Day two and it's even worse
A page in the diary "A Day in the Life Of..."
Written by babz 25. Jan 2008 10:17 PM
I don't get it. They wouldn't send a freshly detoxed alcoholic home with a bottle of vodka, or a recovering drug addict home with a bag of speed, so WHY send home me, the girl with a history of self-medicating and overdoses as big as the white pages, home with more than 300 tablets?!
I self harmed last night, because I couldn't stand how much I hated myself. This wasn't cutting, this wasn't something that could be stitched or bandaged. This was spiritual harm, that reaches down into your soul and tears you apart inside. I wanted pain, and I can certainly say mission accomplished on that front. Good on you Barbara you psycho.
So here I am, in a battle of wills with myself, playing mind games with myself - the two parts of me are at war with each other again and my-own-worst-nightmare Barbara is kicking nice Barbara's ass.
You know, I really believed when I came home that this time I would be able to accept myself and make the changes in my life that I know I need to make. I felt positive, and now I am fighting every minute to not take every one of those pills I was sent home with. I feel so torn, so confused. I feel as if I can't trust my emotions, that I never know if what I am feeling is real, if it is the truth, if it will actually still be there when I wake up.
I'm so tired of this. It's not that I want to kill myself, because I don't, infact that couldn't be further from the truth. It's that I want to kill all the crap that's inside me, as if taking all the pills will somehow just kill the illness and I will wake up tomorrow and be able to get on with my life. Oh well, I can dream can't I?