I find it interesting that there is a clear divide between when I had never done drugs and when I started using drugs, in terms of my academic performance. All through elementary school and middle school I was a straight-A student, kind of nerdy, but whatever, and I generally did not ever have to try in order to make those good grades. The kids around me liked to cheat off of me and ask me for help in school. No biggie.
Freshman year of high school was the first year I ever made a B. Sophomore year was the first I ever failed a class. It was also the last time I would be in a “gifted” class. Instead, I decided to take lower level classes and pretty much just fuck around all the time. Literally and not so literally. I not only started using drugs and drinking heavily, but I also started dating my ex at the end of my freshman year of high school and subsequently fell into a pretty much constant state of depression. Hence the stint in the mental hospital, numerous psychologists, and various medications.
Now in college I typically make As and Bs with the occasional C, usually in a class I had absolutely no interest in, but had to take for credit hours. But I still don’t feel like I’m anywhere near the same person I was before everything happened in high school, and I feel even further away from the person who I was during high school. Literally it almost seems like it’s just a really long dream I had or a coma or something and I was never actually that person, that’s how disconnected I feel with them. I often don’t like to refer to myself in high school because of how I feel. Sure, I like to talk to people about things that went on in high school, but not about myself and those details. It’s unreal.
Going back into the school scares and excites me at the same time, like I’m doing something dangerous. My brother is in the band there, just like I was, and sometimes it makes me feel upset to attend his band concerts because it’s almost like an out of body experience for me, being there. I must sound like a wack-job, but it’s like when I’m back in the school I feel like I am that girl again, and being her is not a good thing. I vividly remember the lockers I stole out of, the spots in the woods where I used to smoke and fuck, the classrooms I never went to class in. The feeling of strange emptiness I used to have during my teenage years, and the things that I tried so hard to shove into that void are all there, staring me in the face as if to say it’s so easy to go right back to where I was. Or wasn’t.
There is just no physically possible way for me to get everything done this weekend for next week with work and the amount of things to do. I’m having tons of mini panic attacks and it’s preventing me from even doing anything in the first place. I’m scared and anxious and worried and I just want to hide.
It scares me that it’s very realistic to see myself living below the poverty line for the rest of my life.
I hate this.
I’m afraid of a tiny minuscule unimportant silly little pill.
I used to do ecstasy when I was 15. I used to do a lot of things when I was fifteen. And I was a very very different person then. Someone so different that honestly, when I think about the “old” me it doesn’t even seem like I’m thinking about myself but instead about some dream I had or a movie I saw a long time ago. Anyway, I was a very very depressed person, and drug addiction and alcohol dependency were definitely related. i don’t know if my depression led me to rely on drugs or if my need for drugs led me to depression. My emotionally abusive ex boyfriend was also tied in there.
There’s a big campus party on Friday and I know that a lot of people at my school are going to be doing ecstasy. I also know that I have no intention of doing ecstasy probably ever again in my life. But I’m just so afraid. I’m so afraid because of how badly I want it. This huge part of me just wants it so badly and it’s very hard to describe. I do drink now after almost 2 years of sobriety and I smoke weed on a rare occasion after 3 years without it. But that’s it. All the harder stuff just makes me so scared that I’m going to turn into that person who I used to be and then I won’t actually be me anymore. I feel so silly for thinking this way and for being afraid of such a small little pill, but I don’t want to ever go back to the hell that I used to live in daily. And the fact that I want it so badly after almost 4 years without tells me that there’s a good chance that hell could become a reality again if I take one wrong step.
I’m scared and I’m worried. I’m exhausted mentally and practically exhausted financially.
I’m looking at apartments for next year but I don’t know how Yeager and I plan on paying for it. I don’t want to live somewhere where I won’t feel safe, but I also don’t want to live somewhere overly expensive. It hurts how scared I am of driving, but I know how much I’m holding myself back by not doing it. Then again, I’m also saving a lot of money by not using gas, car insurance, and by not even thinking about purchasing a car. But it’s not like I have to be driving if I had a license… I’m just so scared. I’m scared of everything and it hurts me. I have a panic attack almost every single day now and it makes me even more anxious to leave the house. When I start thinking about this I just hate myself so much. I hate the person who I am sometimes and I know how disappointed a younger me would be in who I am now.
Yeager is so confident that everything will be okay, but I just don’t know how to believe him when there is no plan for how everything is supposed to work out.
I’m just scared. Scared and it’s holding me back.
I didn’t end up hurting myself last night. Thank you to those who helped me, you know who you are. I don’t really know if I’m prepared to deal with this for the rest of my life.
I’ve never remembered a scent so vividly.
Flashback to the day I went to that spot in the woods where we used to go and hung his belt over a tree and put my neck through the loop. I remember almost exactly what I was wearing, what the weather felt like, and I can practically hear the snapping branches as I climbed around the fence. I remember that the night before I had tried to do it, but I was too scared and I’d even written a note. I was always too scared. I still am. A big part of me wishes I had just ended everything then.
it still hurts.
I still think I need to hurt myself.
it’s easier to pretend it never happened.
I feel better when I just bleed.
I think I’ll ruin everything.
I call and just hang up.
I’m scared to show myself.
I feel sick.
I’m still ashamed.
you just have to wait it out.