I Haven't Got Any In So Long That I'm Starting To Delusionally Believe I'm Funny

I think I know what its like to be married.

My boyfriend and I have been working on something together for the past two weeks or so, and we've spent practically every waking moment every day in each other's company. We see each other from about eight in the morning to about ten to eleven in the evening. The other night, we were working till one thirty.

Because we're working, though, and in a group, at that, we spend most of that time being professional and not engaging in any displays of affection.

Occasionally, we take a walk or go get coffee, but for the most part, we've spent all the time in each others' immediate vicinity, just talking about work-like things.

We also unconsciously cover for each other. He had a family emergency about a week ago and had to leave immediately, so naturally, I took on all his work. When someone else in our team commended me for it, I realized that I hadn't even thought of not doing it - it seemed natural. In the same manner, no matter how much work he has, or how stressed he his, he never thinks twice before running to the chemist for some medicine if I'm feeling under the weather.

Despite all that, though, we try and maintain a respectable amount of distance and keep our personal lives personal. Some days, we're in the same room all day, and barely say anything directly to each other.

Plus, we haven't been in bed together in almost a month.

lol jkzz, im so funni.

It's Like I Was Never Gone

It seems that old habits do die hard.
It's almost ridiculously easy to fall back into a routine.

I cut myself today.
I don't feel bad about it yet, but I know the regret is lurking somewhere at the back of my mind. Right now, I just feel... relieved. Painless. Calm.

Cutting's been on my mind this past month or so, but I haven't actually done it till today. Things have been getting hard for me to deal with, and I've had a lot of dark, angry emotions running through me, lately.

I don't have an outlet any more. I don't get high, I don't drink myself into a stupor, I don't even go to my therapist any more.

Today, I felt terrible, almost suicidal. So, I cut. It seemed like the easiest thing to do. 'Drowning my sorrows' (I hate that phrase) in drink would take to long, I didn't want to smoke up even though I had some pot on me and cutting seemed like the only thing that would work.

So I cut.
It strikes me now, how... normal it felt. The same bathroom, same terrible lighting to make my reflection look insane, the same 'cutting music' - Matchbox 20 to convince me I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell, the familiar smell of Dettol mixed with water. It could have been a year ago. I was desperate just like I was this time last year.

I did everything the same. I took a hot shower, to see if maybe, I just needed to relax a little bit. When then was done, and I was still frustrated, I bought myself some time, moisturising. That just served to make me even angrier, though, so I wrapped myself in my towel, got my blade out and looked for a scar-free spot on my shoulder.

I have to admit that before I actually made the first cut, I hesitated. I had the blade poised on the skin, ready to slice, but my hand wouldn't move the first couple of times I tried to move it. I know this sounds very dramatic, but it's true.

I did end up making the cut, though.

And then, another.
And another.

It didn't happen how I expected it to. It stung a lot less than I expected (or perhaps, wanted) it to, but my breathing did get a lot faster than I remembered it getting. Once, long ago, I wrote a post describing it as 'a set of fleshy white lip parting, beads of blood leaking out, eventually covering the entire canyon, and flowing out'. This time, the blood all came at once. Quickly, but steadily.
The sensation of the drops of blood streaming down my arm came as a bit of a surprise. I'd totally forgotten what that felt like.

When the blood had run its course, I washed it just the way I always did. The smell of Dettol is a real trigger for memories.

I remember so clearly when I used to do this every day, several times a day.
I don't want to fall back into that.
I hope this was just a one-time thing.

That regret's setting in, now.


All day - Staring at the ceiling 
Making friends with shadows on my wall 
All night  -Hearing voices telling me 
That I should get some sleep 
Because tomorrow might be good for something 

I'm at My Best When I'm at My Worst

Today, I realize I look better when I don't wear make up or brush my hair than I do when I spend an hour making an effort on myself. This is not me being narcissistic, by the way, it's just something my friends, my boyfriend and my mother* pointed out.

My friends came over today, and I woke up only an hour before they showed, so I didn't have time to make an effort.

This makes me wonder why I make an effort at all, and indeed, why any of us spend time preening. I realize that a lot of people genuinely look better once they're made up, of course, but what I wonder is why we all, regardless of our looks, feel an inherent need to preen.

I understand the pressure to look good, but where, along the line, does the connect between beauty and beauty products appear?

Is the advertising really that good now? Are we such hopeless slaves to the beauty sections of fashion magazines?

Do we all really believe we need our hair irons, our foundation, mascara, eye-liner, eye shadow and lipstick to be presentable to other people?

I know this post is rather scattered, but there's really just one thing I wanted to say:

I've made a decision to go au naturel. No more ironing my hair, no more dark eye make up, no more bright coloured lipstick, no more 'concealor-ing' every tiny spot on my face.

I'm at my best when I'm at my 'worst'.

* Despite everything, my mom and I have a relatively normal relationship, now.