My little scratch.

So much has changed in the course of a few months. The things I swore that would never come have turned a 180 on me and now I’m sitting smack gab in the middle of it all, with my mouth open and my tongue hanging out like the little brainwashed twit I strongly swore I’d never be. ‘For the better’ my ass, I’d argue. I could manage just fine. I could manage so fine, honestly, until I actually had something to live for, right? Oh yeah.

I live in horror the moment that I have to be watched, all the time. I don’t want to live that life, I don’t want to become that sort of burden, I don’t want that kind of attention. I do want to be independent. I do. I swear.

I’m not a cutter, I’m above that. I’m above it, I’m above it, I swear I’m above it. I’m so arrogant, judging myself with others, scoffing and waving away at everyone else. Oh no, I’m better, I’m fine. I’ll preach to you, and you’ll listen to me! I’m so sane, I burn myself! You’ll never know, I stab myself! I’m so sane, so sane, listen to me you poor fucked up kids, I’ll tell you how it is, I’ll give you labels, but it’s fine, I’m okay. I’m so great I threw away a very expensive bracelet because it told me to.

They gave me medicine on Thursday. An antipsychotic  on a low dose and an antianxiety. One for night, one for morning. They’re both for the anxiety, and I’ve finally found a shrink who acts like I’m everything to him. He’s wonderful, I trust him. They just have to monitor my blood pressure levels extremely carefully, blah blah blah.

I’m so good at it. Ignoring my urges. I’m so happy, I’m so fucking happy and then bam. The urge rises, and I suddenly need it so bad. I need my little secret. Five minutes alone and I’ve ripped open the skin on my wrist with my nail. Grinning and grinning and digging and digging and I’ve got to make it pretty because it’s my little scratch. It’s been years since I’ve SERIOUSLY done any damage. I couldn’t help myself.

I’m ashamed of it, of myself. It’s getting so hard suddenly. I can hardly control myself anymore. From all urges. I almost stole a child today. I’ve been pointing out things to people that I know isn’t there. Am I losing it?

Today…

I fell in love with a name, for a boy, and it fits.

I was drowsey, in and out of sleep, thus meaning a state of mind, and I could hardly remember conversations, hardly making sense out of them. But there was a name that stuck out, a name that I see to a little boy in my head, like finally finding a missing piece to a puzzle.

But what the hell am I doing? Baby names? Am I daff? Have I completely lost it? This reaches far beyond just looking for another story, or playing a little hunt with the characters. Oh my god, I must be over my head, but I can’t let go of the name. Why is it that the need to have children is screaming the loudest in my mind? Why has it been this way since… well, since near December?

Let’s be honest, it’s been before I even had sex. It just wasn’t this… pronounced. Though I’m not about to give into this overwhelming desire. I want to have a life to support these children, and I want to be able to spoil them.

Despite my own common sense and goals for myself, I can’t come around it. I say one thing, but hell I want another very much. It’s suddenly become the most important thing in my life, and I haven’t even had them yet! It’s horrifying, it’s sickening, it’s.. it’s… It’s what I want.

I had told myself that if I were to ever have children–a child–they wouldn’t rule my life. They wouldn’t change my views, they wouldn’t make me want what I had set out for myself to change–but here I am, changed. Wanting something completely different. A life. For them. For us. For me.

We’re young. I’m new to relationships. It’ll be 8 months in a week. We shouldn’t briefly mention marriage, or what kind of house we’d like, or children… But we are. We have. Almost since the start of the relationship. Oh lord, I love that boy. And oh lord, I should stop worrying. And oh god, oh god. How strange it is for love to bump into me. How strange it is to become someone’s everything, to have them in return mean just as much.

I don’t want to think of the future. I want to think and enjoy now.

Just think about the turtles, how they bite your anxiety to cure it.

Triggered by reasons yet unknown, it starts as a small trinkle. A nervousness, lip-biting, worry. The world is closing in slowly and whispers hint, kicking up like dust overhead. Th-thump, thump, thump. The noise starts, lingering, taking its time.
Breathing becomes difficult.
They know. Who they are, it isn’t certain, but they know.
There’s a tightness around the chest, the throat. Horror splashes, jolting through the body. Horror, horror, horror. The need to bolt explodes creating a chain reaction of fear and pain.
People become faceless mobs.
The world melts. It’s a trap.
The noise bursts up and becomes loud static.
Something is trying to crawl out from the inside.
Nervousness becomes extreme.
The hands shake. The need to pull at hair becomes a necessity.
Rocking back and forth helps. But only sometimes. Mumbling, whimpering. Slurred words. Unable to think clearly.
Thoughts of self damage emerge.
The need to curl up emerges, along with either the strong need to sleep or the inability.
Nervousness becomes more and more intense. Body throbs with the worry. With the fear. With the nervousness.
Paranoia stirs.
Delusions.
Nathan next.

I can’t go a few steps without my mind finding something to get anxious over. My therapist seems to understand me better than I do myself. She pointed out that I hated close contact from other people, especially males, and I wondered how the hell she knew that, it’s only been, what, five sessions with her. And do I? I have trouble breathing, and I panic when I’m pulled into a hug.
Sometimes its okay. Good lord. I’m alright.

We’re all cursed, I think.