Tuesday, June 24, 2003

Since the beginning of the year I have lost more than I would ever have imagined.

I lost the best relationship of my life, my family's respect, my grandpa, the dog I grew up with, most of my friends, the ability to talk to my remaining friends online, and a computer which had a rather special story behind it.

In six weeks, my childhood will officially come to an end. These changes are all incredibly tough for me to deal with right now. Mix that in with manic depression, social anxiety, OCD and cutting and as you can see, my life is far from tolerable.

Everything that I loved, everything that mattered to me last year is no longer in my life. I can't just start over, everything takes time. More time than I have the patience for these days.

It takes stability and solitary strength that I lost in August.
It takes faith and motivation that I lost in December.
It takes pride and self-worth that I lost in January.

I honestly don't know what to do with myself.

This year has been absolute shit so far. Last June I did what is known as a "halfway" or six month evaluation. It sure won't hurt to give it another try this time. Like I said many times before, to know where you're headed you need to reflect on where you've been...

Here's where I stand.

January 2003: New Year's Eve was spent at my grandma's. I had a terrible time and went to bed shortly after midnight. I had briefly spoken to Bridget and had wondered why we hadn't spent any holidays together. She kept saying she was busy, had plans w/family, etc. By the end of the first week, I knew she was beginning to drift further away from me. Our last memorable day as a couple had been on December 26th, three days before I had predicted a terrible fate for myself.

Something was indeed ending, but I'd have never guessed it would be my relationship. I thought for sure the only thing that would part us would be my death. That's how certain I was that our love was nearly indestructable. I couldn't have been further from the truth. Bridget did end up killing me on January 18th, a full moon, with a girl she had met online by the name of Taylor. Because she had gone out of her way to sneak out late at night on the coldest night of the year to meet this girl at the park was enough to break my heart.

Bridget never did anything like that for me, and I doubt she ever would have. The fact that she and Taylor flirted all night, kissed and had a few intimate encounters while we were still dating was more than I could deal with.

There were a few unusual occurences in the first and second weeks of January that foreshadowed what was to come. Bridget decided to pierce her belly button at random during the first week. By the second week, I had pierced my own eyebrow under her influence. After three hours of struggling with a dull sewing needle, I went online, took some pictures and strangely enough, held my first conversation with Taylor on aim.

Apparently she had seen my profile on planetout and found me attractive. At first I didn't tell her that I already knew about her, let alone had her screename stored on my account. I led her on for a few minutes until she asked if I was taken. When I mentioned Bridget she was shocked. To make a long story short, I warn Taylor not to do anything to jeapordize my relationship...but of course she does anyway.

On January 24th, Bridget breaks up with me in the most shallow way - through an email. Six months of the best love I had ever known...wasted. I must have cried incessantly for two weeks.

I was broken into more pieces than I thought I had.

I knew she and Taylor had been up to no good
ever since I first heard about the girl.

I even warned Bridget about this happening two
months before it actually did. She never listened.

She kept assuring me that nothing was going to happen with Taylor. I heard the same story from both girls. I should have never trusted them. If only I had left a message for Bridget's mom that night when she snuck out. I was about to, but this was before Bridget broke up with me. I still had that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. To make matters worse, I had been kicked out of my own home and had to stay with my grandma for six weeks until the investigation on my mom was closed. Joe called the cops on her for neglect which only complicated my life more. I even went to the hospital and begged them to admit me to the psych ward, but there was too long a wait and patience was something I had lost through all the mental anguish I endured in the last month.

[End Summary]

The end of January leaves me broken, cut,
pierced and shattered into a million little
tiny pieces. I nearly died from the shock.

February 2003: I decide to take matters into my own hands regarding Bridget and Taylor. With a little deceptive work, I have them both right where I want them - under my thumb and out of each other's arms. The work proved successful, but the suspicion nearly nailed me. For Valentine's Day, (perhaps to give myself a "vacation" from a week of dirty work), I spend three days with long-time friend (and the first girl I ever had sex with), Stephanie "the otter."

