Empty Classroom

Today I had a breakdown in first hour. I made the mistake of getting coffee this morning - I really need to remember to stay away from large doses of caffeine. I drank about a third of my large iced vanilla latte before I started feeling panicky and gave it to Amelia (Kaitlin's friend to whom I am also close).

So first hour, HST (which used to stand for Hot Student Teacher and now stands for Hot Science Teacher) asked me how I was doing. I said I'd been better, and I fumbled with my words. I felt like I hadn't explained myself well enough, so I asked him to read my DC Comp paper that pretty much explains it. (I really should post that since I reference it so much.) I stood by his desk awkwardly as he read through it. He didn't even stop for the pledge, he just stood up with my laptop and continued reading.

After he finished, he asked me if I wanted to go talk in the hallway. I didn't realize until he asked me that that was what I wanted. I went outside to the hallway and waited for him. It hit me that this was kind of a big deal - he was getting another teacher to watch the class so he could talk to me. My face crumpled up, and by the time he joined me in the hallway, I was crying outright. I'm not very proud of this, but yeah, I was thinking "holy shit, I am crying in front of HST and I have his full, undivided attention holy shit". I tried talking, but when it became clear that this would become a more involved discussion, he moved us to an empty classroom. We sat side-by-side in desks, facing each other as if we were talking across the aisle during class. For some reason that resonated with me, felt like we were on the same level. He asked what was going on and I told him what happened last night, and then I gave a brief overview of the rest of my issues. I touched upon my emotionally abusive stepmom, wanting to get out of this town because the homophobia sickens me (especially having a lesbian mom), and putting pressure on myself for college. He kept going back to my Comp paper, and at one point he said that some of the stuff really concerned him. This was the reaction I had expected from my Comp teacher.

In between my blubbered confessions and explanations, he told me how he had been some of the same way in high school. He even confessed that he had considered doing something to himself, and that convinced me that he really did understand. Everything he said made my insides go squoosh. Hearing the things he was saying, especially from somebody I admire so much, was really emotional. Some highlights:

• "You have a lot of people who care about you and I'm one of them."
• "In high school, I was kind of a cynical asshole." (Okay this one was more of a swoonage.)
• "I can do anything in my power for you. I can go get you somebody to talk to, something, take you somewhere, just tell me what you need."

I told him I just needed to cry, because at that point talking about shit wasn't going to help; I needed to release all the tension. I crossed my legs onto the chair, buried my face in my hands, and let it rip. It was kind of weird, because goddamn I cried on fucking command, but it felt really good. I heaved and gasped and got my hands all snotty and wet. After about a minute, maybe two (it's hard to judge time when you're sitting in an empty classroom having a meltdown in front of somebody else), I looked up to ask for a tissue and I swear he was tearing up. He left to find a box of tissues, and I put my head down and cried some more, except it was more shuddering gasps than anything. I wondered what was going through his head - was seeing me cry so openly and unrestrained really that painful? I don't want to worry anybody, never ever. But I know people ARE worried about me and I don't know how I feel about that. 

He came back with another teacher and the tissues, and I talked to her for like half a minute. After that HST asked if I wanted to see the counselor. I decided that yeah, I was in no condition to go back to class, I agreed and he walked me down to her office. My College Algebra teacher saw us walking down the hallway and asked what was going on. I could feel the gears grinding in HST's mind as he hesitated. Obviously a big explanation wasn't right for the moment, but what can you say when you're escorting a teenage girl in evident emotional distress down a hallway? He ended up saying, "Just taking care of business" in a tone that implied that I wasn't at fault for anything, but also had an air of finality like he was trying to say he had the situation under control.

I just realized that HST is not even a month into his teaching career and he's already dealing with a student struggling with anxiety and depression and breakdowns at school. I have to wonder if I'm scaring him and freaking him out about being a teacher, or if I'm reaffirming his choice. I really hope - and I'm certain this is true - that he really cares about his students and that's a big part of why he went into teaching. Yeah, having a keen interest in a subject *helps* when you're a teacher, but the connection you make with the student is just as important.

So. At the counselor's office. I show her my paper and she talks to me about college. She clarifies a lot of things, and I feel a lot better now. She points out that the start of school is clearly a trigger for me, since I was in this same position last year, and that now I should be able to anticipate this yearly and do something about it before it's too late.

Every time my mind drifted off today, I found myself thinking back to that empty classroom where I told HST most of my dirty little secrets. I feel closer to him now and less awkward, and I really hope that we can keep talking throughout the year.

Oh, and I took off work so I could relax and do homework for tomorrow. I'm glad I did that.

