Statement begins. 4/1/23

I'm drunk! Because of course I am. Of course I am.

I spent all of my shift today contemplating relapse. Just, thinking about not eating for the entirety of the shift, and my shift tomorrow. Looking at the knives, though I don't really like cutting with anything so big and unwieldly. There's a reason razors reign supreme.

I thought about making a subsite for my ED bullshit. I have an edit I could use as the portal from the main hub to that site, that I don't really have any other ideas for. Part of the idea of this, though, is that people might see it-and I have better ways to get my ED thoughts heard and seen. MPA was built and made for that, I may as well keep that stuff there.

Speaking of MPA- if you don't know what MPA is, I'm not explaining it-god, it's crazy how those are some of the most empathetic people in the world. Most normal folks see that forum and think it's evil. And it is. But, ultimately, I think a majority of the people there want to get better, or to see other people get better. I made a ventpost about losing weight and almost relapsing because of it, and two different people commented to tell me to go to a doctor. I'm not gonna do that, but it was sweet nontheless.

I reached like, 100 days clean of s/h the other day? Yeah, that notification freaked me out beyond belief. God, it's probably the longest I've been clean since I started s/h. In the regular way, at least-I'm not gonna pretend that the stick n pokes weren't self harm, or the piercings, but I wasn't keeping track at that point.

I'm gonna take this chance to psychoanalyze myself, while I'm drunk. My website, my rules. I know why I stopped selfharming, and I wish I could say it was just because of meds. That's part of it, but only kind of, since I'm not entirely consistent on those. It's about control. It's always been about control, about being able to be in a kind of pain that I had control over. Same with the EDs-except for the ARFID, that's forreal just the autism.

But anyway. Now I have control. I was a lot worse before starting T, not even because of the dysphoria-it was because I was being denied control over my own body, control that I knew I was entitled to. Plus, I have my full licsense, so I can go wherever I want whenever I want. I'm 18, so piercings and tattoos are free reign, the only barrier being cost. God. I tore my body to shreds just because I wanted the rights of an adult. Because I was made to be one so young.

One time, I expressed to my mother that I should have the rights of an adult, because she made me act like one so young. She started crying. Said that she ruined my childhood. I told her that I didn't think that, that that wasn't true. I don't regret the conversation. I regret lying, though.

On another note, I am lonely and pathetic. Those two are only a little related. Fuck me, dude. I miss people. I'm so fucking tired of missing him. I don't think I'll ever stop missing him. I think he was everything, ever, everything I ever needed or wanted or could love. You couldn't get me to tell you who that's about if you waterboarded me.

God, even now I just want to relapse. I feel just a little out of control. I always was worse with alchohol- but, then again, aren't we all?

I think sometimes I make myself easy to use. I'm trying to work on that, but, god. It hurts so fucking much. Can you imagine that? Feeling bad for not OFFERING something that you absolutely were not obligated to offer? I don't owe them anything, I don't have to offer them anything, and yet. It's almost as if being useful is all I fucking have. Being useful or being useable.

That, and having information. I know that one's from my mom-everyone liked my mom because she knew shit. She had insider info. She still does! And then, once I gained proper awareness of that, and I figured out who to tell what, and my mom saw that I had that, I had the insider info! Doesn't everyone love the person with the information that they can't get otherwise? The names, the details? So I kept fucking doing it, from-probably late elementary, on. And then I went for a college job, partially because it would give me information before anyone else! God, I wish I was one of those ignorance-is-bliss motherfuckers.

I've been trying so, so fucking hard to do any sort of trauma therapy. It's just... back there. Yknow? I can feel it. I feel it weighing in the back of my skull, just waiting to make it's presence known again. I'm mostly stable enough now, I think, I want that healing to start. I don't care how much it sucks. The sooner it starts, the sooner it's over with. I know that's a stupid fucking way to look at trauma. An all-too-logical way of looking at it. It's so frustrating to me, the way that the human psyche seems to defy logic at points. I think it's the conflict between my PTSD and my Autism. I just want it to make sense. I just want to know the pathway to walk down to heal and not have it fucking weighing on me all the time. Part of me thinks that just talking about all of it would help, especially with one person-but I feel like I'm beating a dead horse. We've talked about it. A lot of it, even stuff he wasn't involved in at all. Part of me just thinks that that's the key, but god, I have got to be so annoying, bringing it up all the time. Even if he does his best to pretend that I'm not.

I wonder if alchohol addiction really does run in families, or if parents with addiction just tend to breed children that meet the actual criteria for being at risk of addiction-unstable environment, poverty, lack of coping mechanisms. I don't really think that it's something that runs in the blood, yknow? It's nurture, not nature. I wasn't born to be an addict. My parents just are both horrible addicts with no better coping mechanisms to teach me. And I have bipolar disorder.

Sometimes I wonder if my parents have that awareness, that they've damn near destined me for doom. I wonder if they give a shit. I have a feeling they don't. I was the second try, after all. Not worth putting as much effort in.

Statement ends.