My initial reason for spending the night at Steph's place was to make Bridget jealous. The first night was wonderful, no sex...but we were pretty close. In those three days, Steph and I smoked pot with Joe, drove up to Brooksville, helped her cousin settle a new apartment, got drunk, nearly got into a threesome, and wandered the roads at 3am to escape a rather disturbing sex act occuring back at her cousin's. It could have easily been the wildest three days of the year. Of course, I never did quite forget about Bridget. While at Steph's, I manage to call her up at 1am. I'm drunk out of my mind, crying like a baby, practically begging for her to give us another chance. February also results in moving back with my mom, but to earn my room back I have to move the ENTIRE apartment on my own. After fueling up on power drinks and veggie wings, I get it done. In four hours, I move an entire apartment by myself. The eyebrow piercing eventually migrates and I am left with a nasty scar.

By this time, Taylor and I had been talking for over a month. Each phone conversation is like a reunion of two long-lost friends. We begin to feel for each other. These emotions are acknowledged, but disregarded until midnight on April 1st. Read on.

March 2003: On the night of March 3rd (3/3/3=9), I have a strange nightmare.

AOL Instant Messenger is a physical realm. I'm sitting among my best friends, online, face-to-face, holding rather morbid conversations. Bridget appears out of nowhere with a sharp hunting knife, grabs me by the neck and slams me onto the ground. "Nothing personal baby, but this is what happens when you invade other's privacy." She slit my throat and left me bleeding to death on the ground as horrified friends stood around me motionless. Bridget took control of my account and blocked all my friends. They called for help, but it was too late. Immediately, I woke up with a knot in my throat... I stumbled into the living room at 3am where my mom lay on the couch sleeping. I threw up all over the floor and passed out shortly after. The next three days was spent with a nasty stomach virus, perhaps stress-related. I cried and threw up violently all week.

On March 9th, my grandpa died. The family manages to come closer together,
but only push me further away as the weeks pass.

[End Summary]

Reality sinks in and I find myself at a low point.
Blinded by disillusionment, I continue to play
along until love once again returns to me.

April 2003: The night of March 31st begins with me being resentful as ever towards Taylor. The hostility is still there bottled up inside me after all this time. Bridget goes on to tell me that Taylor had attempted suicide by taking a bottle of pills. She had just gotten out of the psych ward and wasn't doing too well. I laugh and pretend I couldn't care less. Inside, I feel kind of guilty but continue to push the two traitors away, hoping to save my own sanity in the process.

Taylor and I end up talking that night, but instead of me making her feel worse than she already did, I softened up to her. We were beginning to fall in love. We held a good three hour conversation that night.

During that time, there was an unusual cold front that brought back winter weather for a few days. This enabled me to get a lot done with my computer and hold long conversations. After Bridget hears about Taylor and I, she freaks out. She begins to show some concern for me, acting as though she wanted me all to herself again. This behavior is just what I had been hoping to achieve all along, so I continue to feed the fire.

I figure that if Bridget knew she was losing me to someone she chose over me, her purpose for fucking up would be defeated and she'd learn a tough lesson from the experience. I wanted her to feel what I had when she broke my heart, but at the same time I wanted a sign that she still desired me. I was getting just what I wanted. Two decietful little girls pining over me for once and not the other way around.

During mid-April, Taylor isn't doing too well. She's contemplating suicide again and keeps making reference to an online diary she kept with last notes to people she cared for. After finding this, I call her up and ask why she wanted to die. She claims she had dishonored her family and "no longer has the strength to carry on." I desperately try talking her out of it, but it's no use. I call Bridget for some advice with Taylor on the other line. I ask her if I should call the cops, and she says if I still can't talk her out of suicide it's the only option I have as her friend. I call Taylor and ask her if she's still going to do it. She says yes, "don't worry about me, baby. You'll be fine." I couldn't let this happen. I told her I loved her and hung up. I immediately dialed 911 and explained the situation. At 11pm the cops arrive at Taylor's. She calls me up while they are outside talking to her parents and thanks me...she wasn't mad or anything...she just kept saying, "I love you, Tia" and "thank you."

I understand I saved her life that night. She had no one else to talk to at the time who she could trust. That was my purpose for learning to love Taylor. She was too good a person to die, and although she had hurt me there was no way I was going to allow her to carry through with ending her beautiful life.

