Repressed Memories

3/24/17

*TW*
Self harm and drug abuse
***

Midnight thoughts hinder my dreams
How fitting that is
The word of the day is
Nightmare:
A frightening dream.

I don't even miss you anymore.
You don't haunt my dreams anymore.
You aren't constantly on my mind anymore.
I don't constantly dwell on the past memories we had together.

Like our first date years and years ago...
You wore a black Metallica t-shirt with bright green designs on it paired with your usual skinny jeans. I don't remember what color- probably black. Although, they may have been red (you didn't really have a color coordinated fashion sense). Your hair was a well-kept flop over your icy blue eyes.
I wore a plain black long-sleeved shirt and a black and pink floral skirt. I even put on makeup and spent hours curling my shoulder length hair.
Your mom drove us to the movie theater and even sat by us while we watched the show.
I don't remember what we saw- mainly because I was too busy staring at you the entire time.
The way your face stared up towards the screen; a blank slate- not happy, not sad- just focused on the movie.
I remember watching the movie through your eyes, the lights flickering off your pupils.
I remember staring sideways at you so I could observe every emotion you had.

I got lost in your eyes and you had no idea.

It was a rainy day, perfect for a long sleeve shirt. That was the first time I cut myself.
12 years old. Looking for you to save me from myself.
I thought I needed you.
But now, 5 years later, I see nothing in your eyes.
No emotion. No remorse. No soul.

Where did you go?

12:16 am
Friday.

Time for another flashback.

I always tell people that I've
Never
Ever
Drank alcohol
And I
Never
Ever
Will.
But the truth is this:
In eighth and ninth grade, my mom was still a pretty bad alcoholic. It was before she even started going to AA meetings.
She was drunk most of the time.
Before I turned 14, I would take my mom's vodka after she passed out.
Then I would drink it until I no longer felt any pain.
Not just emotional pain; but physical pain too.
Sometimes I would wake up clutching a razor blade. Sometimes it would be stuck to my cheek and I would have to peel it off.
My bedspread was always soaked with blood.
That's where my fear of swallowing razor blades comes from.
So just after I turned 14, I decided that alcohol was not for me. When I was drunk, I would feel even more suicidal each time. And I would cut more and more and more.

So I smoked my first cigarette. I sat on the ledge of the upstairs bathroom window and stared below at the screen I pushed out.
I didn't cough.
I didn't puke.
I loved it.
I had never felt anything like it before. It was like the rush of adrenaline I got when I slid the razor across my wrists but intensified 100 times.

I turn 18 in sixteen days.
I've been smoking cigarettes for four years now.
I know I could quit if I wanted to. I know I should quit.
But I've gotten to the point where it's just a part of my life.
It's routine.
And my therapist always told me to have a routine to ease stress.
I know she didn't mean this. But hey, that's my choice.

•••

12:27 am
12/27 is your birthday.
The 27th of December.
I hate you. But I hate myself more for letting this happen.
Oh well I'll get over it.

•••

Desperation (n): a strong feeling of sadness, fear, and loss of hope.
Desperate (adj): 1. very sad and upset because of having little or no hope 2. Done with all of your strength or energy with little hope for success.

•••

Always searching for a beautiful reason to live
Someday I will be enough for someone
Nostalgia haunts me tonight
Maybe I just won't sleep
I could call in sick tomorrow
No! Please don't hurt yourself
Deal with the pain don't give up
Envelope yourself in warmth
Your day will come soon

•••

And death is inevitable. What's the fucking point?

•••

Two elderly women are the only other people in the dining area.
I listen in as he woman wearing a yellow sweater says 'I always have dreams, as soon as I fall asleep, I'm dreaming. It's always been that way for me.'