Tag Archives: disordered coping methods

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collecting selfdestruction in cups & running out of shelf space.

beautiful sunshine saturday
finds me

fighting urges to draw
pretty pictures on my wrists with razor blades;
just something to show i was here.

keeping pens away from my arms
of which i’m convinced would look better
stuck with holes from which
my soul could escape.

wasted youth on caring too much & not caring enough & now
my skin peels off in layers & i
barely notice.

wasting more clock circles
burning smokes down to where they sting my fingers
just the way i like;
another couple callouses
to add to my collection.

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produce shopping for a new soul; this one’s bruised & going bad.

typing aloud of my disordered
relationship with food
resisting
the urge to instantly delete,
to password protect,
to put away.

letting go of cracked concrete walls
watching them fall
exposing me naked
shiny new & sulfuric
without any skin.

denial makes me terrified
of the truth inside;
as i peel down the layers of my onion soul
thin filmy layers of purple paper roll up & get stuck
beneath my fingernails.
i’ve half-shopped
these supermarket mind aisles before & i
know the stench will stain
half-regretting that
my hands will smell like mental poison for the next

two weeks
straight.

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back from the abyss. (running away with cognitive distortions & intrusive negative thoughts)

five days on, five days off. like clockwork.

DISCLAIMER: ironic that i titled this ‘back from the abyss’. it’s probably the worst post i’ve written. possibly triggering, probably triggering. & it’s a long one. read at your discretion. and damn it, one of these days i’ll learn to stop apologizing. this is my blog, after all, but knowing i have some followers now makes me feel guilty for bringing the negativity. feeling guilty for wasting your time on my blog about dealing with bipolar. as if you couldn’t just click away if you didn’t want to read. as if a BLOG ABOUT BIPOLAR wasn’t going to be brutal & raw on occasion. who ever thought my guilt would overshadow my anxiety? wow, a new low. welcome to my horror show:

i think i could deal with being bipolar & celiac & generally disordered a lot easier if it wasn’t for this crippling constant guilt. for the first time last week, i felt dangerous. a threat to myself. the suicidal thoughts have always been constant — but most of the time i can watch them & half-ass justify them away; although they don’t leave, my rational mind is strong enough to know they’re symptoms of bipolar/anemia/up-until-now-untreated celiac/depression/pms/etc & not me really wanting to die. because i don’t. i just want the pain to stop. but not enough to do anything drastic. the guilt prevents that. but damn, fighting my mind is a fulltime job — no days off.
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