Taylor and I spend atleast three weeks sweet-talking each other into a little love cloud almost every night. Bridget must have been steaming inside, and in a way...I felt kind of guilty.

Sweet revenge never tasted so bitter.

[End Summary]

The drama continues, except now Taylor is feeling much better about her life. Bridget and I grow closer with time and eventually work things into a "friends with-benefits" relationship. No commitment, just lots of loving.

May 2003: Taylor drifts further away from me as her depression subsides. The dog I grew up with, Babi (14) was put to sleep because my grandma couldn't take her to live with my aunt. This was unnecessary and wrong, it broke my heart. Taylor's negligence left me sad and longing for more. In the meantime, I continue working to earn back Bridget's affection.

At the end of the month, my computer begins to show signs of terrible damage. I make frequent visits to the library as not to miss anything online. Taylor surprises me by showing up with her gf. This is where we meet. We drive over to Bridget's and I tell Taylor to hide behind a bush. I knock on the door, and Bridget is surprised enough to see me there at random. I tell her to close her eyes, that there was someone else here to see her...she was thrilled. It made my day to see her so happy. We have an awesome time back at my place, which I still consider to be the best night I've had this year.

[End Summary]

A great deal of time this month was spent in the
company of my best friend Joe. He helped me
through the pain of lost love and was there for
me more than anyone else.

June 2003: Friends begin neglecting me, the computer's stability goes downhill fast with the summer heat and stress from projects. This has been a terrible month. Leading up to...now. Here I am. My computer is dead. Bridget is making new friends, not spending as much time with me as she used to. Joe is still irresponsible and immature. I haven't heard from Taylor in a month. Life is certainly...shit right now. But it will get better. It always does. It's a cycle. The way of my life. If I could have anything right now, anything to go right for me... I want to belong to Bridget again. I want to be her's entirely. No more games. I miss her, I need her so bad. There are nights I still cry for her. I know she's still young but...I'll wait for her. I love her that much.

Life without a computer is like a guitar without strings. I'm going absolutely crazy.

The majority of my friends are online. I have websites to manage, including a five-star rated Ani DiFranco fansite of three years (which gets approx. 490 hits a day) in addition to this journal, my art on VCL and deviantart, livejournal, blogspot, open diary, the Dark Realm, RazorWire Shrine (fansite), Angry cloud9, Knothole Village (fansite), the Link Archive, etc.

Obviously I can't live without the machine. I have a life here that's much, much nicer than the one I have offline. I get so much positive feedback from people I have never spoken to, requests, club invitations, magazine editors wanting to publish my art, other webmasters asking for permission to use my material and various orginazations crediting me on their own sites.

There's a life here for me that's just too damn good. I had to work so hard for all this, to lose it would be to lose a limb.

I fell in love here and took it offline. I made friends here and took them offline. I have a fucking title here that I can't take offline. This is the high point of my life, I can't lose it now! But then I remember the miracle that happened on Christmas three years back. Sure that is a once in a lifetime event, but I will pull through. If I have to scrape up every last dollar to repair this machine, that's just what I am prepared to do. If you know me, you know I'm a fighter. I don't give up easily. After all, I gave this computer ten months to straighten out, that's a pretty long time to wait on a machine. One day things will be different. I'll rediscover love, reinvent myself though art online and be the once happy tigress I was at the time I drew the icon for my deadjournal...that's how I felt last year. I wonder if I'll ever feel that good again...

<3 ::Tacoma::

Saturday, May 24, 2003

On to more recent updates...

