Resisting the urge - warning, triggering-

I cut again today - not exactly sure why. I used a blade for the first time, and used my wrist and thighs for the first time too. I feel in control again, genuinely - and I know that's terrible. After wards, I came up with this brilliant idea for a poster design for my school council (I'm a chair now), I cleaned my room, and I didn't have a midnight binge. I cut too deep at least twice, oops.

This entire week has been awful. I've been having unprovoked, long, compulsive binge sessions daily, sometimes even twice daily. I haven't exercised, I have procrastinated on some of my most important tasks. I even stopped reading, lost even the slightest interest in photography... Stopped writing here, which is truly the worst sign. The one thing I didn't stop was weighing... and I'm sincerely ashamed of my weight right now. I should be mad, because I'm nearly back were I started, but I'm not. I'm just ashamed. Even my family has noticed -- mostly because I've been spending hours in the kitchen.

I don't know what the trigger was that sent me flying off the train, but once again, pain and scars are pushing me back on. Anyone, no, pretty much anyone reading this is self-harming - ana, mia, ed, cutting... it's all self-mutilation. I was reading an article about this. The case study was this girl, 19, perfect in every way but her little, bloody secret. She wanted to be thinner too, but it was mostly cuts. As I was reading some things of what she had done, and of her symptoms, I thought to myself - Wow, this is me. This is me right now. It kind of made me feel like I should be scared for myself, that maybe my depression, my ED, my mentality could and should be diagnosed. Then I laughed at myself -- as if.

I'm actually a terrible person. I have a little lump/pimple/psoriasis patch on my eye that is pissing the hell out of me. On the way to work the other day, I was thinking I should get it checked out, then my mind wandered. I wondered, far-fetched, what if it was cancer? Then, it turned into a day dream. Me, thin as bones, sickly, hair gone (I rock the bald look, I shave my head in grade 7) with random friends and people surrounding me. I was fighting, a trouper. I was still getting top grades, I was getting mercy-scholarships everywhere! AND I was nearly cured, but nearly had been lost. The lump is gone now, might have just been even an eyelash stuck under the lid, and I mourned for a moment - for my dream had not the slightest chance of coming to fruition. Then, I realize, for 2-3 days I wished for cancer, and I'm actually a terrible person.

I have the near-death day dream a lot actually... car-crashes, being so emaciated/dehydrated, shot, held hostage... I also have the day dream/nightmare of someone finding out about all this. That makes me annoyed to think about. Why? Because I am SO the trademarked case of EDnos/cutting. OCD, perfectionist, everyone-else-thinks-she's-beautiful, confident, mature. I'd be SUCH a boring case. Textbook. Even down to the family dynamics.

Anyways. I was writing this to calm myself down, because I had another fight with my dad - playing therapist to everyone except myself as usual, and I wanted more than anything to cut again. But twice in one day is bad. Very bad. But now I just explained the whole situation to a friend, so I'm mad again so I have to keep writing -- this will get long. Deep breath.

Here's the deal: My father is... not my father. I don't think of him as a father figure, the fact that we share genes baffles and annoys me. Here's how it went down tonight.

He came home from his stupid karate class, and the house was "a mess" so he started screaming and cursing and waking people up to clean. I go up and try to calm him down. He's convinced that we don't take as much pride in the house as he does. Fact. He thinks we don't care if the house is a pig-stie. Fact. He thinks we don't respect him. Fact. Welcome to living with 4, count them, 4 teenagers.

He has no idea how to deal with his emotions. He gets easily overwhelmed and started ranting and bringing up points/misdemeanors from, literally, weeks ago, because they're still bugging him even though it's been taken care of. So, he shouts/gets mad because that's the only way to get a reaction. Hello, he's done that since we were little. I'm not going to lie that's the only time I take him seriously, because I fear for the safety of myself and my brothers! He's trained us to only react to that.

No, we don't give a shit. Then again, neither does he. He doesn't care about my theatre. He doesn't care about Eli's BMX. He doesn't care about Jay's cooking. He doesn't care about Andrew's math. He's never there (he travels) and never has been, so how can he expect us to respect him as a permanent member of the house if we've grown up with him coming and going? It's bull shit. He refuses to realize that we are not the stepford-children, nor were we raised in a 3rd world-country (as he was), nor are we not influenced by other people and our friends.
He doesn't respect us, he doesn't deserve our respect, and he doesn't, in my mind, qualify as my father so why do I give a damn that he wants me to take "pride in my house". I honestly don't care. I clean when I can't handle how messy it is. Otherwise, what the hell ever. There are more important things in life.

He's had the audacity to call me fat to my face. He's told me my friends, especially the gay ones, are the "bad crowd". He's the one who would leave me to walk an hour home because, even though he promised to pick me up from like, hell, girl guides meetings or basketball practice, because he fell asleep or got talking on the phone. He's thrown out my clothes, claimed things I've bought with my own money. He doesn't realize that ALL of his children are scared, mad, and scarred by/at him.

No wonder he raised a gaggle of liars. Me, with all this shit. Eli (14) and Jay (16) smoke weed, Jay drinks and I'm sure has done a lot worse, they both have been arrested at least once. Andrew (12) is passive aggressive, breaks down, goes threw self-hating periods were if he were to spill a cup of water he'd cry and call himself an idiot. My mother has been on anti-depressants for 3 years. Then there is me. No one knows how I keep my cool, how I handle it... If they did... we'd all fall apart.

I'm tired of being the psychiatrist for my family. I can't handle it. I figure if I switch that out for school, grade 12, university... I can still handle life. I can't do both. School hasn't even started and I can't handle family as it is. But I want to be able to so badly. I want to be there for everyone, and to talk my dad down from a near-violent state, and to gossip with my mom, and to just be in the same room with my brothers when something has gone wrong.

I have a fall check up with the doctor and I really, REALLY wish I had the stregthn to ask for a consult about anti depressants or something... but I can't stand the idea of my parents or anyone knowing. And, lets be honest, I'm so painfully textbook the dots would connect. I can't screw up this year. I can't. I can't. I can't. But any way I look at it right now, I will.

Tomorrow I am party hopping. I want to drink. I want to gorge. But I won't because I'm in control again. I WILL get back to 138 before school starts. 5 days. By whatever means necessary. I have to run, I'm biking around tomorrow and my bike needs some work. I'm sure the father will have major things for us to do - regardless of the fact I work 8+hours and have plans already.

I still want to cut right now, but I won't, I'm safe now. Not much about ED right now, sorry, but it's all connected. As Ana Girl said last post (thanks, guys <3 <3 <3), which hurts more - the numbness of ana/ed, or the pain of real life? Right now, the numbness is worse. I can take the pain of real life, especially if I can control it. Oh wait...