Dear Body

[justaperson001]

Dear Body,

I am you, or, at least the person who lives inside you. I know that I've hurt you a lot in the past and I just want you to know know that... I'm sorry. It's funny sad, because usually I'm a very compassionate person, towards other people that is... but when it comes to you Body, I don't didn't see you as a person.

I saw you as an object. I've misused and abused you. I hated myself and by proxy, I hated you too. Maybe that's why you've pushed me out.

It used to be that when I looked in the mirror I saw myself. Now days I look in the mirror and I see a stranger. I see a beautiful but unfamiliar woman... I live inside you body, but I feel as though I am no longer really a part of you. I feel that maybe you are defending yourself from me because when you'd really let me in before I betrayed the trust you had in me.

You just wanted to be loved: To be cared for, nourished, hydrated, treated beautifully, cherished, and with the respect that I afford literally every other person I interact with.

I'm sorry. 

I love you Body, you are mine and you are the only, only, person in the whole world who has gone through and experienced literally everything I have. No one else in can ever know so completely, so intimately, every ounce of pain, fear, joy, love... every emotion, that I've experienced so thoroughly. 

There's a barrier to language, a restriction by the very nature of language, that even if I spent every moment of time trying to communicate my life to someone that they could never know it as truly as it was experienced. That is why, starting today, I will treasure you, Body. You are my life companion, whether you want me or I want you, we are together for this life. You know me completely and I know you.

I see you Body, you are a lovely person. Beautiful, empathetic, gentle. I accept you and I will treat you better from now on. 

Never again will I put my needs and desires above yours. I will not punish you for my shortcomings. I'm going to stop trying to change you.
My dearest and only Body, I love and accept you, exactly as you are now.

I accept you Body, you have wide, wide hips and thick thighs. But! That is OK, big hips and thighs do not make you less beautiful. Jack says that you look just like Alexandre Cabanel's Birth of Venus painting. It may not be the ideal of beauty that I've always aspired to, but to him it's beautiful. We aren't any Kristen Stewart or Nicole Kidman, but we are beautiful in our own right. There are many kinds of beauty in the world and we don't need to be airbrushed to accept and love our own kind of beauty.

I won't try to starve your hips down, and your tummy is a sign that I actually feed you now and that you are properly loved. Jack loved to kiss your tummy, I hate the way it tickles but I resent your tummy much less for it. 

I accept your dark brown eyes, they are perfect just the way they are. I know other people have pretty eyes too, they are colorful but ours are nice too... 

Remember in our earliest memories? One of our first formative thoughts, as we began to perceive the world and develop our preferences... The elegant, refined look of dark stained wood. Rich, beautiful. One of the first thoughts we had before we had words to define our thoughts was just how much we loved the way that dark stained cabinet and wooden hourglass looked.

You have the time in your eyes. Body, they're the same color as that hourglass, they are beautiful eyes and there is no need ro compare them to the eyes of others. They may not be blue, green, or even amber eyes, but they are ours and they are perfect. 

Wood, trees, the forest. Eyes are the window to the soul and my soul... your soul... our soul is a sacred forest we need to treasure and nurture back to life.

Now, not every bad thing I've done to you was out of a desire to be pretty. I think maybe that's why it's so hard love, to feel, the way I did before. You've taken away the depth and breadth of my emotions and most especially my love... because of all the things that have driven me to hurt you, dear Body... love drove me to hurt you the worst. 

You have left me a husk of who I formerly was, dry, porous and unabounding. Not only have you stripped me of my identity, my self-recognition, my faith and my fires of aspiration, but you've taken my heart from me. My soul has run dry Body, and you and I are all that remain; damaged though we both are. 

Mind and body. 

Our soul seeped out beyond our grasp. Jack loves us but I struggle to match his love. I feel that my own emotions are shallow because I feel as though I have no heart, no spirit, no personality beyond that which we need to survive. It makes trusting hard and you won't let me love again completely. I wish it'd been Jack I'd loved then instead of.. the predator. (That's what I'm going to start calling him from now, for the sake of this journal.)

