Sunday, 8 July 2012


I'm raw today and so I don't expect this is going to be all that eloquent. I've been so busy keeping my eating under control, trying as best I can to navigate the twists and turns of the bipolar (the term ups and downs seems so wrong in discussing bipolar. The frenzied highs are as far from my idea of a good mood as they are from the idea of a bad mood. Whatever the platonic idea of a good/bad mood is. Are? I don't even know my tenses. Tense). See, I'm already not doing very well, this doesn't make sense at all and my mind is swimming through empty analogies and I feel sick from the motion of it all. All I want to be able to do is to write, to be able to express everything in a way that doesn't involve some yet another breakdown. I won't recover from another right now, I'm weak. I can't seem to be able to do or express anything, I'm too raw and I'm not even really saying anything now.

Give me a few minutes, I need to cry.

This is pathetic.

I have an alcohol problem. Or rather... I don't know how to express this. I have a problem with pretty much every area of being human. Animal, even. The primal shit. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Interact socially. The food thing has been pretty extensively covered here, my fear of sleep I'm just able to manage right now. Socially, at the moment I manage. I'm weird and awkward and not well understood, or, probably, liked, but I have friends and we manage. But I feel on the precipice of a new wave of self destruction, one that's been a long time coming, but I've been denying the existence of, from myself, based on that final hurdle; drink. Another battle to fight and one that...

I'm not strong. I never have been, not to have ended up with all these problems. I feel pealed and pickled, raw, naked and bleeding under a thousand glaring suns. When you start cutting corners, that's when things crumble. Cutting corners off recovery, from fighting, having to save face always, rather than to admit how horribly wrong everything is. Managing to get enough calories through alcohol. Calming the intensity of my fears around sleep, by drinking until I can't feel anything. Drinking before and during every single social interaction, no matter how inappropriate, hoping that it will make me interesting. And always, through it all, drinking so I don't have to remember. I don't want to remember so much, there's so much that I wish I didn't know and I'm tired of the whole fucking mess that has been my life. Melodramatic? So it sounds. But it would be a lie to say anything else.

And drinking sort of fixes that. In the very short term. In the long run, it's ruining everything. It's controlling me and degrading me and has crept up with the familiar scent of self-destruction, a monster on my back. Maybe how people can go from abusive relationship to abusive relationship, I don't know. Waking up in a hospital bed this morning, yet again, with the tell tale bruises on my arse from sedative injections and a hangover borne from the alcohol, the medication they gave me, and the utter shame of having ended up in another hospital bed, in another state, ruining a night with a best friend and putting someone I love so much through it all. Sometimes alcohol doesn't fill the cracks and the face I present crumbles, it melts the armour away and I'm nothing more than just the mental patient who needs to be restrained and medicated for her own safety.

I need help.

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