I can feel my NyQuil about to knock me on my ass, so I better wrap this up.

If you read this, even if you never talk to me about it, thank you. People who are willing to peek inside my crazy hot mess of a mind are my favorite people. <3333

Ranty Rant with Lots of Profanity

I need to breathe. Just breathe. I just went through the cutting tag on Tumblr and now my heart is beating fast and I feel unstable. I'm biting my lip and the pain is grounding me. I have to tell myself that cutting won't help even though I think it will. I hate this I hate this I hate this. Why am I so fucking angry and unhinged all of a sudden??? Damn it damnit damnit.

I wrote my most recent DC Comp paper partially about cutting and my teacher didn't, like...do anything. I had my favorite teacher look over my draft and she warned me that my DC Comp teacher would probably be concerned and want me to talk to the counselor, but she just kind of breezed past it. I didn't write it for pity, but some sort of reaction or comment about it would have been nice.

Hacking into my skin feels like it would be so satisfying right now. So far, my cutting episodes have been timid, shallow scrapes. But I have the urge to grab a blade and swing it at my skin in big, violent strokes.

Wristbands are my new thing - I got three from LeakyCon. Earlier on Etsy I found some awareness bracelets, and I think I'm going to get an anxiety awareness bracelet.

My mind is still racing, but I feel a little better. I'm just going to type until I don't feel the immediate extreme need to cut.

School isn't too bad so far, but I hate having some of my classes every day. I love having a few of my classes - Bio, French IV - every day, but some of my classes drive me up the fucking wall. My Psychology teacher doesn't ever know what the hell he's talking about, and now that I've noticed that he just talks out of his ass I wanna scream the whole class. NOBODY CARES THAT YOU'VE HAD LUCID DREAMS. YOU ARE NOT A SPECIAL FUCKING SNOWFLAKE. College Algebra isn't all that hard so far, but I hate it because it's math. I thought Accounting was going to be a really easy class, but it's actually a brainteaser, and I don't like it.

Thank God I have Bio and French IV every day. I need the consistency of my French class, and I love most everybody in that class. In Bio today, I used HST's computer to print off my DC Comp paper (the one that talks about cutting) and he saw some of it. We talked a little bit and he confessed that he has anxiety and depression issues too. It totally fits in with what I know about him, and I love knowing that about him. Not just because I have a huge freaking crush on him, but because I enjoy knowing about him as a person. Tomorrow is late start, and I think I'm going to ask him to read my DC Comp paper since I know he knows what I'm going through, at least a little bit. I also kind of want to talk to Favorite Teacher, but I probably shouldn't do it right before school since it'll probably end with me in tears.

I have so many people who love me, and even people I'm passing acquaintances with have told me I can talk to them. So why do I feel like I can't talk to anybody and just rant and cry and scream and not give a fuck about appearances?

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Kick the Can'ts - BEDA Day 4

I have a quote written on my white board in my room.

"She turned her can'ts into cans and her wishes into plans." 

I am in love with this quote. Even though I'm generally an optimistic person (I really am! I swear!), my anxiety and depression keep me from seeing the sunlight sometimes. I wallow in my misery and start thinking that my life is never going to get better. This quote reminds me that not only do I need to think positively, but I also need to take action towards what I want. I want to live in NYC and travel the world. So the first step would be to start saving money, something I'm horrible at. But this quote reminds me of my motivations. I'll turn my dreams into plans.

Tomorrow night I go to my mom's, where I won't be able to blog, so I'm going to see if there's a way I can set up a queue. If not, I'll make up the slack later.

ALSO IN FIVE DAYS I TURN SEVENTEEN. I CAN'T WAIT TO USE MAGIC OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL AND GET MY APPARITION LICENSE!!!

Let's Talk About Sex - BEDA Day 3

There was a lot of sex in my Tuesday.

First of all, I finished Fifty Shades of Grey, the infamous Twilight-BDSM-fanfic-turned-bestseller. It read exactly like the fanfiction it once was. I'm not convinced the author did anything to her manuscript besides find-replace the names. Honestly, I think Stephenie Meyer could successfully sue E. L. James if she was so inclined. I haven't added Fifty Shades of Grey to Goodreads yet because I'm still processing it. There isn't much to be said for the prose, and the plot was ridiculous. Were the sex scenes redemptive enough? Maybe I'm inclined to give it more than a one-star rating because it was a whole bunch of hot smut in one place, whereas in order to find that on fanfiction.net, I'd have to search for hours and hours. I also have to weigh how much I enjoyed it against its quality. It truly is an awful book, but I read it in two days and liked the experience. So I'm thinking it gets two stars.