I've been devoting much of my time to updating the old deadjournal and feeling quite sorry for my unemployed, psychotic self. Doesn't make a lot of sense why I don't write in here that often. I guess being the eternally constipated one, I haven't had the energy or the desire to write for yet another weblog. Between tweaking up my link archive to other online projects, attempting to mend my shattered social/love life and battling the attention-starved inner demons, I've been one sad little girl. Soon to be woman, two months to be exact. For some reason I don't look forward to this. I have my room packed, was donated assloads of furniture and appliances for my "future apartment"...but it hasn't quite hit me yet. The reality of growing up and not being able to sit around watching cartoons and eating cookies day in and day out just doesn't register. Perhaps I don't want it to. I have my diploma, enough money to barely make ends meet from my disability checks (*manic depression/social anxiety can keep anyone out of the workplace) and a creative outlet that just doesn't let my mind rest. Being an artist does have its downfall. I'm also a perfectionist, which means if it's not "perfect," or matches up to sheet-protected work, it's branded garbage and tossed under the bed. "How does anyone even know I'm bipolar?" I ask myself. School records are useless. That's not how I felt. I wasn't angry or withdrawn for no apparent reason. I was in a traumatic enviroment for ten years, how can they not expect that to frighten me? I've gotten over it now, but still...how can professionals determine my illness judging from records that have no relevance to the way I feel today? How can they assume I'm still an eight-year old defiant little brat when in reality I'm dying inside. I always feel like I'm dying. I have to cut myself to know I'm real, still breathing...I have to see and taste the blood to know that somewhere deep inside of me there is a pulse, a flame, that lets me know I'm alright. I just don't know what to do. How can I expect anyone else to help me if I can't even help myself?
A recent post I made to the Stop Harm Forum for Self-Injury...

I began intentionally hurting myself when I was around 10. I would scratch my scalp and pull out huge patches of hair until I bled. I would get teased a lot in school, until I let it heal six months later. I started back up the next year, this time I would pick at dry skin and bug bites on my forearms and legs, also until they bled until I had to wear jeans and long-sleeve shirts at all throughout the year. This behavior continued until I was thirteen. I guess it was self-therapy, a way for me to cope with family/social pressures. Being in emotionally handicapped classes since kindergarden made it difficult, I would watch other students punch in the walls and curse at the teachers and all I could do was cry. I was in really bad company. When I was 14 I began a new habit after getting a terrible sunburn on my upper back/shoulder area. I'd pick, scratch, cut at it out of frustration, never letting the wounds heal, continued to pick off the scabs and completely destroyed that area in a matter of months. My back looks like I had a tattoo removed, I have taken pictures of this to keep track of my progress, but there honestly hasn't been any in the four years since I began. I keep trying to stay out in the sun long enough to have the whole mass peel off, but I can't even go out in public in fear of extreme humiliation. Over last winter I began the same thing on my upper arms. I can't take off my shirt around other people, can't wear sleeveless tops, can't enjoy sex because I hate what I've done to myself, and if I can't be happy with me how can I expect anyone else to? It's so difficult. I wish I could just stop, but all the medications and psychoactives I've taken over the last six years haven't helped at all, they just give me a false sense of contentment but I'd always continue to SI. I also cut myself with an exacto knife along my arms, thighs, legs, breasts, basically anywhere that I feel there should be pain. I carved a pentacle (wiccan symbol) into my right thigh, and everyone I know has seen it and asks if it will ever heal, which it won't, it was done way too deep. I've had it for six months and I re-cut it every now and then. I have social anxiety and only leave the house on average three days out of the week. A lot of people I know tell me I'm beautiful despite how badly I hurt myself but I can never believe them...some days I just feel like one big open sore.

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

I always find myself sitting here at midnight lost in a spaceless, timeless haze surrounded by thick smoke and melancholy music. Tonight I can feel the depression taking its toll on my physical well-being. It's probably been depression all along, I've just been in denial. "Oh...I'm fine...just the winter blues...nothing more..." It's time I get myself out of this distant bubble I've let grow over the last few weeks and stop being oblivious to the bullshit. I hate it when I write like this, I've done it so many times. I bitch and bitch and bitch at the sky but the moon can never hear me. If I weren't so clingy to this life I'd pull the plug on it right now. I swear I can't take it anymore. I am so bloody close to having myself admitted. I just want to be alone. No distractions, no fellow partners in psychotic crime...just me, a bottle of zanax and a warm hospital bed. I need to recover. My brain and my body are just beating the living hell out of each other, I could just scream from the stress. I'm not looking at anyone else when I say I feel this way. I'm looking at me. I don't have any mirrors in my room. I have cameras only to show everyone online what I'm up to and that I'm "real" because the questions have been asked over and over...I don't want to see myself, which is why I took all the mirrors out of my room. I don't want to look at myself when I send out pictures and video chats but when I do I let it slide...I let it slide like the stress when I was working. I just disregarded everything about myself and put the animal on display. As for those cigarettes...I'm down to the last pack and it doesn't taste like newly fallen snow anymore. It tastes like a bunch of burning chemicals eating away at my lungs. That's all it is. I don't even feel the menthol anymore. I just keep writing because I slept in too late yesterday and I can't even wake myself up in the morning. My natural sleep clock, the little switch in my brain that wakes me up after eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, is gone. So now I have no control of when I wake up. It just fucking happens and that disturbs me. I have no control of anything anymore and I wonder sometimes if I even want to. I could continue to let myself slip away like this, and maybe when I said I was dying this is what I meant the whole time. It's not a cry for attention, it's me waking up and looking outside and everything is ugly...everything is burning in the distance and the sky is black and the air is filled with smoke and people are dying in the street so here I am looking out and, my surroundings, are a reflection of what I have become. I am one with all that is dying and if I could describe that, hell I would...but I can't and I'm sorry. Sleep doesn't solve anything, I just seem to be requiring an awful lot of it lately. So I end this here. Another exciting episode of my little drama. Thank you and Goodnight.

