emo rambling

I haven’t cut since before Thanksgiving break. I still have all my blades, and a shit ton of Band-Aids, and I’m not going to say I haven’t thought about it, and I’m not going to say I’m not currently thinking about it, especially because I gave blood today and I’m currently bleeding a super small amount, and I’m not going to say I don’t want to rip it open and watch the life drain from my fingertips, and I’m not going to say I’m not picturing the shower floor turning red, but I haven’t cut since before Thanksgiving break and I think that’s something. I think.

I’m thinking about it though. I don’t really know why, it’s not like I’m searching for pain or anything? It’s just a reflex, and I haven’t not felt like shit for a while. Like, I’ve been on the brink of a panic attack for a couple of hours at this point, and the energy drinks have not helped and neither has the absolute lack of sleep and incredible stress I’ve put on myself by avoiding every responsibility I could have, and so I’m thinking about it. And I think the only thing stopping me right now is the fact that in like three months I’m going to be in St. Louis in short sleeves and I already have scars I don’t know how to explain to my parents because they don’t look three years old and my mom can only be so oblivious and gullible before she can’t believe me anymore. And my thighs just aren’t the same.

I’m also surrounded by people right now. One person here is cool but is also constantly on the edge and it’s stressful and I can’t hear her talk anymore, and the other one wouldn’t notice if I was bleeding out in front of her but if she makes one more fucking offhanded transphobic comment about Averie I might just do that, so maybe being around people isn’t helping? But Sleater-Kinney is I think. Even though I feel fake because I’m not as cultured as I pretend to be, and who really am I? Can’t play guitar, don’t listen to vinyl, barely seen a dozen classic movies and have no idea what’s going on in the subjects I pretend to love. Identity is fluid and I can just ‘like’ things not ‘love’ them or know everything about them but fuck that, can I just be good at one thing? Can I have one thing I know about myself to be true? I haven’t even seen the new Simpsons seasons, not just episodes but seasons. And my laptop is covered in Star Wars stickers and I’m skipping classes I can’t fucking afford to skip to go see Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford but I haven’t even seen Rogue One or anything other than the movies and I barely know who Boba Fett is so who am I to pretend to be anything but a self obsessed liar?

I’m not even spiraling which is the scary thing because these are just things that are always in my head, like is there a time I’m not worryingly suicidal? Sure, I forget sometimes, but it’s always there and I’m kind of always thinking about it. Joking about the SLC not being high enough isn’t a super funny joke but it’s one I make like once an hour, because I’m suicidal and don’t have a sense of humor. I wouldn’t jump off though. Even if it was high enough. Been thinking about pills again though.

Oh yeah, and fucking Naya just started talking about how high her tolerance to opiates is for some reason? Why do I need to hear that? I get it, that should be normal conversation, but my tolerance is also high and I definitely know that because I took enough to kill a fucking horse but guess who’s still alive because guess who just refuses to die for some reason? Twice now I was told by medical professionals that I’m so lucky I’m alive and that I’m a miracle story they’ll be telling twenty years from now but I don’t want to be your fucking miracle story I want to be DEAD but it’s too late now because Stephanie Wittels proved how much I’ll screw Troy up if I die and I can’t even imagine mom and dad, so why didn’t it happen at 6 days when they didn’t know me? I know losing a baby is horrific or whatever but 19 years later they wouldn't even think about it, and I’ve just been postponing the pain of my death my entire life and that isn’t fair to any of them. Troy wouldn’t even know me, I’d just be a story of what he could have had. He could have pretended that we’d play video games together, and watch movies, and play outside and not hate each other and throw things and I wouldn’t scratch his face so hard at our aunt and uncle’s wedding that five years later he still had the scar. I could have been a kind of sad but fantastical memory of a cool younger sister but instead I’m a fucked up brother he’ll never see as his brother that’s probably going to die young and make everyone miserable for as long as possible.

It’s a miracle my mom even had me. She’s told me so many times that she had a ‘hostile womb’ which, okay, she wanted four kids but she barely had two and I guess that means I had three chances not two to die, and a miscarriage would have been even easier than dying at 6 days but no, fuck whatever higher power wants to ruin my family’s life. I’m not saying I haven’t had good memories or that I think my family hasn’t had good memories with me, and I know they’d say they’d rather have had time with me for 19 years than never experienced life with me or whatever cliche bullshit, but it’s absolute bullshit, because even if they can’t admit it knowing the pain of losing a family member even if that family member is me is not fun and they wouldn’t know any different so how could they miss out. I should have died in the womb. She could have adopted. Now I have to break hearts.

I don’t know that I’m going to, I just know I probably am, like can you picture me lasting into old age? I’ve never been able to see that. No way I’ll be here in five years. I like, just got out of intensive therapy that’s been ever present in my life since before I was a teenager but I leave it for literally two months or something and my life starts to crumble again? That’s not healthy? How can I be healthy on my own? Even if I can, is it fucking worth it? What do I gain other than my family not resenting me for adding another life they have to grieve to their list? Can’t get through school, got no future, no prospects, nothing that makes me happy. I know if I tried hard enough I could find a life that’s easy enough to live as a phlebotomist or something, but the amount of hardship (which I’m using in the loosest of ways because wow is my hardship relative - I’m depressed because ????? I don’t have cancer and my parents are rich) that would go into getting a pretty shitty life I don’t really enjoy just isn’t worth it. So, I’m back to being dead in five years.

But, I’m not thinking about it. I’m just gonna go back to Sleater-Kinney and my transphobic friends and pretending everything is cool and I’m not thinking about asking a different contact for xanax. Which, I probably won’t do. I don’t want to put the effort in. I just want to stop being here. I’m not putting effort in yet.