I'm at it again.
I'm playing the church game. I got up early, put on my pretty dress, pulled some cash out of my (sadly depleted) savings account, and in 15 minutes, I will be walking in the front door of the place that strikes more fear and trepidation into my heart than any dentist ever could.
Why, you ask? I'm not sure. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I drive all the way up here to go somewhere when I know it's just going to make me into a depressed mess all day? Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment. Maybe I'm waiting to get struck by lightening. Maybe I'm hoping for change.
Wish me luck!
Hang on,
Ness
Sunday, 26 June 2011
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Three Months Later
I am alive.
Tomorrow, it will be 3 months to the day since the day I almost killed myself. 3 months of near-constant changing. I am the same, but I am completely different.
I am grateful to be here, and I am indebted beyond words to the people who have been--and still are--there for me.
I'm not really sure what to write. It's been a long fucking time since I've had much to write about. These days, I mostly just wake up and go to work, then hang out with someone or go to sleep.
Despite the fact that so much has changed, I still deal with depression. I don't take anything for it, but I'm trying to handle it better. I know how to get through without hurting myself, and now I am working on not letting it affect me at all. It's tough.
I'm still working on alot of other things, too. There are times when what happened comes back to bite me. I still feel damaged sometimes, I still feel like I'm not as good as everybody else because of what happened. This gets especially bad when I've had a few drinks, and I'm not sure why. I'm trying to challenge these feelings as they come because otherwise I'll go stagnant and then start slipping again.
I'm up to about 106 lbs now and eating almost regularly. I am still my own biggest critic, and that won't change for awhile.
Voice lessons are going well. I am a straight-up soprano now, and this is fucking awesome.
I guess that's all I have for now.
Hang on,
Ness
Tomorrow, it will be 3 months to the day since the day I almost killed myself. 3 months of near-constant changing. I am the same, but I am completely different.
I am grateful to be here, and I am indebted beyond words to the people who have been--and still are--there for me.
I'm not really sure what to write. It's been a long fucking time since I've had much to write about. These days, I mostly just wake up and go to work, then hang out with someone or go to sleep.
Despite the fact that so much has changed, I still deal with depression. I don't take anything for it, but I'm trying to handle it better. I know how to get through without hurting myself, and now I am working on not letting it affect me at all. It's tough.
I'm still working on alot of other things, too. There are times when what happened comes back to bite me. I still feel damaged sometimes, I still feel like I'm not as good as everybody else because of what happened. This gets especially bad when I've had a few drinks, and I'm not sure why. I'm trying to challenge these feelings as they come because otherwise I'll go stagnant and then start slipping again.
I'm up to about 106 lbs now and eating almost regularly. I am still my own biggest critic, and that won't change for awhile.
Voice lessons are going well. I am a straight-up soprano now, and this is fucking awesome.
I guess that's all I have for now.
Hang on,
Ness
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Barbie Doll
I am finding it more difficult than ever to fit in my own skin.
I'm not sure what caused this, but recently, I find my image disgusting. I'm probably about 105lbs now, but none of it is muscle. I have stretch marks all over from when I was a kid and I got fat. My skin is the color of elmer's glue. I hate my fucking smile. I hate my hair, I hate my fingers, I hate my nose, I hate everything.
I don't know what to do about it. Sure, I can burn twice as many calories as I take in...I can avoid taking in any at all. That's not going to help me get better, though. It won't do anything to make my hair grow, or get rid of the snarl that appears on my face every time I try to smile.
For once, I don't feel disgusting because I know I'm fucked up on the inside. This time, it's purely superficial and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
There's this woman, this foreign trophy wife who comes into my store sometimes. She's totally fake--long, blonde extensions, huge boobs, a perfect ass, good lips, good nose, all that shit. She's always been very nice to me. All my coworkers make fun of her because she's fucking plastic, but every time I see her, I get sad because I want to look like her.
Anyway, since I am in the business of getting better, I need to find a way to change what I'm seeing now. I mean, I'm not massive, so why do I feel like I am? A good friend of mine told me that my perspective has to change in order for me to feel better about myself, but I'm not quite sure how to do that. Is it a repetition thing--like repeating to myself when I look in the mirror that I'm fine the way I am? Is it one of those deals where you slap yourself on the wrist when you find yourself thinking that you're ugly? I don't know.
Something's gotta give, though, because I can't do this to myself again. I destroyed myself last time, and I'm pretty sure I'm trying to stop that.
This was a dumb post, I know. I sound like such a high-school anorexic. "Wah, Wah, Wah. I'm all ugly and fat, woe is me, I'm gonna go puke in the toilet now and then pick on some math geeks." This is, however, my blog and I'll put in here what's on my mind. (This is what's on my mind, if you missed that the first time.)