Tuesday, November 12, 2002

I try to make a mental note to update this awful thing whenever I'm in the library. I always seem to have so much stupid shit to do at home and it's terribly hard to focus there anyway. I actually like being outside, surrounded by people and getting some fresh air. I can't stand being alone anymore, I'm dependant upon people. I miss Bridget so much and I hope she's having a good day. I really want to see Joe because we haven't had time to chill since last week and even that was a disaster. We tried to get into Jackass, since Joe and I are both 17 we were able to buy our tickets and I got Bridget in, but once we were in the theatre watching the previews some stupid asshole came up to us and demanded to see our ID's and tickets. Turns out, Joe lost his ticket in the lobby and Bridget didn't have a license to show so they were kicked out immediately. Being severely pissed at this point I just told the guy he was a fucking loser and we just walked around the plaza getting munchies and whatnot for a few hours. But I miss Joe, I talked to him last night and he said we won't be able to smoke up until next Monday - he has a court date and is paranoid they might test him again. I'm not being impatient, I just need to find something, anything, to ease my mind. I've been so stressed out, my mind is racing and I feel so fucking helpless to life in general and what I'm going to do with the next few months to get my ass in gear. Weed would be so great right now...I mean it's always great but if I could just smoke like four or five bowls I would be so much better off...lately I just haven't been myself. Weed is the only thing I can think of to help me as of now.

Tuesday, October 22, 2002

I just have to say...blogger is one of the most difficult webjournals to configure and use...it may have some really nice features but otherwise I'm sticking to my dj. Wow..so...lately my computer has brought out the bipolar in me. It's like every three fucking minutes is decides to lock up and shit and I'm forced to kick it. Bleh. >.<

I'm going to steal this nice computer ^_^; I'm in the public library right now and I'm using the fastest, most wonderful XP machine ever...::drools and licks the screen:: *ahem* so now that I've got everybody in here giving me strange looks, I should go do something productive for the next three hours. Jesus is coming! Quick, look busy!!!

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

I know I haven't been updating here, and for that I'm sorry...but nobody reads this crazy shit anyway and I just don't feel like analyzing my psychotic behaviors anymore. I do that enough on deadjournal. However, I have been taking more than a handfull of pain killers each day to relieve throbbing back pain caused by moving an entire apartment on my own in the course of a week. We're finally settled but that doesn't mean I have a lot of time to go around updating everything I have ever devoted time to online. Again this could be my last post for a long time, so if anyone wants to catch up with me, there's always the deadjournal and my new site, The Dark Realm of TigressFire to keep you busy. Laterz.

