Drunken Cupcakes

Cupcakes, alcohol and a fresh page in my notebook. These are my requirements for surviving a shitty day, and today is certainly turning out to be a record breaker in that department.

I’m feeling all mixed up. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but when I first met Mr Good-Company I was really quite keen on him. Unfortunately somewhere along the line it was discovered that we both wanted different things. Since then I have worked very hard to regain control of my emotional brain. I thought I’d nearly done it, especially when Mr Good-Company declared himself un-single and I didn’t even need to go and have a sook about it. I knew there was still a little bit of feelings there that weren’t yet in my little brain cage, but a little I can deal with.

Then the other night I woke with a familiar feeling, now I warn you that what I say next is going to make me seem like a complete nutter. When I’m in certain situation sometimes I have these feelings, I suppose you might call them my gut instinct. I feel quite nauseaous and occaisionally have to rush to the loo when the nausea reaches it’s high point. The trouble is actually figuring out what this feeling is telling me. I generally find that it’s easier to jump to what seems the most logical conlusion and follow things from there.

The conclusion I jumped to the other night was that Mr Good-Company was un-single again. When I asked him about this he said that he was still single, but was still trying to work his charm on a certain girl he has taken a fancy too. Then he changed the subject to nerf guns. Quite possibly this was a good idea on his part because my emotional side may have otherwise broken free of it’s cage and started asking the kind horrible questions that it seems to take so much joy from. I think my emotional side likes to hurt itself.

Eventually going to sleep last night at around 4am, I knew when woke up this afternoon that my emotional side had somehow worked all it’s little tentacles free of my apparently not well guarded brain cage. It was free and it was pissed.

So now I am in this shitty mood, it feels like I’m back at school with a crush on my teacher. I know that my feelings aren’t reciprocated and I know that not being able to let go of them is causing me pain, but I just can’t seem to win. I know that I like Mr Good-Company way too much but I am sure as hell going to fight it, I don’t have enough friends to risk losing any of them.

Let me further explain to you my way of coping through today. I decided to give my emotions this one day of freedom, they can torture me as much as they like and believe me they are making the most of it. In return for this freedom, my smarter self receives a lazy and unhealthy day, mainly because thanks to the efforts of the emotions it really just can’t be fucked facing anybody.

As such, it is currently 4.45pm and I am still in bed, I have left only for the necessaries of toilet, cupcakes, alcohol and laptop. I have basically spent the day with my thoughts. I haven’t done anything but lie in bed, staring at various objects in the room, envisaging doing horrible things to myself the way that I used too.

I used to be a self-harmer. As I think of it, I still am a self-harmer. It is a life long addiction which I slowly learnt how to manage over a long period of time. I stopped cutting on the 24^th of May 2007. I stopped then because I was becoming more ambitious. Instead of little scratches that could be hidden by my watch, they were becoming deeper and slowly creeping up my arm. Too make matters worse I constantly had images of my wrists being fully slit, a gaping gash with blood just pouring out. And I wanted to try it. The unfortunate catch was that I didn’t want to kill myself. I knew there was a very good chance that life would one day improve for me and it certainly wasn’t going to happen if my rotting corpse was 6ft under.

So I stopped. Just like that. Every day was the hardest war that I have ever fought. Unlike smoking, a self-harm addict can’t go out and buy patches. I had no help from doctors or drugs. I fought alone and I fought hard. I had to. I was literally fighting for my own life.

I had one relapse about 18 months ago. It was just one cut and thankfully it did not give the effect that it once would have done. I find self-harm to be a very hard addiction to explain to people. Unless you’ve experienced it first hand it is something very hard to wrap your head around. I do like a little bit of pain. I love having needles, bruises and I like ‘things’ to be a little rough at times, but self harm is a different sort of pain altogether.

Self harm requires a lot of self-control. I think, for me anyway, that is what it is about. When I am slicing into my own flesh I have this amazing rush of, I suppose it’s adrenaline, to my head. For the briefest moment I am flying on that rush of pain. I’m proud of the control it took to start the cut, I’m proud of the control that it took to slide the razor through my skin and I’m proud of the fact that this is something I have done only for myself.

But then the rush dissipates and I come crashing down, so I do it again, and again and again. Never too many at once as the spot on my wrist doesn’t have room for the amount of cuts I would make if I could've, but generally I would make between three and five cuts. New over the top of old.

I never bled much from these small wounds but they did leave me with many scars. I am not ashamed of them and I don’t cover them. They are my war wounds and I survived. I am incredibly proud of that.

But on days like today when my emotions have slipped beyond my grasp the need to slice comes back and I fight it. So far, apart from that relapse, I have always won. I fear the day I really lose control as that could always be the day I finally take things too far.

I have also made a big decision today. If things don’t work my way it may never happen, but I’m sure as all hell planning on making sure they do go my way. I have officially decided to move out of this town and down to Melbourne. I can recognise in my mind that I’m doing what I always do when things become too hard and that is to run away. But running away isn’t always a bad thing.

By the end of this year I will have lived in this place for four years. That is the longest amount of time I’ve lived in any one place since I was ten years old. As much as I’m running away, by the end of this year it will also simply be just time for me to go.

I know it will be a very hard move and I’m not sure how I will achieve it. If ever there was a country bumpkin it was me. But I know my own mind and I am stubborn as all hell. When I moved to this town it was a fresh start. No-body knew me and it was a chance to really be myself. Well now I am somebody else once again and this girl wants her turn in the spotlight and she’s gonna have that turn.

Back to my shitty mood now. Just like this blog post my mood has gone from depressingly morose to weirdly optimistic over the course of the day. Unfortunately I know from past experience that it is not going to improve from here. As evening approaches alcohol will be mixed with cupcakes and I will have this massive rush from all the sugar and the alcohol. As one vice is removed, a replacement shall step in. At least it’ll cause me to pull myself out of bed, I can never sit still when drunk.

My mood will further improve briefly simply from human interaction via the temperamental portal that is Facebook chat, but as everybody but myself shuts down for the evening I shall be left to my thoughts, battling to re-cage those emotions so that I can start tomorrow afresh.

I hope like all hell that I can do it, because I really, really hate having to deal with un-reciprocated feelings.