I found Pumas for $40.00 yesterday. Can you say 'score'? I sure did!
Hang on,
Ness
I'm not sure what caused this, but recently, I find my image disgusting. I'm probably about 105lbs now, but none of it is muscle. I have stretch marks all over from when I was a kid and I got fat. My skin is the color of elmer's glue. I hate my fucking smile. I hate my hair, I hate my fingers, I hate my nose, I hate everything.
I don't know what to do about it. Sure, I can burn twice as many calories as I take in...I can avoid taking in any at all. That's not going to help me get better, though. It won't do anything to make my hair grow, or get rid of the snarl that appears on my face every time I try to smile.
For once, I don't feel disgusting because I know I'm fucked up on the inside. This time, it's purely superficial and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
There's this woman, this foreign trophy wife who comes into my store sometimes. She's totally fake--long, blonde extensions, huge boobs, a perfect ass, good lips, good nose, all that shit. She's always been very nice to me. All my coworkers make fun of her because she's fucking plastic, but every time I see her, I get sad because I want to look like her.
Anyway, since I am in the business of getting better, I need to find a way to change what I'm seeing now. I mean, I'm not massive, so why do I feel like I am? A good friend of mine told me that my perspective has to change in order for me to feel better about myself, but I'm not quite sure how to do that. Is it a repetition thing--like repeating to myself when I look in the mirror that I'm fine the way I am? Is it one of those deals where you slap yourself on the wrist when you find yourself thinking that you're ugly? I don't know.
Something's gotta give, though, because I can't do this to myself again. I destroyed myself last time, and I'm pretty sure I'm trying to stop that.
This was a dumb post, I know. I sound like such a high-school anorexic. "Wah, Wah, Wah. I'm all ugly and fat, woe is me, I'm gonna go puke in the toilet now and then pick on some math geeks." This is, however, my blog and I'll put in here what's on my mind. (This is what's on my mind, if you missed that the first time.)
I found Pumas for $40.00 yesterday. Can you say 'score'? I sure did!
Hang on,
Ness
Friday, 20 May 2011
Eat, Drink, and Be Merry...
...for tomorrow, apparently, we're all getting raptured.
That's a total load of horse shit. Just thought you all should know.
Anyway, it has been two months to the day since The Day I Was Supposed To Die. This has been the best two months of my life so far, and I'm thrilled that I'm here to have lived them.
I know this isn't important, but I'm recapping for my own benefit the events of the past two months. Btw, 'recap' comes from the word 'recapitulation'. It's a term used in music. No one knows that except us.
Let's see. Over the past two months, I have stopped cutting myself. This is good. I haven't really felt the need to, which means I'm getting better.
I have stopped hating myself as much as I used to. In fact, I am beginning to like myself a little bit.
I have acquired a spifftacular boyfriend. No explanation needed: just know he's a good kid.
I started singing lessons on Thursday. This is a good fucking plan, I think.
I've resurrected my music endeavors.
I dropped off my first (shitty) demo cd.
I learned to use a lawnmower that ISN'T a tractor.
I saw a Ferrari in my drive-through.
I figured out how to get through the day without wanting to die.
I started and maintained a blog.
I was around for 61 sunrises and 61 sunsets.
I survived. No...I lived.
There's a lot more, but I can't really remember it all right now. I'm too tired.
Goodnight, world.
Hang on,
Ness
That's a total load of horse shit. Just thought you all should know.
Anyway, it has been two months to the day since The Day I Was Supposed To Die. This has been the best two months of my life so far, and I'm thrilled that I'm here to have lived them.
I know this isn't important, but I'm recapping for my own benefit the events of the past two months. Btw, 'recap' comes from the word 'recapitulation'. It's a term used in music. No one knows that except us.
Let's see. Over the past two months, I have stopped cutting myself. This is good. I haven't really felt the need to, which means I'm getting better.
I have stopped hating myself as much as I used to. In fact, I am beginning to like myself a little bit.
I have acquired a spifftacular boyfriend. No explanation needed: just know he's a good kid.
I started singing lessons on Thursday. This is a good fucking plan, I think.
I've resurrected my music endeavors.
I dropped off my first (shitty) demo cd.
I learned to use a lawnmower that ISN'T a tractor.
I saw a Ferrari in my drive-through.
I figured out how to get through the day without wanting to die.
I started and maintained a blog.
I was around for 61 sunrises and 61 sunsets.
I survived. No...I lived.
There's a lot more, but I can't really remember it all right now. I'm too tired.