Tuesday, July 16, 2002

Tonight I am here to discuss abuse of pharmaceuticals. A few hours ago I decided to check out my new favorite website, Erowid.com for info on drug abuse. I was feeling bored and very curious as to all those old bipolar-meds I have laying around. I was on Depakote for a few months last year, but it didn't do anything it was supposed to. I figured, "what would happen if I ODed or snorted Depakote?" It's good I didn't jump for the bottle, I was shocked to discover that the shit is a quick killer. Since the pills already come in extremely high doses, just a little more than prescribed can kill instantly. Nice to know. Guess that one's out of the question. Come to think of it though, I had been mixing Depakote, Xanax and Tylenol to "cure" me of insomnia. I forget how many pills I was taking, but I slept so peacefully and woke up feeling really good. Looks like hard drugs are out of my league until Joe gets his scrawny ass back home. He always has a steady supply of weed on hand. I hate to say it, but cannabis never affects me the way it is notorious for. I inhale a lot of that shit and can smoke up to five bowls in an hour but for some reason it never gets me "high." At the very most, it relaxes my muscles and makes me super-sleepy. But that is IT. Drugs I do like include any anti-depressants, but only when I am not "supposed" to be on them. Medications prescribed to individuals who have been diagnosed with social anxiety, depression or OCD have been known to cause "sexual side effects." Boy, that sure says a lot. It could mean missed orgasm in women, inability to maintain erection in men, and overall low sex drive for both. I was taking such drugs on and off for years, the results were always messy. After two weeks of steady use with Zyprexa, I tried to achieve orgasm for a good hour...nothing happened. The emotional results were messy, I ended up in tears lying on the bathroom floor until I fell asleep. For what seemed like the longest month of my life, I had no orgasms. This was painful to me, since I usually have one to four orgasms a day.
Perhaps the function of my brain and the link between mental and sexual stimulation is so close, the drug misconceived orgasm as a routine distraction. Unlike self-mutilation, which the drugs have boasted to cure, my daily orgasm wasn't dangerous. It recognized the activity as something used to distract and relieve anxiety. The drug was trying to fill every little void in my life. But by taking away an activity I enjoy engaging in, it only frustrated me more. Thus resulting in a sexual side effect. What the drug didn't comprehend was the emotional damage I endured from being unable to achieve orgasm. So really, the drugs have these side effects because they are convinced they can turn your previous lifestyle into something more suitable and as simple as possible. I was fifteen at the time I had taken such drugs as Paxil, Zyprexa, Zoloft and Prozac. All of them had the exact same side effect. I had to make up a few wild stories to get off the drugs in order to save my sex life. In August 2001, they slammed me onto 400MG of Depokote. It worked almost immediately. They didn't explain to me what this was all about, but it complicated matters in its own nasty little way. Orgasms were still happenin', which was good. Except...I was having eight to ten each night! It took less than thirty seconds to achieve a full-blown climax complete with the waterworks. I was in heaven for a little while, but all that excitement took its toll eventually. I was getting a great deal of sleep, many nightmares involved. I would go to bed at around 10pm and awaken at 5am. The entire day would be spend napping in between classes. I'd fall asleep so quickly sometimes, no matter how uncomfortable it was having my body folded against the desk. I would awaken with a stiff neck and spit in my hair. As though this weren't embarrasing enough, a lot of the students said I must've been having some wild dreams because of my moaning and deep breathing...I never remebered any of the dreams that didn't involve giant hedgehogs and dark caves. In November of 2001, I found myself skipping all but one class to lay around inside a dark closet in the auditorium. For hours I would sleep on hard platforms with a jacket wrapped around me. Joe remembers this all too well. This was around the time I kept thinking about Whitney. I was going on and on drunkenly about "wanting to talk to her" and giving anything just to see her. I would sleep for most of the day and all of the night. The only things I remember doing were achieving the easiest orgasms of my life and eating lots of breakfast food. What an interesting lifestyle, don't you agree? Now I've gotten off topic. But honestly, I love pharms. Especially when they aren't prescribed to me. Call me a pill junkie, but that's just what I am. I enjoy it, it sets me on fire. I love trying new things and discovering ways to boost my solitary sex life and possibly help me feel a bit less anxious. Now that I've been off medications for the last ten months, I'm starting to see what I'm really all about. Being clean is no fun, it drives me crazy. It shows me that I really am an emotionally unstable mess. Until I find out more about the drugs I have available and "proper" ways to use them without killing myself, I'm going to end this little rant. Keep checking back and please visit erowid.com! That is the best site I have been to in a long time, and this is coming from someone who spends twelve hours a day parked in front of a computer.