The second bit of sex in my Tuesday was the lecture on female reproduction in Anatomy. It was given by Hot Student Teacher, so that was exciting. We talked about birth control, and I felt awkward knowing as much as I did. I wondered how that was perceived by my classmates. I mean, I'm an awkward, nerdy, short girl, and here I am spouting facts about how IUDs work (BTW, they work by blocking off the Fallopian tubes, and the copper of which they're often made up changes the chemical makeup of vaginal secretions so that they're more acidic, making it harder for sperm to survive) and all this other stuff. I like being well-informed and educated, even if I'm not currently sexually active, but would other people assume that? I didn't worry about it too much, though.

Aaaand now I'm going to watch Arrested Development and How I Met Your Mother while I have Scooby Doo fruit snacks, Gushers, and a Capri Sun. Then Imma go to bed. I love you guys. *hugs*

Postscript: I had therapy today, and it helped a LOT. My therapist had me sign a contract stating I will not harm myself. I'm feeling soooooo much better. I freakin' love my therapist.

BEDA Day 2

I'm pretty sure my sister suspects. She saw a few of the scratches near my knee and asked about them. I told her that our dog did it. Then today we were going through the bag of books I checked out from the library this afternoon and she found Cut by Patricia McCormick. She asked me why I got it in this really transparent voice. She's never questioned my choices before; we're both very well-read. I told her just because.

I've also not been eating well and I've been sleeping a lot. Thank God I have therapy tomorrow. I feel so fucked up right now. It's taking a huge effort just to write this post in a coherent manner.

I kind of hate myself right now.

Morning-After Regrets - BEDA Day 1

Last night, I had a one night stand with cutting. Writing my last post triggered me, ironically enough. I just wanted to know what it would do.

At one point, I had a box of one hundred box cutter blades in my Amazon cart. $12.08 with shipping. It seemed so easy to get a lifetime supply of the stereotypical cutter's razors. But I texted Kelly and Laura and they told me not to. I had a hard time figuring out how to delete it from my cart, but I did. It scared me how close I came. I also went through the cutting tag on Tumblr. That was probably a really bad idea. It was kind of like thinspiration for somebody with an eating disorder. I did see a post where somebody said if you're thinking about cutting, don't. It's so hard to stop. But I ignored it.

I started out just scratching my right thigh with the pointy end of a nail file. I drew big grids of welts across my leg. The way the welts formed fascinated me. Rows of raised skin, slightly red. I was scratching, but not cutting.

Then the scratching wasn't enough. I needed to break skin. I wanted to draw a little bit of blood. Not gushing, just a drop or two. I remembered the cuticle remover I had in my manicure kit. It scrapes cuticles away with a thing that has like two prongs. It kind of digs it out. I looked, but some of the implements in my manicure kit were gone. I wondered if my sister had stolen them. She doesn't know that my medication changed because I considered hurting myself; she just knows that it wasn't working right anymore. But she's a smart girl. I wouldn't put it past her to have figured it out. Then I looked in the box of old nail stuff in my closet. I didn't find the other stuff, but I did find a pair of cuticle nippers. They have handles kind of like pliers. They look like small bone snips.

I opened them as wide as they'd go and dragged it across my leg. A satisfying welt appeared. It was more than a scratch, but not a full-fledged cut. I dug the tip in a little bit and pressed as I dragged. I drew some blood that time. I stopped to look at the thin line of red on my leg. I had finally gone past thoughts to actual action. I wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or not.

All in all, I drew blood in a dozen places on my right thigh, made probably 25 scratches, and scratched my left thigh in three places.

Then it started to sting. What I had done sunk into my thick skull, and I cried. I failed Laura, Kelly, and my best friend Faith. They had all been telling me that they loved me, that I shouldn't do it, and that I was stronger than this. I was selfish and stupid and reckless and did it anyway. I texted them all that I had done it. Kelly got upset, Laura told me to throw them away, and Faith was really sad. How could I do that to them? They love me as much as anyone in my family. I was stupid and so so SELFISH. I threw the cuticle nippers in the bathroom trash, where I'd be less likely to fish them out. Then I told myself never again.

All the consequences swirled through my head. I would have to be really careful around my sister. I would have to wear pants or long shorts, and it's warming up a lot here. I don't know how long it'll take for them to heal. I didn't think this through at all. I had no thoughts about what would happen after I cut. All of my thoughts were in the moment. Holy shit, I'm doing this. I've gone off the deep end. I know this is wrong but it feels a tiny bit right. Where is my sense?


I felt better after I cut. I don't think it was because of the actual act of cutting, I think it was the conclusion of the will-I-or-won't-I that I've been going through for a month or so. Guess what, Megan. You did it. And not a damn thing has changed. Now you've got this to worry about on top of everything else.

