things get too difficult, I push.

I push it all away, I make myself unavailable to everyone.

I cannot see, I cannot think for myself.

I am quite literally, a zombie.

I move when told,I do what I do from habit

I dont think, I dont feel. Im numb.

Im empty.

Then, I do this until I cannot anymore, and I explode anyway I can.

Most usually Its vocal, I snap at everyone I can, any moment I can.

Being with me during this period is living hell.

Most usually the people I do it to, dont stick around for a second taste.

There are no goodbyes, they just leave.

I cant say I blame them.

I would leave myself, if only I could.

Then after this, I go into a stage of hiding, or trying very hard to hide.

I put on my smiling mask and my armour, and I walk out into the crazy battle called life.

I act normal, I think normal, I even speak normal...for awhile.

Next, I go into the stage where I cannot do this anymore, and I feel I dont deserve to be living.

Or I feel that, people dont deserve to be close to me.

So, I push them away. I do crazy things to make them see, they should be close to me.

Or, I pretend to be mad at them, and nag at them until hey cant handle it anymore and give up on me. I test them on there loyalty skills. Most of them fail miserably.

Then I go into the stage of intense self hate, this is when I do the crazy things.

I play with fire in this stage, and usually I get burned, terribly.

This is when I yell, and start fights. I am relentless, I am wild, crazy even. I am a car going down the highway at top speed, I have no breaks, I have no wish to stop, I speed and hope to crash.

Next is the stage of intense emotional pain.

This is the phase were I usually cut, and do other painful things to myself.

I want the pain. I want to be....punished, perhaps?

Im not quite sure, this stage is un-explored, I do not wish to stir the whatever lives in this stage.

Then I move onto the numb stage.

And it starts all over again.

This never ending cycle, of hate, and anger, and pain.

Is what I call my life.

Welcome!

Oh yeah, and there was this one time, that I decided I could self medicate myself, and stole pills from everywhere. Of course, my parents found on of my hiding places, and they freaked.

I blamed it on my “issues” of not being able to control myself, and making poor choices.

I had every kind of drug you could imagine. Drugs that probably had street value.

All snatched from my house.

Anti-depressants, heart medication, sleep aids, tons of stuff.

I never actually took any, except once.

Ever since then, I have had this morbid fascination with drugs, especially pills.

I look them up in books, the internet, anyway I can.

I swear Im crazy.

Sometimes, I hide under my bed. Sounds weird, I know. But, its a small dark space where I can be alone and think. I love it. There is no parents, no fucked up memories, just you, and the dark.

In the dark is amazing, you can think, pretend, you can be whatever you want to be, you can make your own past, and plot your own future. You can pretend nothing bad has ever happened to you, you can hide so nothing will.

But other times,

I hate being alone, hate it.

I hate being stuck with my thoughts I cant stop.

Hate having to be with me.

Sometimes its easier just to have someone to talk about pointless stuff, such as shopping and take you mind off of it.

Pain is such a small word, only four letters.

But it is such an intense emotion.

I cannot even take a stab at describing it.

So, I simply will not try.

Alcohol, ah...Alcohol.

The drug of choice, and yes, I am calling it a drug on purpose.

I have drunk many times to escape.

Nothing of too much importance, doesnt every teenager?

But, I quite. For life. There is no more drinking for this girl.

None at all.

Have you ever noticed that there are many addictions besides Drugs and Alcohol?
I have, actually, many of them I have lived.

Sometimes I think that I am out of ways of hurting myself.

I have been/still am addicted to many a thing.

Pain for instance, is a good one.

I am very, very addicted to pain. I do not think I could live without it.

I have been addicted to many a thing.

But the addiction I wish to talk about now is eating disorders.

I have had one, nothing too serious, I stopped it myself after all.

I did not have to be medicated, or hospitalized.

Nothing too serious, for about a month or a half I wouldnt eat.

I would eat dinner. Thats it.

I would eat very, very small dinners.

Claiming I had eaten snack.

I would run myself silly after.

When I was younger, I would not eat my food.

Instead, I would hide it all around the house, saving it for later, because I was not used to getting food, so when I did, I would hide it, so I could live off it later.

Of course, Im not sure that is the only reason why I used to do it.

Because I only reacted today how my childhood was, I would flinch at every moment of a person, and not even want to think about sexual activities.

But ah, that is a different story, for a much later time.

I used to scratch myself when I was younger also.

I mean like, really scratch.

Like dig chunks of flesh out of my arms, or legs.

I was a horribly strange child.

Deranged.

Morbid.

Whatever you wish to say, I suppose.

I like to think I have grown up a little since then, but who knows.

Maybe I have only gotten worse, or stayed the same.

Im not sure.

Just to inform you all, I am not looking for your sympathy by writing this.

In fact, I am not even looking for comments,

Im not doing this for you.

This is strictly for me.

Since, I hate writing on paper, and I hate my journal lying around for my grandmother to read.

So, Why not post it on the internet, where nobody who knows me looks, and where my grandmother does not know who to work.

Perfect.

The other thing I do for pain, I bite.

I bite my lip of the inside of my mouth until it bleeds.

I chew off the skin and spit it out.

Blood, everywhere.

I grab my thigh with my nails and squeeze until I have marks and bruises.