Goodnight, world.
Hang on,
Ness
Thursday, 12 May 2011
Be Somebody
"With one hand high, you'll show them your progress. You'll take your time, but no one cares."
I've always felt like a bottom-of-the-barrel type of person. I've always been the last one picked, the one with nowhere to sit at lunchtime, the one nobody cared enough about to hate but nobody liked enough to leave alone when they ran out of cannon-fodder in their cliques. I don't fit in with the smart people, the hipsters, the athletes, the emos, the goths, the artsy-people, the preppy people, the happy people, the sad people, the fat people, the perfect people, or the 'normal' people. I can interact with all of them, I have chameleonism down to a science, but I don't fit and I know it.
The reason for this? I'm not sure. It seems like no matter what I wear or how much weight I've lost (I was a fat kid) or whether I ditch the glasses or how my makeup looks or what I do to my hair or how much I talk or don't talk or even what I say, it's still not right. Even among my own friends, I don't completely fit. Maybe everybody feels like this.
Anyway, the only time growing up when most people would listen to me, or talk to me, or bother to even notice me, was right after a performance. I may have been a mousy-haired nobody with glasses and braces and zits and about 4,257 extra lbs, but as soon as I opened my mouth to sing, I became SOMEBODY. And then EVERYBODY cared.
That's not to say that nobody ever in my entire life cared about me...my family did, and I had a few friends, and I had this one music teacher who really went out of her way to teach me all sorts of stuff, and random people in random places were all there for me too. And those people I want to thank profusely. Nothing you've done has been taken for granted. All is remembered and treasured.
The reason for this blog post is because I still feel like nobody. I'm still bottom-of-the-barrel and I know it. I'm still the last one picked sometimes, I'm still forgotten about sometimes. But over the years, I have become so much. I SURVIVED. I'm getting better. I'm fighting my battles instead of running away. I have become so much more than even I thought I would, and you know what? I'm proud of that. And even if nobody cares what's going on in my little world, and even if all my friends go to the bar without me, and even if I travel across 2 states to see somebody and she spends the whole time talking to somebody else, and even if I'm the last one told when something important happens or if they forget to even tell me at all, it's ok. Because I know that somewhere in me is SOMEBODY. And whether or not anybody cares about that fact doesn't matter. I'll just sing until everybody knows it.
The quote at the beginning of this song is from 'My Sundown' by Jimmy Eat World. Look that song up too.
Also: I sang a fucking opera song in Italian. I don't even know Italian, and I've never sang opera before. Aaand I'm getting voice lessons. You all just look for me when I'm famous.
Hang on,
Ness
I've always felt like a bottom-of-the-barrel type of person. I've always been the last one picked, the one with nowhere to sit at lunchtime, the one nobody cared enough about to hate but nobody liked enough to leave alone when they ran out of cannon-fodder in their cliques. I don't fit in with the smart people, the hipsters, the athletes, the emos, the goths, the artsy-people, the preppy people, the happy people, the sad people, the fat people, the perfect people, or the 'normal' people. I can interact with all of them, I have chameleonism down to a science, but I don't fit and I know it.
The reason for this? I'm not sure. It seems like no matter what I wear or how much weight I've lost (I was a fat kid) or whether I ditch the glasses or how my makeup looks or what I do to my hair or how much I talk or don't talk or even what I say, it's still not right. Even among my own friends, I don't completely fit. Maybe everybody feels like this.
Anyway, the only time growing up when most people would listen to me, or talk to me, or bother to even notice me, was right after a performance. I may have been a mousy-haired nobody with glasses and braces and zits and about 4,257 extra lbs, but as soon as I opened my mouth to sing, I became SOMEBODY. And then EVERYBODY cared.
That's not to say that nobody ever in my entire life cared about me...my family did, and I had a few friends, and I had this one music teacher who really went out of her way to teach me all sorts of stuff, and random people in random places were all there for me too. And those people I want to thank profusely. Nothing you've done has been taken for granted. All is remembered and treasured.
The reason for this blog post is because I still feel like nobody. I'm still bottom-of-the-barrel and I know it. I'm still the last one picked sometimes, I'm still forgotten about sometimes. But over the years, I have become so much. I SURVIVED. I'm getting better. I'm fighting my battles instead of running away. I have become so much more than even I thought I would, and you know what? I'm proud of that. And even if nobody cares what's going on in my little world, and even if all my friends go to the bar without me, and even if I travel across 2 states to see somebody and she spends the whole time talking to somebody else, and even if I'm the last one told when something important happens or if they forget to even tell me at all, it's ok. Because I know that somewhere in me is SOMEBODY. And whether or not anybody cares about that fact doesn't matter. I'll just sing until everybody knows it.