I don't think I'll cut again. I need to pay really close attention to my moods and keep busy. The biggest part f my problem last night was that I dwelled on it for two hours. It seemed like I had less and less to lose the more time went on. From now on, though, I'm going to divert my attention at the first sign of trouble. I'll color, read, write, watch TV, go on a walk, sing, play Wii, play Mancala by myself, make my sister play a game with me, clean my room, do laundry, SOMETHING. Anything but hurt myself.

Side note: Today I'm starting Blog Every Day April! Not every post will be about cutting, I promise. I'm just going through emotional turmoil right now.

Reasons Not To Cut

Trigger warning: cutting

• Physical pain will not make my emotional pain disappear for very long.
• Cuts will be hard to hide, especially since summer is coming up.
• Causing myself pain does not actually make me more in control of anything.
• I don't want to worry my mom.
• I don't want to scare my little sister, who's thirteen.
• It would cause more problems than it would appear to solve.
• I am loved.
• She does not control me. (She being my emotionally and verbally abusive stepmom.)
• I don't have immediately at hand the means to make sure cuts won't get infected.
• I am stronger than my pain.
• It is entirely possible to get addicted to the dopamine high. I have an addictive personality to begin with, and I might not be able to judge when enough is enough.
• My therapist said she was proud of me for not cutting when I told her I was considering it but didn't.

Reasons I want to cut.

• I feel like I need to do SOMETHING to help myself deal with my stepmom.
• I feel destructive.
• I have a tendency to see scars as badges of courage and honor, things with stories behind them.
• I find the idea of a physical manifestation of my emotions to be very powerful.
• I want to find out for myself if it helps.
• The sympathy I get when I express the urge to cut makes me feel better.
• I'm overly emotional to begin with. I wonder if Hufflepuffs have higher incidences of self-harm and suicide?
• I live in a really small, small-minded town and I feel hopeless, like I'm never going to get out and experience the world.
• Even though I consider myself to be eloquent, it would allow me to express my feelings without using words.
• I want to relieve the pressure and tension of my life.

For the past few months, we've been doing dissections in my Zoology and Anatomy classes. The next time I had anatomy after I had my first compulsion to cut, I didn't trust myself with the scalpel. It was too tempting. It's still too tempting. A fresh blade, with a handle...it seems so much easier and safer than the stereotypical cutter's razor. Sometimes I wonder if anybody would even notice if I took a scalpel. Luckily, there's pretty much no way I could get away with it. Still, I wonder.

The first time I had these thoughts, I told my mom my Prozac wasn't working anymore, so we went to my doctor. She put me on a higher dose of Prozac, and also on Effexor. Now I feel better overall, but the underlying emotions are still there. I've been to my therapist once since then, and it helped. But I have more emotions than can fit into an hour-long session.

I haven't cut. But every day I wonder what would happen if I did. How would I do it? What would I use? Where would I cut to make it the easiest to hide? And then sometimes I think that trying to hide my cuts would just cause me even more stress. 

So what would make me feel better? Cutting, or not cutting? Not cutting, obviously. But the struggle against the irrational, insistent thoughts that it would help are so hard to control. Logic is not my greatest talent. I deal with emotions, overwhelmingly good and bad. I have to have my big sisters (sisters of the soul, not of the blood) reason me out of it. Then I feel like I'm honoring them, but I've failed myself because I've failed to make myself feel better using those means. Then I feel guilty, because I feel like I've failed them by still wanting to cut.

Here's to hoping I can remain strong enough not to succumb to the irrational thoughts. 

Intro to Megan's Mental Disorder

I'm starting this blog so that I have a place to sort through my feelings and frustrations about my mental disorder. I have an anxiety disorder and clinical depression. I currently take Prozac and Effexor XR, and I'm actually doing a lot better on them. However, I still bottle some stuff up, and I need to let it out. I'm quite good at pushing stuff down inside myself and ignoring it, and I need to confront the shit going on in my life.

So hi. I'm Megan! I'm going to be brutally honest with myself on this blog. I'm going to try to treat this like a stream of consciousness, minimally edited. I also think I want to remain relatively anonymous, so I'm not going to put a permanent link up on any of my other social networking sites - Twitter, Tumblr, fanfiction.net, Facebook, Goodreads, etc.

Some posts may be triggering. If I talk about something such as self-harm or suicide, I will put a trigger warning at the beginning of the post and tag it trigger warning.

Okay, I think that's all the housekeeping introduction-type stuff I have for right now.

*awkwardly scuttles away because conclusions are not my strong point*