December 25, 2010

The days are starting to blur together. Even Christmas doesn't really stand out from the rest of it. I told Demi I wanted to get better and that I would let her help me. But I'm not sure I want to deal with things the way normal people do. I want to cut at my arms again because that made me feel better than anything else. I'm addicted to the rush, I'm addicted to the chemicals. It's all just a chemical reaction in the end.

I won't rip at my arms though, much as I crave the way that blade slices through me. I deserve that pain and I desire that rush. I deserve this pain and I crave to pull out and go back to work doing all that I want and need to do. I can't by myself though, I'm simply not strong enough. I am a sinner and a failure either way, so what does it matter what way I displease God this time? He says all sins are the same to him. 

There is no way out of here, no way to make it better because nothing is wrong. I am wrong. It's been a great Christmas, a wonderful day with my family close and many kind gifts. There is only one person I haven't talked to... but I'm not so sure I want to. So I can say it: nothing could be better.

Yet I am sunk as low as ever. I feel the tears prick at the backs of my eyes. But they only ever prick anymore, they never come out unless I force them. Maybe it's just the alcohol... I don't know what it's like to be drunk but I'm really sure I'm not because I can still type and see and walk with ease. I just don't want to. It's not that I feel sick or hurt (just cold), but I don't want to move. Even though I should go to bed, I am too lazy to move from the computer.

So much to Oxycontin. Thanks Demi, but I don't feel any different. Even on Christmas, it's just the same as yesterday, and the day before. But I let you help me. I'm all better now. Because my only defense is to push it all out. Push you out, and my parents, and my friends, and everyone and everything. So I will simply claim to be all good. Maybe one day it will even be true....

But I doubt it.
Merry Christmas.
 For the cutters from Dancing With Fire (and Knives)