Love is a dangerous emotion, it has driven me to do terrible things to you. 

I'm not like other people; other people, they make threats of suicide to manipulate and control the person they're with... to coerce them into staying while still having too much self respect for their bodies to really, seriously, consider actually hurting their bodies.

Although the words might pass from their mouths, the thought of truly hurting their bodies repulses most people enough to deseage them. Most people would never actually make an attempt to poison, hurt or actually attempt to kill themselves... in spite of their claims.

I used to think that my fear of death made me a coward, that suicide was an act of bravery that made me a silent martyr of love. By taking my own life, I felt that I was courageous and powerful, it vindicated me. Freeing me of the pain of my inevitable abandonment without forcing me to manipulate the person I was with into staying with me, someone they didn't love. It made me feel like the love I felt then was pure, selfless, good and true. 

Rather than dealing with my fear of being alone without the person I had chosen to love, I chose to kill myself. And when I made that chose, the choice to take a human life, everything changed. I have always been a troubled individual, that much is true. Love was at the source of all my trouble, or the lack thereof. So when I tried to take my life from you, 

That first unplanned incident that struck me to the core 
I had so little control over my life back then 
My life at that point was a losing battle of willpower vs. nature 
That evening was a profound one

Every day recurring that one had been a tedious battle to fight my true nature and overcome it. Pouring literally everything I had into the ever illusive success I aspired to...

When I woke up, to late for school, too late for work, my success in both a contingency I needed to uphold to garner the intimacy of the predator. The weight of my failure was more than I could bare... sharply aware of the fact I'd just lost my job for failing to attend, failed my class with the only question remaining: By what margin? 

Based on the calculations I ran in attempt to comfort myself thinking that I had some slim margin of grace I could pass by but realizing there where only levels of failure, C-, D+, D, D- and E left for me to "achieve". And that margin, and why, didn't matter. Meaning, to me, I was dumped.

The predator had only agreed to stay with me if I passed my classes and held down a job. It was a simple arrangement, in theory I hadn't felt it unfair, I wanted to succeed,  so why wouldn't I want to be worth someone who wanted me to succeed too?

No one at that point knew that I had lost my job, failed my class and been dumped... yet. But it was all in my future, clearly laid out for me.

I future I didn't want, which led me to me first, real, attempt in adulthood. 

I took a bottle of aspirin down from the medicine cabinet and swallowed as many pills as I could before passing out again. Drifting off into a thoughtless back sleep thinking the pain of living was behind me.

I woke up the next morning, too annoyed to try again, it would look suspicious if I did anyways. My parents were home,  they would know if I tried again that it was suicide on not some mystery cause of death.  

So I went to school. My ears rang for a week but I didn't no other notable side effects. When I returned home that evening I figured I just hadn't taken enough, I calculated the lethal dose of aspirin for someone my weight, rounded up, then doubled the dose and put it in a neat little zip-block for later.

My suicide kit.

My escape if I ever needed it.

It would be painless.

Painkillers inhibit the feeling of pain I reasoned so it was a better option that other methods I'd reasoned at the time.

It was that morning this sweet, innocent, Christian raised girl lost her faith in God. Death, suicide, the act of taking a human life, it changed me in a way I fear is irreversible.

Edited December 22, 2016 by xGreyWolf0909x

[justaperson001]

Ok, so it seems like everyone else has some goals posted in their journals so I'm going to go ahead and include my goals here to. 

1) To consolidate my experiences into a digestible format for myself so I can sort though and finally process everything I've been through. As it is said, those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it.

2) To develop an emotionally and spiritually healthy self.

3) Figure out where my current personal problems originate from, learn how to move past the things I've been through and grow beyond my history.

4) Develop healthy beauty habits.

5) Nurture, nourish and accept the body I have. To really love my body and help it become healthy and reach it's full potential.

6) Find to correct balance between inner peace and emotional control without sacrificing my personal safety and security. 

