Kill Switch

The Chaos Code
2017-09-04 00:40:50 (UTC)

Are The Disorders MY Fault?

Sometimes I wonder if all of this was my fault. I constantly wonder if I'm the one who made all my mental disorders happen. My schizo-affective is said to be genetic, which I believe, because there are so many schizo-spectrum people on both my mom's side and my dad's side. And my dad IS schizophrenic and unmedicated, so. That tells you a lot. So maybe my schizo disorder is not my fault, but. . .

What about Borderline Personality Disorder? Depression? Panic Disorder? Suicidal ideation? Those....all feel like my fault. And idk what to do about that. I just don't know how and I have to blame something or someone and since I know close to nothing about psychology and psychiatry, I don't know what could chemically cause it and what could fix it. So. . .it feels like I gave these disorders to myself somehow.

Insomnia is also one I wonder whether it is genetic or not. My insomnia is so horrible. I have to take the maximum dosage of Ambien and 4-6 benadryl every night to just get about 3-4 hours of sleep. It's physically impossible for me to fall asleep without medication. Doesn't matter how many days I've stayed up, either. I will STILL never fall asleep. I think my body would rather kill me off than allow me to sleep. Which sucks because I fucking love sleep. It's a way to escape the horrors and tragedy and angst of my fucking messed up life, but without the dying part. It's like suicide for pussies. (Like me.)

And then there's the ones I really, genuinely feel like I gave to myself. Generalized anxiety, Anorexia, and my severe as fuck drug addiction. I feel like those were my fault, but at the same time, Idk how they could be. I blame my anorexia on my dad. He used to grab my stomach when I was little and tell me "You're going to get fat if you keep eating." And he would ALWAYS tell my mom to "Lose some damn weight, you cow." When I did start eating normally and gained a little weight (got a bit over 100lbs that time), my dad noticed my gradual weight gain and he locked me in the laundry room while he barricaded the fridge and cabinets shut and then let me out after he made me PROMISE that I wouldn't eat anything until he said so. Well, I ended up passing out before he allowed me to eat. Ever since those days, I have been actively starving myself while knowing what I was doing. As you guys know, I used to eat paper instead of food because little me thought you had to eat SOMETHING every day, no matter what it was, to stay alive. So I traded all my food out for paper. Eventually I got hospitalized and sent to an eating disorder clinic, but I didn't understand what I was doing back then. All I knew is that food was the enemy for my parents. . .so shouldn't it be the enemy for me, too? I can't have anyone touch my stomach now because it triggers the hell outta me, making me feel fat and obese and gross and ugly and my dad's face pops into my head with him laughing, telling me how fat I am. And I usually just break down crying. So. . .that could have been my father's fault, but. . .maybe it's mine for being such a wimp and not being able to handle a little meant-to-be-mean-style, scare-tactic, teasing. I mean, damn. I have really thin skin compared to normal people. I can't handle anything!

As for my drug abuse. . .I'm sure that was my fault because no one forced me to take drugs. I actively sought them out at the age of 13, found them, and then got prescribed a pain killer at a very young age, abused the fuck out of it, got a benzo script, abused the fuck out of it. . .and just kept rising the amounts in the bottles and the strength of the piills until, where I am now, I have maxed out on both strength and amounts. Which makes me use over 300 pills in 2 weeks flat. Sometimes only 1 week. I'm taking about 25 pills to get high every day (spaced out of course; no one could handle 25 at one time). I'm surprised my body will handle 25 pills in a 24 hour period. Usually over 10 would collapse my diaphragm and I'd suffocate to death. But one day recently, I just didn't care. . .downed a whole bunch of them and kept doing it until I had to go to bed. . .2nd best high in my entire life. First was the k-pin overdose I told you guys about where I ODed on 100 k-pins to try to kill myself and ended up in the most blissful, happy moment of my life. I will never achieve happiness like that again. NEVER. But, I will admit, taking this many pills every day is getting pretty close to that blissful, happy place. My mom blames my doctor for my addiction because she thinks if I hadn't have gotten a pain killer and benzo script, I wouldn't be this bad. But, honestly? I would have just sought out drugs on the streets and there's always a chance it's not going to be cut with something ridiculous. Buying off the streets is an instant 50/50, roll the dice kinda situation. Which, back when I was trying to kill myself literally every other day (coz I was a stupid little boy, obviously, and I didn't grow the fuck up for a looooooong time!), it didn't matter to me what drugs were cut with what. Coz I didn't want to live so I figured. . .if it kills me, that's fine. At least I went out high. Lololol. That is how I want to go out, anyways. . .drug overdose. Coz, like I said, at least I'd be high. I wouldn't feel a thing coz I would be so high. And I'd die doing something I loved above all else. What better death could you have? The doctors did give me about 6 months to a year left to live if I keep on drugs like this. . .but, I don't want to make it to 30 and I'm 25 right now. SO I FEEL LIKE I'M GONNA HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO OFF MYSELF VERY, VERY SOON! Turning 30 years old would absolutely kill me. . .it would break me. I can't get old. I just can't. I can't handle it. . .I'd hate myself and my body and face so damn much. Ugh. It's probably going to make me suicidal and get self harm urges and depression all over again. . .

But, now that I want to live? I want to be VERY careful about what and who I buy from off the streets.

