Welcome To My Mind 311

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I needed to purge myself of that truths I refused to acknowledge until recently.

Submitted: March 15, 2011

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Submitted: March 15, 2011



It had to start somewhere. I mean… these bad habits don’t grow over night. It took years of hard drinking to become an alcoholic, years of smoking to become the pothead I am, and years of hiding cut and scar to have the knowledge of the blade I do. But I didn’t figure this all out on my own… had it not been for the kindness of others, I wouldn’t have been introduced to this world. I have so many people to thank for turning me into the empty shell that I am now, I almost don’t know where to begin. So I guess I should begin at the beginning.

Believe it or not, the cutting came first. It started out innocently enough with me and boyfriend number one getting it into our heads to carve each others initials into our ankles as a reminder of our love for each other. I was moving and we wanted a way to always be together. Yea, that scar is long gone and healed over, replaced by more gruesome battle wounds. I would have never known that knives could be used for more than steak if it weren’t for boyfriend number one. When he called me one night to say that he cut too deep and couldn’t feel anything. It struck me as odd, because we were keeping our initials fresh, and I was confused by how an ankle scratch could cause such a reaction. That’s when he revealed that these shiny, pointy, sharp blades weren’t just for meat and ankle love, but could also be used as a way to clear ones mind completely when perfectly matched with an arm. He scared me. I thought he was going to die. After that night, we just fell apart from each other. I moved here and he went to a hospital. In a place where I knew no one and had nothing, all I could think about was this new discovery of how to make things ‘better.’ So… one night, when I felt as though I couldn’t stand myself anymore, I gave it a shot. And its true when they say that first cut is the deepest. You don’t know what youre getting yourself into… its almost like heroin, cutting is so addictive. I still have the scar from my very first cut back when I was 14. Im almost 22 now. Almost 8 long years I have been dragging that steel across my skin in hopes of a clearer mind. It works. When I feel like just an empty shell in my mind, when I can no longer feel emotions or think normal thoughts, I just grab good old rusty. Rusty always helps draw the life back into me, even though I’m bleeding to do it. Those drops of blood make me feel alive again. It reminds me that I’m still alive, I can still feel physical pain, and it clears my mind of all the bad, evil things I’d been thinking.

The downside to all this amazing feel good is that its not good. One look at my torn up arms and my mom would have me in a hospital. Not that I don’t think that’s all that bad… I have asked for help before. But the help I got wasn’t enough. I didn’t want it enough to keep it up. Back to the drawing board. Now, when I feel like I need to ask for help, I remember how much I hated therapy. How much I hated the medicine they put me on. How much I hated that stupid Leslie womans face and condescending questions as though I couldn’t possibly understand what was wrong with my mind. And it truly is addictive. Ive gotten to a point where I don’t even realize I’m doing it anymore. It just happens. I’ll get in the shower when I’m in a rotten mood just to relax and when I get out, it feels as though I blacked out the whole shower. I certainly don’t remember making such a mess of my body… but I did. The proof is there in the pink flesh and crimson drops. Well… the only thing that can fix this right now is a blunt I guess.

So I’m a pothead. Yeah, after I cut myself and release all those horrible thoughts and feelings, I smoke weed. I roll up a fat blunt and don’t stop smoking until I feel brain dead. This is a different brain dead from the miserable empty shell though. This is the kind of brain dead where I feel relaxed, at peace with myself. I’m just a little happier, more willing to laugh and let things roll off my shoulders. I smoke until I cant think anymore because I don’t want to think. All Im going to think about is this guy or that guy… I’m only going to ask myself why. Weed was taught to me too… by many different people. I’d probably have to thank boyfriend number 2 for the pull it had though. He taught me how to deal, how to make sure I got my money on time, and what to do if something shady was going on in my deal. He showed me the best ways to smoke to get the most of my high and man did he keep me high.

I love the way I feel after a bowl of some nice bud. I feel at peace with myself and the people in my life. When that high disappears though, and my arms are raw from the damage I’ve done to myself at some point I don’t remember, all I have left is my lovely liquor. Alcohol, the worst drug out there and yet so very legal and I’m able to get it myself. Daddy dearest is the one to thank for my love of the bottle. If it weren’t for his original alcoholic ways, I wouldn’t have been passed that gene that turned liquor into water for me. I can drink a pint of Tequila and still drive home, thank you very much.

And man I miss liquor! The warm feeling that would start in my nose to let me know I’m feeling kind of drunk! I miss going shot for shot, not caring how my body would react later on. All I know is that at the time that I’m drinking, its great. I am happy. Nothing can stop me and I can do what I want. Even the next day, while I might be throwing up absolutely everything inside my stomach, I still love my liquor. Its amazing how such a cheap concoction can make me forget an entire night. The best time of my life was the week I spent drunk. Where I woke up and drank beer for breakfast, margaritas for lunch, and shots for dinner. I’m not sure what I did that week, I drank myself into oblivion I would guess. And my body felt horrible for days afterward. But I loved it. What I don’t love… is a few days after the drinking, when I cant drink anymore, and my mind turns against me.

When I started to think all those bad thoughts again. When I feel worthless, and cheap and used and forgotten and all of that. I hate coming down from my highs because when I get low, I get very low. You would think after all the cutting and smoking and drinking I would be great! But even a great cycle is still a cycle, and its bound to have its rough spots. So I drink some more and I smoke some more. And when I’ve drank and smoked enough that even in the midst of my happiness I start to think bad things… that’s when I know its time to grab for the steel again. I need to drain these horrible thoughts and feelings so I can be happy again.

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