7) Find and pursue the correct trajectory for my life so that I can live it to it's fullest.

8) Feed my mind and grow analytically. 

9) Create a happy relationship for myself that I feel happy in, where I get to experience romance and passion while still being secure and know that I am loved.

As a heads up this journal may get very dark. It is brutally honest, intimate and authentic. I want to move past the darkness that I carry inside my mind. This journal covers my struggle with suicide, my unhealthy eating (or not eating) habits, living in poverty, drugs, criminal activity, abuse, BDSM, my faith (or lack thereof) and how it is I got to where I am today.

The start of this journal is more ruminations on my past while I get everything out, but after it moves past that I intend this to be about my personal journey to grow into a wiser, more knowledgeable, analytical person. To explore the person I'm becoming, the image I want to have, and the everyday pursuit of becoming healthier.

It will cover everything from from the shallow and superfluous, the readings I take on, ethics, exercise, everything.

Edited December 22, 2016 by xGreyWolf0909x

[justaperson001]

Somehow, although I did lose the job and fail the class, the predator decided to stay with me. I don't remember how that ended up being arranged since he was initially very clear that failure was grounds for break-up. But instead I was put on probation and he told me that if I could get all A's in the next quarter then I could be his girlfriend again. I got two A's and an A-, which was close enough and somehow the whole snowball kept going.

Eventually I moved in with the predator that's when everything got way worse. Everything I did wasn't good enough, even working and going to school full time wasn't enough. I didn't have time to exercise, cook, clean and do everything else the predator wanted. He didn't want to take care of me (although my parents paid the rent and the government paid for the food), I was still too much of a burden and he wanted me to go back to my parents home... I called my parents but they told me that I wasn't allowed to come home. Thankfully I had my handy-dandy suicide kid for emergencies like that. And that's when I really got messed up.

The hardest thing about living through everything I've been though, Body, is not knowing. I've never met anyone else who's done what I've done, to you us. I wonder if what I'm-we're going through, the fainting, if it's because of what I did to you, or if it's completely unrelated. Some days I just can't walk. It's gotten better, I know, I've been working hard to take care of you body, but I just wish I could know. It's a lonely thing. 

I've never met anyone else who's done it. Killed themselves, failed, only to try again. It wasn't just once that I did it to you. I have a nice life now but there's this involuntary pain whenever I remember what I've been through. I can't go through the day without remembering what I went through... 

I was so convinced that last time, that it was really the end. Nothing compares to the pain I felt that night. The agony. My blood literally a fire through my veins, unable to breath, unable to lift my head off the ground. That kit I had intended as a salvation for myself, a safe haven I could turn to when there was no one else who wanted me.

I took the whole kit, as much as a could swallow. He sat at his computer, the predator. I lied down on the giant bean bag we used as a bed and dozed off knowing he didn't know and that I could enjoy my last day still having him, not having to be alone, abandoned. I lied down and listened to In All My Dreams I Drown from the Devil's Carnival trying not to focus on the fact I wasn't wanted. He took me out to Dairy Queen, it felt very romantic to have one last day of happiness with him I thought at the time. I don't really know why I thought that then. But that's what I thought.

It was around that time that the metabolic acidosis kicked in and my body started to fight the poison. I hadn't been inefficient in my dosage. I had to run to the bathroom, I couldn't swallow back the acid my body churned up. I could barely stand as we stood in line for burgers. By the time we'd driven home I could barely stand, I'd stand for a couple moments then the dizziness would wash over me and I had to crouch down to catch my breathe and keep from passing out. 

I went upstairs, dizzy, tired, ready to succumb to the fate that I had chosen for myself. I felt powerful. In my life I could control one thing. My life. 

No matter how hard I studied, with the dyslexia and the ADHD, my grades were not under my control. I fought, and I fought, and I fought against everything in my nature to prove to myself that wasn't the case. But I still failed. I failed, tried again, and failed and someone was sick of it, and it wasn't just me.

