Escaping the Prison

Jan.  5, 2014

      It's been about a week since I became aware that I had hurt my back at work. Unfortunately, the pain has settled in quite severely and as it is not self-inflicted, it is not a very welcome feeling of discomfort. But that is not the reason I've begun this blog, nor the driving force behind this first post. It's been almost 2 hours since my significant other left for work and I came to the realization that I am stuck. I have not left the bed today but two times, I have only drank one-fourth of a carbonated soda, I have not eaten much in the past 3 days.

      I have just finished willing myself to get up and microwave a bowl of soup, pour a cup of water and use the restroom for the first time in 48 hours. It was not easy, the entire time I felt like I was going to pass out, or at least vomit. I've forced myself to take a few sips of water and am still trying to will myself to take a bite of the chicken noodle soup, so far, no progress has been made. I keep telling myself I've done good today, by taking a bath a few hours ago, while my significant other washed the sheets and cleaned the room.

     Here is where I feel I should include a few details about myself. My name is Maggie, and normally, I would only allow myself to post such bare and awful self-truths under an assumed name, but I have decided against it as it will not help me at all in my attempts of re-discovering myself and escaping the curse that has ridden me of all that I was, am, and should currently be. I have just turned 19 years old not even 24 hours ago and I fear that I have finally lost control of my life. For the past 6 years I have struggled with Borderline Personality Disorder, most of which time I've spent in a state of disassociation. This time, however, its much more severe than normal. 

    You see, I am generally the girl with a go-getter attitude. I love to clean, I enjoy cooking, video games, and above all, spending time with my animals and loved ones. However, I have been reduced to the girl who is usually balled up under the covers, refusing to talk or interact at all. Lashing out at the one she loves most, not wanting affection or to be noticed at all. I have not left this bed except for work in over 2 weeks. That's supposedly why my case is not "extreme", because I still contain the drive to go to work, to get out of bed. That my friends, is entirely false. I get up and I go to work simply because I know that I have to. It is an entirely automatic and primitive response. There is no thought, no emotion, no drive behind my actions. I know somewhere deep in my subconscious that if I do not get out of bed, shower and go to work, my life will be much harder because I will lack the funds I need for rent, food, and most importantly my therapy appointments. Sadly, I was let go from my job on Friday, as it was only a seasonal position and there were many factors that added up to that final meeting and a "we hope you'll re-apply in April...". Now I am faced with the challenges of willing myself to find a new job, and my will is slowly fading.

   I've eaten a quarter of the soup and had half the glass of water. I decided I should see if I can tolerate it before going all out. That's the awful thing about back pain, the nausea is very deceiving. Sometimes its just messing with you and other times... it means business. 

    I wanted to discuss a few of my known triggers and bad coping mechanisms in this post, just to allow whoever may find this blog to get a little better acquainted with my situation. So here goes nothing.

   From a very early age I was emotionally, physically and mentally hurt. The abuse came in many forms; sexual and verbal being the two most common, but there were some bouts of physical as well, and to this day, my inner child has not been able to cope with the memories of those traumatic events. At age 8, I began looking for answers on how to fix the problems that seemed to be recurrent in my life. By age 13, I began looking for the way out. I stopped eating. It started innocently, missing a meal, not having my midnight snack, then it escalated to going days without eating or drinking. At age 16 I weighed 92 pounds and I had found the most rewarding release yet, cutting. It eventually was the gateway to burning, hair-pulling, scratching, word-carving and many other self destructive tendencies I have become accustom to. This was also when my idealization of suicide was beginning to reveal itself and I had decided I would never live to see 18. Of course, I obviously did and when I did, and surpassed it, I began seeking recovery. It's been a really rough year, lots of ups and downs, lots of relationships that have started too strong and ended in a terrible mess. Now here I sit, in my boyfriend's room in the apartment, and I find myself scared, not to mention waiting for the end, knowing damn good and well it will end because of my lack of output in the sex department. You see, I've had a lot of titles; toy, slut, slave, submissive, but the truth is, I hate sex. I know its only because I've never truly connected with someone during it, but it makes it really hard to believe that I ever will.

I'm sick of feeling so distant, so out of my own body and mind. I'm sick of feeling lightheaded and disoriented, driving off the road because I lose track of my own reality. I'm sick of not feeling like myself, not having the ability to think and use my psychological knowledge, not being able to connect to people and animals. I'm tired of being angry and fidgety and not wanting to be touched. I know he's tired of sitting on the other side of the room all day. I'm tired of being sad and scared and always reaching out to the people I know I can count on the least because they give me a pull to who I was in the past. And what do I wish, you ask? I wish to feel better. I wish to be happy. I wish for someone to hear my cries and find a way to help me recover. I am terribly tired of being alone, but I know whenever I reach out, everyone disappears. Not to mention, right now I could be surrounded by a million people and I'd still feel like the only person that hasn't left the Matrix.

   I've been struggling a lot, not only with my poor eating habits as an anorexic, but also with the urges to cut and the suicidal idealizations. The soul purpose is to feel something. Anything at this point. I feel too far gone. The most detatched I've ever been and that terrifies me.

I've got to muster up the will to call my chiropractor and get my back looked at, I just pray it isn't as bad as it feels. The good news is, I've eaten the whole bowl of soup and I'm feeling a tiny bit less awful, now its just the realization of how numb my senses are, thank God I've grown accustom to this feeling and it no longer causes me to panic.

Until Next Time~

The Prisoner

Maggie