I clench my teeth, until my muscles hurt and my teeth break.

Although, I have only had one break this way.

Teeth are quite durable.

Most of the time, I do things for reactions.

I test love, or affection.

When someone seems quite attached and are willingly to stick around, I show some of the true me to them, and they high tail it.

Perhaps, the one I love now, and the one who thinks they love me....perhaps, I will send this to him.

Maybe.

Who knows, he might not be around long enough to get it sent.

Im not sure of anything anymore.

When I say something to someone even fairly emotion, I second guess it, then I just dont care anymore. Everything I feel right now, I dont trust that its real. I dont know thats the truth and what Im faking anymore. All I know is real is the pain, and anger. Well, maybe there not even real, maybe they are my fake for something Im pushing even farther back. Who knows? Not me.

I was beaten, and raped when I was younger. By my father, to make it even worse.

I was alone as a baby, and am much alone now, I have learned most of what I know from living through it. I was around severe alcoholics, and drug addicts growing up. I have learned from them. My grandparents, are another source of learning. Although, not for the best. I hate them with every fiber of my being. Im not sure why. I wish not to explore it right now. Perhaps I regret them taking me? I dont know. I just know that I should love them, and I dont.

Well, thats not true...Sometimes I do.

Sometimes.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, I feel normal, but I know Im not...and it saddens me.

Greatly.

I like having options, the option to hide, the option to hurt myself, even the option to end myself.

Hence, the razor and the pills.

Oh, another thing I forgot to add the eating disorders...

Im a binger. Im not fat, not in anyway.

Although, many days I feel it.

I hate my body, hate the way the skin is lose and hate the way it is formed.

I hate when someone calls me beautiful, because I know its not true.

I eat and eat and eat, whenever some ones not looking.

This makes my Gparents angry, but I think its because I used to have to do that with my dad, and mom, since they would feed me....I would steal food, and hide it so I could live.

I was....a baby, how could someone do that.

But then again, they were passed out drunk by the time I needed to be fed, and  changed and loved.

I suppose, even then, It was impossible to love me.

My grandfather has a very sudden temper to match my hot temper.

We do not do so well together.

He says something stupid.

I mouth off, and hurl my knives.

He gets very very angry, he even threatens to hit me sometimes to “straighten me out”

Although, he has never hit me, he has grabbed me and shook me, and even pushed.

A couple time he threw stuff at me, needless to say when he gets angry I flinch, and get tense.

This makes him even madder, and hes like “What? You think Imma hit you?!”

Not a good situation.

My stepdad would never hit me, I dont think.

Although who knows, my Grents think that he abuses my mother, but I dont know.

I have never seen it.

I have seen some pretty awful things there, some things I hope nobody ever has to see, let alone a child.

Sometimes, I am a mother to my mother, and I am a mother to my brother.

But it was worse way back about one or two years ago.

Now, my mother is doing quite nicely being a mother.

But things happen there.

I know they do, I have witnessed it many times.

It has prepared me, In a way, I suppose.

Once, my other grandmother (fathers mother) sent me a picture of my father, and my sister, the was standing behind her, and had his hands on the little girl in front of him.

I could tell by the picture, that he had touched her.

Or done something to her.

The pain and tension on her face was obvious.

It killed me.

I want no other girl to go through what I had.

I was so angry.

He belongs straight in hell.

He really does.

Nobody like that deserves that have a beautiful little girl like that.

Nobody.

Of course, growing up was awful.

Children say whats on there mind, and they are full of hurtful questions about me, and my life.

I hated them.

Hated.

My Aunt killed herself when I was young, she was very close to me, and I just couldnt understand.

She took a pistol to her temple and popped it.

My mother was crushed.

It was her best friend, and Kevins sister.

My grandmother would not allow me to go to the funeral, and I was pissed.

I regret not finding a way to go, still, even today.

I think this is the most emotionally in depth I have ever been.

Paper is a lot easier to talk to than people, but harder at the same time.

Hmm..

I feel a little drained, right now.

From saying so much.

I dont think I mind people reading this online because they dont know me, and they cant use it against me.

They dont know me, and I dont know them, and I will never see them.

So, I dont mind it.

I can see others so clearly, and know who they are in seconds.

But me? No, I have no such ability with myself.

I have no idea how I am, to tell you the truth.

Not a freakin clue.

Now, when I say I hate fake people, I laugh to myself, but that hate includes myself....

For I am the fakest of them all.

I have the ability to show someone totally different then the person I am.

But the problem is, sometimes I dont know if Im lying to them or not.

I know not who I am.

Im sure you guys read stuff like this everyday..

Whatever, again, its for me, not you.

I dont cry.

Im no that kind of person.

Sure, I say I cry a lot. But, its not true...

I bit my lip, and grin, and bear it.

Im the kind of girl, who sticks up her middle finger and yells “F the world!”
Im toughened because of my past, so I know now not to let the past repeat.

I know a lot of this is contradicting itself.

But honestly, this is it.

This is my life, in a nutshell.

There is so much more, so very much more.

But, it is to painful to talk about, and I am NOT raising it.

Am not.

I would kill myself, if that is brought up.

I wish I could just forget it.

As to make sure it is never brought up...

Im going now, before this goes to far....

 

 

Love,

Your Girl Cady Lyyn

 

-♥-