Too dizzy to keep myself upright I slumped into bed to pass out. My ears were ringing and my chest was starting to hurt. It was coming and sleep would guide me into my new a new, better life, back to the darkness from whence I came. I fell asleep, just like the last time I'd tried. Only this time, I was certain, my plan was fool proof. And no one would ever know.

Pain killers. They're supposed to numb the pain, to numb away my life. My life was pain back then, emotionally, but it didn't even measure a fraction to what the physical pain I experienced that night. I didn't want to be alone... Unwanted... 

I awoke to a sharp pain, my stomach burned, my throat burned, my blood burned, I could feel the burning from inside my skin to the outside. The temperature felt ice could, then burning hot. I'd created myself a living hell.

So much for a painless death.

I tried not to throw-up but I couldn't. I rushed to the bathroom, and my body did everything it could to purge the acid out of my system.

My heart raced, as fast as the heart beat of a hummingbird, I remember comparing it to that. 

I spent the rest of my night in that bathroom, after the second trip to throw-up I could barely stand. I crawled back to the bedroom. After that I couldn't walk anymore. 

The predator wasn't a strong man.

I couldn't stand. A trail of towels followed from our room to the bathroom, he had to carry me to the bathroom to throw up twice, he encouraged me to stay the second time after I came crawling back into the room. 

I was up till 4 AM that morning, eventually I couldn't lift my body off the floor, I had to settle into the bathtub where I could vomit up the drain.

He came in to join me for awhile while I was in there, he talked about taking me to the ER, I tied to pass it off like I must have a bad strain of the flu. If he took me to the ER, they might figure out what was happening, they would try to save me. I had to prevent that. I told him that if I wasn't better by the morning I'd go to the drop in clinic.

He felt bad for me, worried I suppose, although he told me he was incapable of feeling. He said that he didn't think it would be good to leave me when I was sick that I was, he told me he might stay with me. I didn't want to manipulate him into staying with me, it wasn't why I'd tried to kill myself. But it made me happy. I just wanted to be with him.

He left, I kept throwing up. Eventually around 5:30 AM the sickness subsided. As I drifted off I felt fear of death, very intense fear, I felt the darkness reaching for me. Even though I had created this situation where I was dying I still couldn't help fighting it. Just for a few moments more. I didn't know what was going to come once it was all over. I was scared. Very scared. And then I thought of my sister and I felt an intense sense of guilt. What would her life be like without an older sister? Would she blame herself if she found out? I felt awful. 

I remembered how she'd cried for weeks when she realized my 12 year old brother had started smoking. How would she take it, when she realized that she would have to spend the rest of her life without me. I cried. She deserved  so much more. She was the one person  I realized, in that one moment, who mattered  more than anything else to me. I didn't see her frequently, she lived with her boyfriend only a few houses down. I never, never really, went to see her.

I didn't want her to cry. I wish  I could've been more for her. 

I loved my sister. 

But I didn't love her more than I hurt.

I cried, I cried for the pain, no matter how much I breathed, and breathed but I couldn't get any air, I couldn't stand. My limbs went numb. I could slowly feel my body dying. I couldn't move my arms, I couldn't move my legs. I cried for my fear of death. I cried because of the darkness. I cried because of the loneliness. I cried because my parents didn't love me. I cried because my boyfriend of 4 years didn't love and wanted to get rid of me. But most of all I cried because I wish I could've been a better sister. One who didn't bring pain into her life. I never realized up until that moment how very, very precious she was to me.

I felt the darkness coming. I don't know how but at sometime my consciousness broke and I teleported from the bathroom to the bed and I was lying next to my beloved predator. I was so close to him. I fell asleep next to him, just happy to be with him.

I decided that if I could survive that night I would be the submissive he wanted me to be. I would do everything he wanted me to, anything he asked. I just wanted him to want me and I was happy fading off into the darkness. Embracing death.

I couldn't walk for a week; I couldn't even properly crawl. I didn't think I'd ever be able to walk again.

Didn't think I'd ever be able to hear again either, but by day three of groveling across the carpet I was able to start hearing things again.

