I needed this and for this I have no apologies

My mind isn't churning like is usually is 24/7, in fact that's where I'm concerned. For once my mind has settle on one thought. Why live if your living a restricted life?I could specify and I may still yet, in fact I know I will, and you know who you are.It's harsh, this is harsh but this goes beyond what i can politely grasp and respond to, in fact I feel bad even thinking my thoughts but the fact is they are my thoughts and I have that right.

I'm not sure if I'm baffled or angry or really what i am at this point beyond wanting to say so many things and for once in my lifetime lacking the words to do it.

Introduce back story- I like everyone else had a phase if that's how you would like to see this. I had mine, My dad died, I was being beaten up at school, and at home and by my partner, my life sucked I couldn't function. too many feelings and the only way I had control of  them was to bleed them away. So that's what I did. It's not difficult to dissect some cheap razor from the dollar store for shaving body hair away and instead cut skin apart. The first time was a piece of broken bottle and what can i say it was addicting, it became a ritual when i was too overwhelmed, then it became a weekly things, then a daily thing. And then what was one or two cuts someplace on my arms became and 6 and 12. I couldn't stand the feelings I wanted them to go away and it was becoming apparent to even me that when your dead you don't feel. My last straw was my ex fiance calling off the wedding the day before. I was 17 he was 24. I was dumb and now I am greatful, then i broke, no, broke is too weak a word my whole fucking world gave out from under me and I fell, hard and fast leaving the remaining pieces to fall on top of me, I spent an hour just angrily throwing his shit into garbage bags for the garbage truck, and then I came across his knife. It was blue, just a simple pocket knife nothing fancy but I do know he had just changed the blade on it only a few days prior. It was suiting He caused my world to crash and he would cause my death too, and I don't do things half assed. I cut and kept on cutting slashing any part of my arm i could get at then switching arms, i cut so deep i could press my fingers under the skin and grab at the tendons, after that I don't remember I blacked out on the cold cement floor in the basement, feeling relief that i felt nothing.

Don't worry though i was found i was shipped off to recuperate and when i came home three weeks later I had a whole new outlook, I got help i saw a therapist every single day, my step mother kept anything sharp in her room under lock and key, she monitored my showers/baths under my request. I got better ...mostly sometimes i slipped but when i did i told someone i even started taking my meds two paxils in the morning and two 12 hours later, I was drugged up all the time but i was alive. It took me a year to finally come to the realization the pills were doing what the cutting was it nullified my feelings. So i quit. cold turkey, no meds no drugs no knives and for the first time in three years I was feeling again. The good the bad the everything in between and i finally got it....and to this day i remember my own story what is life without feeling?? why live?? if i don't want to feel i might as well die. and I don't want to die. life isn't amazing life hurts like pouring vodka into an open gaping wound but figuratively that's happened to me so many fucking time that i cant count them on 10 peoples hands. not even close. and i am strong. i am me. i am nothing more and i am also nothing less. I learned to cope, I love and get hurt sometimes I hate and feel regret for it. But in the end I know i am alive i know i am doing more then just living i am existing because i am feeling.

Now that my story is made clear my mind can grasp why i am so offended/or hurt/ or angered or even baffled by the conversation that took place. simply this harsh as it may be if you know when to sever ties and even though you love you still refuse the bad stuff so i ask this ...why are you living why are you breathing why are you in the meanest terms possible wasting space. you say you want to change the world, you say you know yourself better then anyone you say you have come to terms with who you are i call bullshit, no im not whispering it and i'm not praying you will avoid this post i want you to see and you need to see it I'M CALLING TOTAL AND UTTER FUCKING BULLSHIT ON YOU. if you cant accept feelings good and bad then you are no better then i was and i can freely admit someone should have curb stomped my face into oblivion. you can not change the world if you are unwilling to feel the world you are changing. you don't have a fucking clue who you are but you know and i know and i'd say correct me if i'm wrong but i know for a fact im not. your afraid of judgement your afraid of loss and most of all your affraid of people touching that little place in you that hurts the most the one you have under lock and key, your afraid to open yourself up so fucking completely to human kind...your fellow human kind. so open that there is no choice but inevitable pain.
its not wrong...its not right either. someone or something has fucked with you hardcore and its not place to ask who when where what or even why, but you owe it to yourself to deal with it. or your no better then dead.

Memories Hurt

Amazing what a simple conversation and some slightly downtrodden depressing music can do to ones mood. I was okay, I was more then okay I was perfectly amazing...and then all it takes are a few words here or there and plop, there goes that. It`s not easy to think about my past, nor write it and even less to speak it but I feel like every time i tell one more person it hurts that much less in my heart. Losing my dad at 16 hurt, it still does sometimes i pretend it hurts less then i want it too and sometimes I'm not lying when i say it doesn't hurt.  after him dying then life changed doors opened but things got more complicated. i found smoking and drugs and booze i found guys and sex and i found more abuse. no longer at the hands of a parent, but boyfriends. ones that had no problem with hitting me or getting me pregnant at 17 and then making damn sure i miscarried (13 stairs to a concrete floor), no problem raping me,or  making a promise of marriage and fucking the whole town and telling me the day before the wedding. i found razor blades and skin, i found release through a new kind of pain, something that became a daily thing in my downward spiral, my secret, one day it stopped being my secret one day it did go to far one day i almost lost it all. then i dealt with bad family relationships and then more drugs and throw in this mixture of shit no stable home. moving sleeping on the streets bouncing place to place and then factor in the meds. they called them meds i call them more drugs, i was doped to my fucking ear tips with first one drug then another and another each progressively getting higher in dosage till it ended up being paxil, and then that dosage being uped and uped until my entire day was wasted in a haze of fleeting thoughts and nothing concrete. its sad to sit and think these thoughts to relive the shit i dealt with but thats just it i sit here i am here i am me. i fight i am strong and i will make it. not just once or twice but again and again.