That day I gave myself into the knife Asked it to bite a little harder, a little deeper The scarlet rush felt so delicious, I couldn't stop there. The blade might have reached the bone, but my little brother, Bryan, barged into the bathroom, leaning against Grandma's new porcelain tub, turning its unstained white pink. You should have heard him scream.
Aspen Springs
Here I sit, brain wobbling, tripping on Prozac, thinking about Her, how she's out there, stalking me, haunting me Do they give everyone Prozac twice a day? Do they diagnose first, or automatically assume that everyone's depressed? Identity isn't something they encourage here.
Aspen Springs is a hostile land, the people here crazier than most soldiers I know. And at the moment, my instincts are shouting to do what I gotta do just to get by.
How I Cope: Cutting
How luscious it is, a subtle rend of anxious skin, a gentle pulse of crimson, just enough to hush the demons Shrieking inside my brain -The thoughts of seesawing from white to blue makes me want to open a vein, to experience pain, know i'm alive, despite this living death
White andBlue: Manic BPD
Funny, but sometimes all I feel is good. More than good. Why is mania bad, if it means your on top of the world, where everything is white? Bright. Instead of treading water in this damnable blue hole. Halfway is what others call normal and I call gray- toeing a straight gray line is all medication is good for.
Before...
My family's a little whacko...
My mother gifted me with this odd disorder- up, down, right, left, never a straight line, until I got here, to this house of control, where they believe they can tell you how to think, how to manage the feelings that never quite go away. The funny thing is, they still haven't diagnosed my manic-depressive playground. My mother's a stark raving psycho. I'd watch her straddling the seesaw for as long as I could remember. Her highs and lows lasted for days. For years she went undiagnosed, "Bipolar" had no meaning. "schizo" meant that some days Mama was fine. Those days, her hugs and kisses were warm as summer rain, washing away the hurt. The hurt that was sure to fall again. We just couldn't guess exactly when. Sometimes she had manic phases. Sometimes, to make herself feel better, she took to hitting things with her fists. Walls. Doors. Herself. Me.
Family and Friendship
My dad is in the military, so he's in Afghanistan most of the time. He always loved us better from a distance. Especially Mama, something she found hard to swallow. Because of his position, I never had the chance to create a lasting friendship because of how often we moved. Daddy would die if he thought i'd made friends with a gay guy. Once he told me, God had a plan, and it didn't include wangs in bung holes." Gross, I know, but it's how they talk in the military, just another way of cutting themselves off from the truth of what they do."
What is friendship, anyway? I have no clue, never lingered long enough in one place before, not with dad in the military. We only settled down in Reno when Mama got so bad she couldn't find enough white space to grocery shop or get us to school.
Grandma, the fool, stepped up to the plate, volunteered to look out for Bryan, my brother, and me. Poor woman had no idea what she was getting herself into- that Daddy had not only married a gear shifter but fathered one too
Trevor
Is what leads to my ultimate secret and demise. Funny how I thought sex equated to love. I didn't even know what love meant. But, Trevor made me believe I loved him. And that when you love someone, you are supposed to have sex. And that you're supposed to get an abortion if you happen to become pregnant