I should be dead.

But here I am... Four years later. I can walk, I can hear. But I worry that things won't ever be the same.

It doesn't matter what I'm doing or where I am, walking, standing, I lose contact with you Body. Falling spells, are they related? The doctors don't know. I've told them everything, but even so, they don't really know.

It only started happening, like the recognition thing...

I don't know why.

But, you know what...

Looking back now, as I write this, I realize it wasn't love that drove me to kill you, body, but my fear of being alone.

I have, and even still, am terrified of being alone. 

Edited December 22, 2016 by xGreyWolf0909x

[justaperson001]

Jack's mother is a monster. A sociopath, narcissistic, gold digger. Shallow, self-absorbed and the kind of stupid that impacts everyone she's near. She's the kind of person who destroys lived. But, she isn't anything compared to her mother who I watched die. She murdered her own son some years after the holocaust, I guess schizophrenia and living through World War II doesn't really bode well for a person. 

She mostly lived to make everyone around her miserable, she was literally the definition of a burden on society. But, ironically, she was actually the primary income for the family since her care taking money was pretty much all the income that family had at the time. But she was loved. Tony was very gentle and doting towards her, his love for her was unconditional and beautiful. It made me sad because I only feared her.

She was a frightening person, she'd wave her hands in the air at me and would never stop speaking, or yelling, scarily in Italian. She had a withered, sunken appearance with dull, crazy grey-blue eyes. Like something you'd see in some classical art museum. I always thought she looked like how I imagine the witch in Hansel and Gretel looked. Muttering spells and eating children. 

She was very loud, she seemed to like me and I feel bad because I was so terrified of her. She'd always be saying things like "Angelo, portami via bellissimo angelo." and "Chi e quella bella donna?" She'd always tell me how beautiful I was and how I looked like an angel. 

I feel horrible thinking about it, I was so scared of her, every time she'd come near me I'd scream from fright until Jack would come and guide her to another room. I feel so much pain at the thought. I want... very much... to be a compassionate and loving person. But I felt no love or compassion for that woman. Only fear. 

She'd been a villain in some ways in her former years, but she was also a victim. And she was a victim now. In that moment that I feared her. Pity, fear, disdain, disgust, sadness and fear. Feelings I hate, I wish I didn't experience and most certainly not in association with a person. In my memories I felt that towards her though, now though, I only feel a solemn. I don't feel grief for her, but I do feel solemn towards her, as she is now. Free. I don't feel the fear or the disgust, the disdain or irritation. Just solemn.

No one should've died the way she did. 

I felt bad for her and I struggled to control the intensity of the negative emotions being around her illicited. I did really, really want to be a better person than that. I downloaded Duolingo and I started studying Italian so I could understand her (hoping that knowing what the scary chants actually meant would make her less intimidating) and communicate with her. My fear extremely intense so I started with communicating to her not to touch me, to go, and to down so I could bring her tea and food. 

I even managed to get Jack's entire family tree all the way back to his great-great-great grandparent's tracked back through her. I don't know why I cared about that but I really enjoyed being able to learn that from her. 

I never overcame that fear and I really regret that. The morning before she died she was up way too early in the morning. Gabbering to herself and I was up because I couldn't sleep. Trying not to think of ways to kill myself because of my disgust for having to live in a home with bedbugs. I'd woken up with them crawling all over my body and I couldn't, couldn't go to sleep. The red welts itched and I felt like a hideous monster.

We didn't have food. Jack's mom had failed to buy food so the refrigerator was completely empty. His grandmother was in the kitchen and "Affamato, blah, blah blah BLAH BLAH", she was hungry, scary and annoying. "Sta 'zitto", I knew meant to be quiet, so I ushered to to be quiet and "Va, va!" to go, "Sit down, I'll bring you food." 