The quote at the beginning of this song is from 'My Sundown' by Jimmy Eat World. Look that song up too.
Also: I sang a fucking opera song in Italian. I don't even know Italian, and I've never sang opera before. Aaand I'm getting voice lessons. You all just look for me when I'm famous.
Hang on,
Ness
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Fuckin' Perfect
Another song on my playlist of Random Shit That Makes Me Feel Better is Pink's 'Fuckin' Perfect'.
I'll post the lyrics at the end of all this, but the general idea is that even though you've fucked up, you're still 'fucking perfect to me'. This is epic, people. Epic.
I'm currently hovering around 103lbs and fighting on-and-off anorexia. I'm not sure what you'd call that. Anyway, this whole thing started when I lost control of my life and needed to have a handle on something. So I decided that I was going to control my image. At one point, if I had to eat something one day to appease somebody, I'd work off 150% of my total caloric intake. I could see all of my ribs and all of my vertebrae and I loved it.
Another fantastic thing about starving myself to control things was that it allowed me to punish myself at the same time. I was addicted to hurting myself for a really long time. I'd cut myself, force myself to not sleep, and now starve myself because this was punishment for every bad thing I'd ever done, said, or thought. Hell, I still fucking kick myself for things I did when I was like 4. It's not right, but that's the way things are.
Anyway, I've done a lot of shit in my time. Alot of weird, fucked up shit that has hurt me and other people. But that's the past. I'm trying to get better now. I'm having trouble getting back to eating normally, but I'll get there. The point is this: we're all human, we all make fucked up mistakes. But just so long as we're trying, we're fucking perfect. And we're gonna be fucking ok.
Pink- Fuckin' Perfect
Made a wrong turn
Once or twice
Dug my way out
Blood and fire
Bad decisions
That's alright
Welcome to my silly life
Mistreated
Misplaced
Misunderstood
Miss knowing it's all good
It didnt slow me down.
Mistaking
Always second guessing
Underestimating
Look I'm still around
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
You're so mean
When you talk
About yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look how we all make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game
It's enough
I've done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons
I've seen you do the same
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
The whole worlds scared
So I swallow the fear
The only thing I should be drinking
Is an ice cold beer
So cool in line
And we try, try, try
But we try too hard
And it's a waste of my time
Done looking for the critics
Cause they're everywhere
They don't like my jeans
They don't get my hair
Exchange ourselves
And we do it all the time
Why do we do that?
Why do I do that?
Why do I do that?
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
You're perfect, you're perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
Hang on,
Ness
I'll post the lyrics at the end of all this, but the general idea is that even though you've fucked up, you're still 'fucking perfect to me'. This is epic, people. Epic.
I'm currently hovering around 103lbs and fighting on-and-off anorexia. I'm not sure what you'd call that. Anyway, this whole thing started when I lost control of my life and needed to have a handle on something. So I decided that I was going to control my image. At one point, if I had to eat something one day to appease somebody, I'd work off 150% of my total caloric intake. I could see all of my ribs and all of my vertebrae and I loved it.
Another fantastic thing about starving myself to control things was that it allowed me to punish myself at the same time. I was addicted to hurting myself for a really long time. I'd cut myself, force myself to not sleep, and now starve myself because this was punishment for every bad thing I'd ever done, said, or thought. Hell, I still fucking kick myself for things I did when I was like 4. It's not right, but that's the way things are.
Anyway, I've done a lot of shit in my time. Alot of weird, fucked up shit that has hurt me and other people. But that's the past. I'm trying to get better now. I'm having trouble getting back to eating normally, but I'll get there. The point is this: we're all human, we all make fucked up mistakes. But just so long as we're trying, we're fucking perfect. And we're gonna be fucking ok.
Pink- Fuckin' Perfect
Made a wrong turn
Once or twice
Dug my way out
Blood and fire
Bad decisions
That's alright
Welcome to my silly life
Mistreated
Misplaced
Misunderstood
Miss knowing it's all good
It didnt slow me down.
Mistaking
Always second guessing
Underestimating
Look I'm still around
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
You're so mean
When you talk
About yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look how we all make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game
It's enough
I've done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons
I've seen you do the same
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
The whole worlds scared
So I swallow the fear
The only thing I should be drinking
Is an ice cold beer
So cool in line
And we try, try, try
But we try too hard
And it's a waste of my time
Done looking for the critics
Cause they're everywhere
They don't like my jeans
They don't get my hair
Exchange ourselves
And we do it all the time
Why do we do that?
