The Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlife

I'm the priest, the confessor, the juror, the judge and exicutioner. I am nothing more than a king with a paper crown. I can't help but believe that it is my convictions that leads me to make the same mistakes time and time again. But I feel that myy convitions are all that I have. There are times that I struggle to push myself foreward because I know at the end of the day I am all I have. I've never really known what family support means or what it feels like to always have someone in your corner who truly cares about you and not what they can get from you by gaslighting you. Still to this day at 31, there are still things that I still have to tip toe around because of my mother. She tries to be involved in everything that I do and if she doesn't like it or disagrees with it in any way, she attempts to ruin it. She constantly makes messes and then runs away, claiming no responsibility for the destruction that she has caused. It's exhausting. Now that things are starting to settle down, I can start planning ahead for the future. I'm looking to move in 2-3 uears time, planning my tours and building new levels of my career. I'm looking at two new certificate programmes and keeping an eye on growing markets. I'm passionate about what I do; I enjoy making infused treats and I want to learn more about it. I almost crave learning. I've always had a curious mind. But I do worry that the goal, the dream, is not enough to help me manage my anxiety and stress. I feel like I can have nothing to myself at home. My provacy is invaded, my belongings gone through and moved. It takes almost every fibre of my being to keep control. I can feel my blood pressure rising and almost a primal rage inside me. There's only so much a person can take. It's been building for years. I've worked extremely hard to get where I am and I don't need those assholes getting in the way of my progress. I stopped self-harming. I stopped forcing myself to vomit. I stopped hitting myself. I stopped drining to the extreme. I stopped using substances that were dangerous. But there is a part of me that misses walking that fine line between life and death. I've always been drawn to death; not only as a way to perminemtly escape situations and emotons that I found to be unbareable, but because of my curiosity. Death. The great mystery. The mystery of God, faith and spirituality. I can't lie. The urge to slit my wrist is welling up inside me today. Last weekend, I saw a boz of beautiful Swedish made razor blades. I was tempted to buy then when my friend wasn't looking, stuff the package in my hoodie pocket and say nothing. I really want to cut. It's been so long...the release used to be so good. Should I? Nobody will know. It's always been my best friend, my rock, my saviour throughout my life. The scars on my stomach have faded with time. Now they peek around tattoos, twisting and turning all over my stomach and lower rib cage. If I'm going to cut this weekend, I'm going to have to cut there so that my friend doesn't notice. Old habits die hard as they say. Those are the kind of blades that are shrp and almost painless when they slice through the skin. They're the most dangerous and the most addictive. it's hard to keep control of how deep you're cutting-something you have to always be focused on if it's not the final cut so to speak. For me, it's always been a carefully constructed release. Very rarely a loss of control. So many of these moments are captured on film and paper. There is just something calming about seeing blood stain my skin or seeing my life ooze out of my skin. Maybe its the knowledge that despite the wounds I've inflicted on myself and the psychic wounds inflicted by others, I'm still alive despite it all. A strength of conviction? Something that lies beyond the physical. I decided against it after playing over the idea in my head. It didn't stop me from feeling almost a twinge of regret as we left the shop. It was nice to have the chill of the December air to distract me. I love a New England winter, especially when it snows. I have fond memories of playing in the snow as a child, spending hours outside, exploring new worlds. Part of me deeply wants to go back. I always feel a deep sadness around the holidays. It's a time of joy, love, warmth and happiness, but to me it's a time of longing. The magic of Christmas faded a long time ago and I've never really been able to get it back. I tried when I was younger with friends, but they all had their own families to celebrate with for the most part. There have been many Christmases where I sat alone in a hotel room. I don't know what I was waiting for or what I really expected. Did I want pity? Or did I want someone to show me that they actually cared about me? I know that I've never really had a true bond with anyone, I'm still reaching out, still searching. It's probably because I don't have one with either parent. My grandmother was the closest thing I had. There are times when I deeply miss her. I hope that whereever she is now, she's happy. She also had a drunk for a rather, so she could relate to some of the things I'd experienced as a child. I could tell her pretty much everything-everything except my depression. I never told her that I was suicidal or that I had attempted suicide on several occations. I knew that would crush her. And I didn't want to worry her. It's been hard for me to write lately. I've been keeping everything bottled up inside. I think it's because I've been having to keep a lot of things inside around my mother and brother that I just kind of lost my voice. This isn't the first time that my family has stripped me of a voice. They don't respect my wishes or identity, yet they pry into my personal life and rifle through my things. There are times that they make me feel ashamed to be who I am. Ashamed of my gender identity and of my sexuality. Growing up, I was afraid to express that I liked women and men. I didn't know that there was anything wrong with it until we had sex ed class when I was about 11 years old. It was a horrifying ezperience for me. Especially learning about the church's stance on homosexuality (I was in Catholic school) and I knew that the other kids would taunt me. I was already bullied. I was called ugly and was made fun of for an eye condition I had as a child. I was afraid. I didn't want to give them one more thing to make fun of me for. I was already doing my best. Trying to keep my head above water. I became hard and defensive. I still have to fall back to that old pattern of behaviour around certain people. It's hard to be open. It's hard to trust anyone. I've opened up and been gutted to the bone more than once; I can't go through it again. I don't want to go through it again, nor should I have to. I can't express any sort of homosexuality inside the house. My mother and brother make fun of it and call it a disease. I don't understand why I can't just be me. Why do they think that they have some sort of right? I would love to bring a girlfriend home, but because they fail to accept my transition and their views on everything, I can't. She would be uncomfortable and so would I-nevermind the fact that I would never hear the end of it. For the longest time, I've been ashamed and at times disgusted by my sexuality. It's only in the past year am I open about my preferences, looking forward to build a future in the sunlight, rather than the shadows. I don't know what the next year will hold, but I'm hopeful. I'm starting to meet a few new people and I'm just at the point where they just need to get over themselves. I'm a grown adult. I don't want to be ashamed anymore. There is no need to be ashamed anymore. On my blog and my socials is the only place I felt comfortable for a long time, but now with new friendships I'm able to feel comfortable more often. I know it's unrealistic, but I don't want it to end. I just want to hold onto that comfortable familiarity for a little while while I continue to build a future for myself. I hope that that I'm actually building a friendship with people who actually care about me. Usually, the fun and the novelty wear off when I can no longer provide the person with something. They slowly fade out of my life. I don't have very many good friends. More often than not I feel disconnect from everyone around me. I feel like I'm the person on the outside of the glass looking in. I'm close enough to touch, but not close enough. I've felt this my entire life. I wonder if there will come a point when this changes? Despite all the work that I've put in over the past year, I feel as if there is still so much more work to be done. There is never enough time. Some days I am so exhauted by everything that I could sleep for days. I can only hope that the salt air of Aruba will help me to rejuvinate and prepare for the new year ahead of me.