a few years ago if you put me in this situation i would have spiraled out of control the rabbit hole would be back & getting out would be rly hard but i’m not that person anymore i have healthier coping mechanisms i have a better support system i know myself & my limits & i know how i feel. doesn’t mean i don’t feel like shit doesn’t mean i know what to do but does mean that if nothing else i actually literally will survive this.
my breakup with ryan ended up in an overdose. my breakup with connor ended up being too close to stitches for comfort. my breakup with jack ended up with food being the one thing i had control over. but i refuse to be that person again i’ll 100% cry nonstop, i’ve already left class twice to hide in the bathroom & cry but i haven’t externalized (or internalized to an extent lol) anything and i don’t plan on it which i am proud of. haven’t acted on anything even though i’ve 127% wanted to.
if i can get through half the shit i’ve gotten through then i can get through this. i am a survivor i am a thriver i am going to be okay.
it’s days like these when i think back the most to the me i was 4 years ago. addicted to the rush of seeing myself bleed, addicted to the sting that came, addicted to seeing my flesh split open so easily. like cutting through butter once i figured out the right angle. it’s day like these where i stare at my body with morbid fascination, wondering where i could decorate myself but have no one see. i haven’t been this sick (because let’s face it that’s what it is. it’s an illness, an addiction, an obsession) in a long time. yeah i’ve slipped up here and there and made some shallow attempts of what i used to know but what i feel now? this is big this is too much this is not a feeling i ever wanted to feel again yet here i am.
that’s a different version of me, not one i want to be today. i want to be happy. i want to be healthy. i want to be better. i don’t want to be fixed because i’ll never be fixed because i’m not broken i’m just fucked up. also like, you can’t fix bipolar disorder even though i wish you could. i don’t want to go back to the old me. i’m trying really hard not to but asking for help is my least favorite thing ever. i dream in red. i scare myself. i know what i want to do but i won’t do it. i know who i want to talk to but i can’t do it.
all of these posts are stupid. i’m stupid. i don’t know why i bother with things because i don’t want to write it out on a website and still hide how i really feel. i want to be able to share it and talk about it and figure out what the fuck is going on. what a concept.
the first time i tried to kill myself was in 6th grade. i was in the bathroom at my moms friends house. we had just moved and i was the new kid again, just like i was every 2 years. feeling lost in the world is the worst. feeling lost in the world while going through puberty fucking sucks. i knew that there were 7 layers of skin, so i figured it would be pretty easy to scratch myself until i broke through them all. in actuality i gave up pretty quickly on the scratching and i went to find my mom in tears because if this wasn’t working then maybe i needed something more. she was so embarrassed by me. all her friends watched me come running out of the bathroom sobbing, my arms stretched out reaching for my mom and my mom was looking at me in shock.
the next memorable time (and unfortunately there were some other random attempts in between) wasn’t until freshman year of high school. i can even tell you the exact date: december 28, 2010. my first boyfriend broke up with me. my three best friends had abandoned me weeks ago. i was diagnosed with depression, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. turns out, i’m a hell of a lot more than just depressed but it took a bottle of ibuprofen and a lot of puking to figure that one out.
but this post isn’t my failures (or my successes, depending on how you want to look at it). i’m on spring break. i started watching 13 reasons why because i loved the book and truthfully i needed a new show. well, today i watched the last episode and i bawled. first, the image of hannah slitting her wrists is burned into my mind. how many times did i play that scene over in my mind but i was hannah? i couldn’t watch the whole scene, i had to close my eyes. but what really broke me were her parents. i was so selfish. my parents almost got divorced because of the shit i put them through. and had i not failed at killing myself, who knows what would have happened. i wanted to hold her parents and love them. and her friends. and alex. and clay. i guess i never thought beyond being dead. i would be happy, as happy as you can be when you’re dead, and life would move on. i was a burden out of the way now. i’m so fucking glad i puked. that i chickened out because i’m scared of blood, and that the time i wasn’t scared of blood i’m thankful as fuck to have been interrupted. i’m thankful i had the chance to grow and recover to be the person that i am today.
but even beyond hannah killing herself, it was the sexual assault that bothered me too. something i push back into my deep dark corners and try to forget exists, is that i had a bryce. i dated a bryce. no, he didn’t rape me the way he did hannah and jessica. but the actions and the inability to recognize wrongdoing and sexual consent.. it was all too eerily familiar. it scares me. it worries me. i just want to curl up in a ball and keep crying but i know that i have to be stronger than that because i refuse to let shit like that define me.
but i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that i regret watching 13 reasons why. i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that my own mental health is more important than a tv show. i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that if they make the awful decision to make a season 2, i’ll be damned if i ever watch that shit. don’t watch 13 reasons why. it’s not worth it.