Terrible, Horrible Day

Today was a terrible, horrible day.

Oh sure, it started just like any other day… get up and go to work. Only, I hate my job so that sucks to begin with. When I went to give a first break, I received a call (and subsequent voicemail) from the place I’d interviewed at for a new (much better) job. Upon returning the call, devastation began.

“We chose someone else,” he said.
“You weren’t good enough,” I heard.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said.
“We have to say this to everyone,” I heard.

I struggled against tears until my lunch break; Sad and frustrated, I told those that had asked via text and avoided all possible conversation. I came home on my lunch break with one goal in mind: ease the pain. Dashing straight for the tiny blade that had been extracted from my old razor so long ago, I began. Tiny cuts and tiny drops of blood. Two on my arm and one on my leg granted me permission to breathe again.

I returned to work and continued to live out my day, but the anxiety… the frustration… the hurt… all of it flooded my heart, my brain, my being. Work ended. I came home and returned to the blade for a few more quick cuts before heading to swim practice where I felt large and disgusting. The swim itself helped to improve my mood (or at least distract me).

Life was once more beginning to brighten and I showered for a friend’s party tonight. I stepped on the scale more times than I can remember, angry with myself each time because the number has gone up since I started working out 4-6 days a week since a couple of months ago… up since even yesterday. I felt so fat, feel so fat, and I hated how I looked in my shirt and jeans. I told my friend I’d be there though, so I got in my car and CRASH. Shit.

In maneuvering out of my parking spot, I clipped my driver side mirror on the dumpster and nearly ripped it off my car. Glass shattered along with my heart. I don’t know how many more beatings this heart can take. I came back inside and recounted the story to my roommate in desperate hopes of avoiding tears. A few silently shed before we went to further inspect the damage.

After she left, I called my dad. When the conversation ended, I cried and cried some more about my car and my entire day. I hate my life. I retreated to the razor once more… digging new lines into my rubbery flesh. One, two, three, four, five… five. Five more.

In between this past May and the May before, I could probably tell you exactly which days I resorted to cutting. I could tell you the triggers. I could tell you what time of day. Since May, it has slowly escalated and exponentially exploded since the start of July. I cannot recount the days, the cuts, the triggers, or the timing because they are too numerous. I was once on the road to recover, but I’ve veered back onto the path of destruction.

There’s a part of me that wishes that I didn’t retreat back to that blade, but there’s another part of me that is beyond thankful for it. I don’t know how I would have survived today without it. My heart is so broken and I am so sad. I don’t know if I want to recover anymore.

“Yeah, you bleed just to know you’re alive.”

“Relief exists, I found it when I was cut.”

I’m sorry little one, I failed today. Don’t follow my example. I’m sorry.

<3

~ by Sisters By <3 on July 25, 2008.