And I HATE being on the needle STILL AFTER ALL THESE YEARS. But I'm trying to cut back by replacing it with pills, BUT H IS THE CHEAPEST DAMN DRUG ON THE MARKET. And the most easily accessible. I can find smack dealers all over the place. . .but god forbid I need some blues or something. Pill dealers are so rare and don't exist, pretty much. It's too hard to find one of them. Especially if you're new to an area. And with all the moving I do, it's nearly impossible. But since H is so much cheaper than pills (pills go by at least 1 dollar per mg. . .so a blue costs about 30 ...for ONE PILL. I need about 10 per day to stay high on those. Whereas, 30 dollars worth of H lasts me weeks coz I use very small dosages since I have no tolerance to it anymore), that it just makes sense to buy H. Not to mention, it's MUCH healthier than all the pills I've been downing. And you can't actually die from Heroin, either. Which. . .that's such a HUGE misconception with H since programs like D.A.R.E. spread propaganda and lies and use scare-tactics. There should be EDUCATION; not deterrents. It would save lives. But, again, H cannot kill you. The decisions you MAKE on H are what kills everyone. Contaminated needles will kill someone. But the H itself? Harmless. So as long as I just chill out on my bed in my room while I'm high on H, I'm good and have no chance of dying. Unless I overdosed. You can die from an overdose, but you can die from an overdose of anything. An overdose of water can kill you, for christs sake. An overdose of air could kill you.

So H is SO much cheaper, healthier, and gets me higher than everything else. And it curbs my appetite like crazy. Only bad thing is that it keeps me awake, sometimes makes me grind my teeth (I keep chew toys around for myself for this reason), and everyone hates me for it. And the track marks and the needles themselves. . .it scares the hell outta me and I have to have my track marks covered at all times so no one will know. Plus, I have scars galore on my wrists. I caved to cutting again the other day. So now I have long, pretty deep gashes in my wrists and thighs. So I really do have to keep my arms fully covered. Not to mention, there's claw marks all over my arms from where I rip at my flesh with my nails until I bleed. Lots of those.

I forgot a sweater one time when I ran out of the house and did not have a long sleeved shirt on. I was in such a hurry. . .needed to get on the T to go somewhere. Idr where. And I finally get on, settle into the seat, and everyone is fucking staring at me. All with furrows in their brows. . .like. . .either concern or fascination. And one guy happened to be a psych towards the back and he had seen me run in, so he walked up while the T was moving and told me to move my stuff so he could sit next to me. I did, and he started questioning me on my track marks and scars. Coz I was so young. . .early 20's. He looked at me so pitifully. . .but he assured me it wasn't pity and that it was sympathy, coz I snapped at him "I don't need your goddamn pity" and he corrected me. And THAT was when I finally realized. . ."Oh. Fuck. I left my sweater at home. . .fuck fuck fuck." Then, immediately thinking "PLEASE don't commit me, PLEASE don't commit me, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't commit me!!!" But. . .he didn't! He didn't. And that was such a huge relief.

But, nah, fam. . .FAM. . .this guy was amazing. He just basically gave me a full session on the goddamn T FOR FREE. Then he handed me his card and told me to call him. I never have, but I'm sure the offer is still there. He saved my ass. I was going to kill myself after classes or work or wherever I was going (really can't remember), but. . .after talking to this psych and having him touch me in loving, caring ways. . .giving me hugs and petting me and stuff. . .I felt so much better and he made sure I wasn't going to hurt or kill myself before he left. It was an amazing experience.

OH but anyways. It REALLY sucks to be back on the needle after trying so hard with the pills. But. . .I'm doing so much more damage to my body and organs with pills than I am with a shot of H. Damn. I will take that! Haha.

I just REALLY hate putting the needle inside me. . .it freaks me out so badly. But. . .it has to be done. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I would die if I were sober from withdrawals alone. PLUS, I absolutely CANNOT FUNCTION AT ALL without drugs at this point in my life and I NEED to be able to drive and be able to focus and be productive. Which, I cannot do ANY of that, plus a million more things, without drugs in me. So I very literally NEED them.

But. . .anyways. . .back on the needle I go. I guess it's okay. I just really wish I could do pills my whole life. . .but not with the kind of money (or lack thereof) I make.

And, again, I just. . .feel like I gave myself all my disorders. What the fuck did I do to give them to me, though? I don't know that part. Idk how I could have given them to myself, but. . .it feels that way.

They said if I hadn't have tried meth that one time, my schizo-disorder would have laid dormant. For...god knows how long! Maybe the rest of my life! But, no, the meth aggravated it and made me break. I regret that so damn much. If I could go back in time, I would go back to that time and do that moment over. My life would be SO drastically different without my schizo disorder. . .but my main, most troubling disorder is Borderline by a mile. Borderline has messed up my life and all of my relationships (familial, platonic, owner-pet, pet-owner, and romantic!). It kills me. . .absolutely kills me. And it makes me choose the most incorrect, impulsive decisions I can do. It's awful. I have no impulse control at all. I used to have the ABILITY to control my impulses when I was in high school, even though I didn't use it, but NOW, I have absolutely ZERO impulse control and it has really fucked me up on so many occasions. Borderline is my worst, goddamn enemy. And there's no medication for it! It's all just therapy. . .and therapy does not work for me at all. So what am I supposed to do? I need someone to put up with my BPD. . .somehow. Or I'm going to be fucking alone for the rest of my fucking life. And people have already abandoned me because of my BPD. They mostly abandon me because of my ridiculous drug use, but. . .some really have abandoned me because of my BPD stuff.

Anyways, this entry is hella long so I'm gonna stop here! Bye, Felicia! Pfffft.




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