Although there  wasn't any real food I had bought a flat of ramen to tide over hungry stomachs, it's not the most nutritious thing in the world, but it was something and I could afford to help out if it was something as inexpensive as ramen. She sat down and I made her a bowl of top ramen, I set it in front of her and made her tea. I put ice in it so she wouldn't burn herself. She reached for me, "Non mi toccare"

I had work, so I went, and then came back. I was in one room and she came up to me by surprise and I screamed. Jack came and rescued me. I remember Jack and Tony talking about getting her into a real home where she could actually be taken care of, but I don't remember if that had been that day or just something that's in the blur of memories..

I walked into the bathroom, the floor covered in urine. I screamed. I think that was that day. I don't know. I stepped in it. I had to shower. Clean the floor. Shower again. And again. 

I was fainting a couple of times a day at that point in time, the doctors had me wearing a heart monitor to see if maybe my heart was the source of my fainting, well, falling. I don't really faint so much as I randomly can't stand. His grandmother started copying me, or that's what I had thought because I'd faint she'd say "She fall! SHE'S FALLING", and then she started doing it too. "I'm falling. I'M FALLING". It seemed cute and innocent, I was sick but she seemed to like me (as scared of her though I was, I don't know why she liked me) and so, I thought she was pretending to be sick too.

But then she fell and it wasn't just something cute and innocent. 

"Why don't you cook good food for your sons?" She asked Jack's mother as she headed towards the room the five of us were in.

"Joe, Jo-" Were her last word. And then she just collapsed, eyes to the back of her head.

She couldn't get up, Tony and Dave rushed to her side, yelling "Grandma! Grandma!"

I shook Jack because he was wearing noise-proof headphones to dull out all the yelling and noise from the house that was a constant stream.

"Jack, get-up, you need to go to your grandmother." I told him.

"She fell." I told him lamely, trying to explain the situation, "We need to get her to the hospital."

They boys called 911, not leaving her side.

No one knew CPR, I didn't, they didn't.

I ran from apartment to apartment in the complex. Knocking on doors. "Do you know CPR? We need help! It's an emergency!"

Several people said no, but eventually I found someone, he was in shorts and obviously I had woken the poor man but he ran down stairs to our apartment and he did CPR as best he could.

The emergency unit showed up. I wanted to warn them about the bedbugs that infested the place. If it got on their clothing it would infest there home too.

Bedbugs are a special kind of pest, they take months to get rid of. They feed on you where you sleep, they are carried on your clothing, the live in all the crevices of your home and it costs thousands of dollar, money we didn't have, to get rid of them. 

His grandmother was covered in the welts from sleeping with them. The two main places she slept were covered in them in every corner we later discovered when the exterminator finally came out to show everyone where they were hiding. 

She died living like that, starvation conditions of a heart attack, covered in welts and the bugs that fed on all of us in that room of filth and squalor. No one should have to live that way, some people do because they refuse to know any better, but no one... no one should have to die that way.
We found out that was actually the night she died.

They took her to the emergency room.

The next day they diagnosed her brain dead from the heart attack, there had been some form of blockage. 

They pulled the tub. I couldn't watch. I left the room while they gathered around her for her last breathing moments.

I didn't even belong in that hospital at the time. The brother's cried, I held Jack's and while he stood by her. Eventually I left him, I didn't belong with them in those last moments.

She was surrounded by people who'd cared for her. Tony loved her, he cried. He loved his grandmother. He is a better person than I am.

I sat outside and some sleazy Chaplin tried to cheer me up. I told him to I was fine and I didn't really know the woman. He told me it must be hard for my fiance. I wanted to laugh, he knew nothing about what was really happening. The real loss was the lack of income which meant inevitably Jack's father would be moving in with his mother again. And it wouldn't be long until he started beating her again for her shit. Hitting a woman isn't right. Nothing makes it right, no matter how bad the woman.

Jack had proposed the day before. I felt intensely out of place. Everything felt wrong. The next morning I showed-up to work, people congratulated me and asked me about how excited I was and if I was happy. I tried to fake smiles and act happy. Everything felt wrong. 

Edited December 22, 2016 by xGreyWolf0909x