As ungraceful as ever...

Something brought me here. More than just the usual desire to write. The need to say what is in my head. Things I can't say anywhere else.

I figure, as I am going to be telling the person who means the most to me about it, I might as well write about it too. It may be just what I need.

So here goes. Judge me if you will, but I will keep fighting.

Here's an account of what I've come to know as "The Incident."

On Sunday, I was sitting in my room. Pacing, actually. I had loads of anxiety, and I didn't want to sit down, because it makes my stomach stick out. I hate it.

If you have read my blog, or followed me for any amount of time, I would guess that you know that for the last few months, I've not been doing too well. Mentally, physically, emotionally.

Sunday, I hit the peak of that. December 30, 2012.

As much as I hate to admit it, whenever my anxiety levels get to high, or I'm upset, or something really strong emotionally happens, I usually SH. I know that is not a healthy way to cope. But I do it anyways.

So I tried that. I had been binging for a few days, and I hated how I felt. I felt fat, and gross, and unworthy, and low, and just all out horrible.

I needed to fast, but that is impossible in my damn house. So I SH. A lot. Unfortunately, it didn't have the effect that I needed it to. It didn't block everything out, and it only made me angrier.

For about a week before Sunday, I had been thinking about death. There have been a lot of deaths in my community, but also in my family. I was just thinking about how it would feel to die. How one could die. Or what dying meant. Just objectively thinking about it. Not in a personal way. I wasn't planning my death or anything.

But Sunday night, I just couldn't take it. I literally wanted to die. I just wanted to be gone, to be dead, to not have to deal with any of this anymore. It didn't cross my mind all the people that were there for me, or the people I would be leaving behind. It was purely selfish.

So I'm sure you can guess what I did.

I OD'd. I tried to overdose. I didn't take enough though, or maybe I didn't take the right combinations, because I didn't die.

I would have, if this kid hadn't stepped in. He kept texting me and texting, and calling, etc. My phone buzzing brought my dad around, and he found me.

I'm sure you can all guess what happened after that. I feel no need to finish that particular part of the story. This isn't easy to write. I keep writing a few words, then deleting a sentence, then re-writing it, then deleting. I just can't seem to get the words right.

For this whole week, the feeling of wanting to die hasn't gone away.

I still think about it sometimes, about what it would be like to fully die. I have accepted that, and it no longer bothers me. Maybe it should. Maybe getting comfortable with your death isn't the best thing.

I haven't told Cimiron about any of this. He doesn't know that I have Anorexia, that I cut and SH on a regular basis. He doesn't know I was having a bad few months. Or that I was suicidal. But  can't expect him to. I never said anything. I always told him that I was fine, that I was okay.

The reason being for that is that whenever I try to talk about it, he gets hurt. Hurt in the sense that he wants me to be okay, and that he wants to help. But I am not okay, nor do I want to be okay right now. He can't help, and I don't know how to ask that of him. So I gradually just stopped saying anything. I just hid it.

But as it was pointed out to me, I should tell him. He loves me, he can help me, and he cares. I know he does.

But with that comes my intense fear of what he would think. I am not one to care what others think of me, or to get emotionally attached to people. I just don't. Normally. But with Cimiron, I have. If he were to reject me, I would be crushed. If he just accepted it, no questions asked, I think it would be a form of rejection in itself. I don't know.

I asked him how well he took bad news, and he basically said that he took it kinda well, and that he would try to be okay with it. I know he would. That's what I love about him. One of the things anyways. So I told him that I needed to talk to him, and I talk to him in about 2 hours. I am absolutely terrified.

Most of my family doesn't know. The only one in my family who knows is my dad. I feel like if I said all of this allowed, then I would be making it real. I feel like somehow they would find out.

I need to be 18. When nobody has control over me except for me, then I can finally breathe. But for now, I guess I jut have to watch my back.

I feel so low, so undeserving of everything. Because I have sunk this low. I don't know what up is. I don't feel like I can go up. Only down, or maintain. I feel like I deserve to go down. Because I'm just that horrible. But I don't know. It is so hard to know what to do in these situations. I trust Cimiron with my life, and I know he is a good person. But still. I fear for my rejection.

Wish me the best of luck... I hope that all goes well.

That is my story.

Where I go from here... I don't know.

But I realize now that I can't give up trying.