Clear Eyes

Well, it wasn't as bad as I thought.


The house, I mean. The blood-per-square-inch factor was almost zero-to-none (if only crime scene investigators were so lucky). I took away all of the memories I could find, though. I checked on her hermit crab (he's doing fine) and took all the empty alcohol bottles (including MY gin that somebody consumed). I went through everything she owns to make sure that she's not bombarded by unnecessary memories the moment she walks through the door. She'll thank me for it someday (I hope). 
     The hospital was a new experience, though. I'd never been to a mental hospital until now. They're not as scary as the movies make them seem, and not as nice as the advertisements lead us to believe. It is referred to as a 'behavioral health science center', which scared the shit out of me at first. But there were no experiments by mad scientists or nazi-type indoctrinations. Just hopeless, disoriented people shuffling around in their gently-colored, grey-blue robes. 
     I feel a little better and a little worse. I think she's going to be ok, with a lot of loving and some good, hard pushes in the right direction.  But I've been where she is and farther, and I know how hard it is. Waking up will make you cry, because you were praying not to. Actually getting up is near-impossible. Putting on your war paint and dressing yourself, eating, moving, making conversation, working, breathing takes superhuman strength. The future seems a horrible place. Hope has fucking left the building. The mirror is your worst enemy, only serving to remind you of your failures. You can't even look yourself in the eye. 
     However, if she chooses to let her friends help her, if she decides that she IS going to get better, she will be fine. Maybe she'll be even better than she ever was before. 

     I've had a headache since I cleaned her apartment. I think it's from crying. It feels like some kind of burning, toxic substance has conglomerated on the left side of my head. It's not nice. 

     I'm not sure what to do now. I'm exhausted. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop, though. 

      I won't lie. I saw the lacerated mess on her arm and suddenly I wanted to do the same thing. I wanted to wreck myself, wanted to watch my blood drip onto the floor, wanted to feel like I was finally leaving this shitty life behind. And I know that for awhile, just being around her is going to drag up all of my own pain, and I'm going to want to let go. I'm going to do my best to stand strong, though, because I can't help her if I'm bleeding out. 

Hang on, 
Ness

Sick

I'm going to clean out my friend's house today. She tried to kill herself two nights ago. 

     I'm bracing myself. When I talk to someone like me, I start to feel everything I felt when I was at my lowest. This is going to be really, really hard. I don't know how I'm going to act when I see her in the hospital, I don't know how I'm going to act when I'm alone. I don't know what the sight of her blood on the carpet is going to do to me, because I know it's going to look just like mine. 

Could I have prevented this? No. None of us knew until it was too late to keep her from trying. Do I still feel guilty? Yes. 
     Not guilty enough, though. I haven't cried yet, and I'm starting to beat myself up over it. That's a bad sign. 
     My skin hurts.

I don't want to sound insensitive, but I think this was ridiculous. This never should have happened, and I think the reason it did happen was pretty damn stupid. I know, I'm a big fucking hypocrite and I'm going to regret my words. But I'm so angry right now. 
     
     I'm a horrible person. 

     Fuck this. I'm the worst kind of person. And all my hard work just went out the fucking window. 

Hang the fuck on, or else you'll end up like my friend, or worse...like me,
Ness

She's still around.

Seven months today.

Well, folks, it's been a hell of a ride. Seven months ago today, I didn't think I'd be where I am. I didn't think I'd be anywhere other than a wooden box, to tell you the truth. Fucking look at me now. 
     I'd have missed out on a hell of a lot if things had gone according to plan.  In the past seven months alone, I have gotten promoted, discovered the sound of my own voice, and fallen more deeply in love than I could have ever imagined (hey, you knew this was coming...I am a girl, after all). I started a blog and actually kept up with it, I saw my natural hair color for the first time in 9 years, made lots of new friends, beat a few demons, drank too much, stayed up too late a thousand times, smoked way too many cigarettes, made some kick-ass muffins, said 'fuck' in front of my mother (it's the little things...), hit a very high F, fixed my car, built shelves, painted walls, wrote music, adopted a kitten, put down my first dog, butchered a cow, threw up in a fire station parking lot, learned how to kiss properly, sang in Italian, and finally told my story. 

     Life is what you make it. Mine's still a little convoluted, a little reckless, and a little short. It's definitely worth the ride, though. 

     
Hang on, 
Ness

Teeth

Today, I'm going to the dentist.

I. Hate. Dentists. 

I hate them as much as I hate church. And shopping for jeans. And car problems. And bitches. And the inability to hit that elusive high G. 

But I have finally accepted defeat. Today, I ate a sandwich. And my broken molar hurt so bad, I almost punched a baby in the face. The only thing that stopped me was the lack of a baby to punch. So, I set up a dentist appointment, and at 2:30 today, some bitch-ass dentist is going to look inside my mouth, exclaim,  "Good God, how long has it been since you've been here!?" and proceed to cause me excruciating pain by ripping out my tooth. Or send me home with an, "I'm sorry. There is nothing we can do. I hope you have a good life insurance policy and are at peace with your Maker."

I'm going to need a stiff drink and a gallon of morphine to get through this. 

Hang on, 
Ness

Any Way You Slice It...

Today, I butchered a cow.

For the realz. There was a dead cow and I cut it up. I came across my first fresh bones, and to my surprise, they are a perfect, shiny white. I always thought they looked like they did in my steak...marinade brown and marrow-holed. I took a kneecap home. I'm going to carve it into something. 
     I loved seeing where the muscles and tendons came together. I played with the joints, checked out the tendons and ligaments came out. Saw the layers of fat and muscle, fat and muscle. I saw the kidneys. Beautiful, perfect cow-kidneys. Mine don't work...they're all covered with cysts and I can't get them to go away. I can't get the ugly out of me. Ugly, ugly cysts on ugly, ugly kidneys. I am jealous of the cow. 

     The body--animal or human--is an amazing thing. Absolutely stunning. And (animal) bodies taste GREAT. 

     Anyway, I need to go clean the dead cow out from under my nails and get some sleep. I just wanted to write down my thoughts on chopping the shit out of a cow. 

Hang on,
Ness