Why do I do that?
Why do I do that?
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
You're perfect, you're perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
Hang on,
Ness
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Oh My God
Lots of people like to put the saying 'Faith, Hope and Love' onto fancy little wall decorations.
I understand hope, and I know love. Faith I'm a little unsure about.
Faith in what? What even is faith anyway? Is faith the same as belief? I don't fucking know. This is not a post full of answers, this is a post about a question: what do I believe?
A little backstory...
I was raised in a thoroughly Christian household by a drug-dealer-turned-around father and a raised-Christian-under-the-worst-of-circumstances mother. Every Sunday, we went to church. Every morning we read the bible. Every evening we said our prayers. But I never felt any of it. As much as I wanted to, I never felt a thing.
Inspirational music, heart-wrenching testimonies, and fantastic, too-good-to-be-true stories are the hallmarks of Christianity. All this stuff, it's supposed to make you feel things deep inside. But I feel nothing.
Not the right things, anyway. All growing up, the other kids at church treated my family different...like we weren't as good as they were because we were poor. Later on, when dad made more money, they just treated me differently because I was ugly and socially awkward. So I felt alone in church, I felt angry in church, I felt sad in church.
After I had started cutting myself, I went to my 'youth pastor' to ask for help because I wanted to kill myself. He made me tell my parents, promising me that he'd help me get better. Instead, he treated me like shit and did nothing to help me. So I felt hatred in church.
Now, I am old enough to choose my own churches. But I still feel alone. Like I'm so horribly different from everyone there that I don't have the right to be in a church. Sometimes it's so bad that I can't make it through the service and I have to leave.
I read my bible sometimes, I go to church sometimes, I drop my hard-earned money into the plate, I sing the songs, I pray as hard as I can to feel something but I CAN'T.
I believe in God. I do. I just don't see any other explanation for the world around me and how it works. I pray sometimes...and I think God hears me. I THINK. But I want know how to do this whole 'Christian' thing. At least, I think I do.
It says in the bible that God can harden your heart against feeling things...is that what happened? Have I missed my chance? Am I going to hell now?
Yepp. I'm fucking confused as shit. The basic question I'm trying to pose here is, how do I believe in this? How do I 'have faith'? And HOW THE HELL DO I FEEL SOMETHING ABOUT IT?
Anyway. Now that I feel like shit and have a hundred questions to sort through in my head, I'm gonna go smoke.
Hang on,
Ness
I understand hope, and I know love. Faith I'm a little unsure about.
Faith in what? What even is faith anyway? Is faith the same as belief? I don't fucking know. This is not a post full of answers, this is a post about a question: what do I believe?
A little backstory...
I was raised in a thoroughly Christian household by a drug-dealer-turned-around father and a raised-Christian-under-the-worst-of-circumstances mother. Every Sunday, we went to church. Every morning we read the bible. Every evening we said our prayers. But I never felt any of it. As much as I wanted to, I never felt a thing.
Inspirational music, heart-wrenching testimonies, and fantastic, too-good-to-be-true stories are the hallmarks of Christianity. All this stuff, it's supposed to make you feel things deep inside. But I feel nothing.
Not the right things, anyway. All growing up, the other kids at church treated my family different...like we weren't as good as they were because we were poor. Later on, when dad made more money, they just treated me differently because I was ugly and socially awkward. So I felt alone in church, I felt angry in church, I felt sad in church.
After I had started cutting myself, I went to my 'youth pastor' to ask for help because I wanted to kill myself. He made me tell my parents, promising me that he'd help me get better. Instead, he treated me like shit and did nothing to help me. So I felt hatred in church.
Now, I am old enough to choose my own churches. But I still feel alone. Like I'm so horribly different from everyone there that I don't have the right to be in a church. Sometimes it's so bad that I can't make it through the service and I have to leave.
I read my bible sometimes, I go to church sometimes, I drop my hard-earned money into the plate, I sing the songs, I pray as hard as I can to feel something but I CAN'T.
I believe in God. I do. I just don't see any other explanation for the world around me and how it works. I pray sometimes...and I think God hears me. I THINK. But I want know how to do this whole 'Christian' thing. At least, I think I do.
It says in the bible that God can harden your heart against feeling things...is that what happened? Have I missed my chance? Am I going to hell now?
Yepp. I'm fucking confused as shit. The basic question I'm trying to pose here is, how do I believe in this? How do I 'have faith'? And HOW THE HELL DO I FEEL SOMETHING ABOUT IT?
Anyway. Now that I feel like shit and have a hundred questions to sort through in my head, I'm gonna go smoke.
Hang on,
Ness
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