30 Day Self-Harm Challenge: Day 4

Day 4: Do You Consider Yourself Addicted?  Why or Why Not?

Addiction is something that runs deeply in my family.  I've already blogged about that a few times.  But the addictions that run in my family are drug or alcohol addictions.  Nobody really had an addiction to cutting.  

I would honestly have to say that, yes, I am addicted.  A lot of people think that self-harmers are addicted to the pain.  In my case, that is not true.  After a while, the pain kinda stopped.  It was the adrenaline rush.  It's better than roller coasters or driving way too fast.  The closest thing I can compare it to is getting a tattoo.  It feels about the same as far as pain and adrenaline.  The crash is... Amazing.  It's the best sleep I've ever had.  There were times when I would cut just so I could sleep.

I would definitely consider myself as being addicted to cutting.  Even now I crave it.   I want to feel the rush and the crash.  

I really don't have much more to say about my addiction.  It's pretty self-explanatory.

Scooter Out.

30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 3

Day 3: What Is Your Motivation To Recover?

I truly believe that recovery is a life-long process that begins from the first moment we decide to put down the blade (or whatever else you use to self-harm).  It is a daily decision that you make in your subconscious to be stronger than the shit that life throws at you.  It may be 1, 5, 10, or even 20 years since that last time you self-harmed, but that temptation is still just as sweet.  I was at my 2 year mark the last time I slipped on my recovery path.  Five new scars later, I'm on about the 1 month mark now.  Not something I'm too proud of but it happens.

My motivation to recover (or to continue recovering) isn't another person.  A lot of people say "oh well my *insert important person here* wants me to stop.  You people are fooling yourselves.  You can't stop doing something this addictive unless YOU want to.  Everyone around you will want you to stop, but at the end of the day, it is YOUR decision and yours alone.

My motivation isn't to "inspire and awe people" or to "use my story to help others".  If I inspire, okay.  If I don't, okay.  If I help someone because of what I did, okay.  If I don't, okay.  I don't care either way.  If you start on a path motivated by wanting to help other people by using your own experiences, you're setting yourself up for a lot of disappointment.  Sure, you can you some of the shit you've done, seen, or been through, but every one's life is different.  No body's life will mirror yours to the point where you can say "this worked for me and it WILL work for you".

Now that we've covered what my motivation to recover is not, let's cover what it IS.

My motivation is the woman I see when I look in the mirror.  The person that dwells within my heart and my soul.  My motivation is me and me alone.  I made the decision to recover because I knew that I was on a destructive path.  I made the decision to recover because I wanted to better myself and I still do want to better myself.  I made the decision to recover because I fucking wanted to.  That's it.  It really is that simple.

You see, in my short time I've spent on this earth, I've learned that you can't spend your life bending to the whims and desires of other people.  You have to be who you truly are and feel hoe you truly feel.  You have to put yourself first sometimes.  As a society, we believe that it's selfish to put yourself first, but you can't to a damn thing for anyone else if you're not taking care of your own shit.  If I were to want to be a counselor, but I was still self-harming, that would make me a hypocrite.  I fucking hate hypocrites.  They're the worst type of scum on this earth.

My motivation to recover from my 11 years as an active self-harmer is this woman right here:

If that's not a good enough reason, then I don't know what is.  The life I was given is precious and short.  I'm not going to waste it by destroying myself.

Scooter Out.

30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 2

Day 2: What Part Of Your Body Is Most Affected?

Welcome to day two of my 30 day Self-Harm challenge.  Today will be one of the easier days so hopefully we can all get through this with as little agony as possible.  Here we go...

The part of my body that was most affected by my self harm was my wrists/arms.  My legs were also pretty bad.  But predominantly it was my wrists.  I don't know why, because they weren't particularly easy to hide, but that's just where I liked doing it the most.  Winter was my favorite season because I had an excuse for wearing long sleeves.  I never wear shorts.  Ever.  Even in the heat of the summer I sport jeans.  So my leg cuts were simple to hide.

I also cut other places.  My stomach.  My chest.  My upper arms.  A few times on my calves.  I even cut my face once.  Don't ask why.  I wasn't of a proper mind at that time.  

Now most of my scars are healed over and gone.  The ones on my thighs are still visible along with a few on my arms.  There was on on my left wrist that was actually a suicide attempt.  I that the word "Love" tattooed over it.  Now you can't even see the scar.

There it is.  In all it's tattooed glory.

 

 

I have a lot of history in my scars.  A few people (my doctor mostly) have asked if I ever wanted something to make them go away permanently.  My answer has always been no.  My scars tell a story.  If we forget the past, it can repeat.  I don't want that darkness to come back into my life.  I love my scars.  Without them, I wouldn't be the woman you all know and love today.

 

 

 

Scooter Out.

30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 1

Hey everyone!  This going to be my first challenge that involves subject matter that I'm passionate about, but a different topic every day.  So I guess we'll see how it goes!

 This is an actual picture of my wrists from when I was 13

30 Day Self Harm Challenge: Day 1 - How Long Have You Been Self-Harming and Why Did You Start:

First off, I want it known that I no longer self harm.  At least not actively.  I slip on a rare occasion, my most recent one I already posted about.  But I don't consider myself an "active" self-harmer.

I began self-harming when I was 11 years old.  I was in middle school.  All through my school career, I was picked on and bullied.  I had no friends in middle school.  None.  I was a book worm and a nerd with braces and clothes my mom still picked out.  I was overweight, had a bowl-cut, and did i mention the braces??  I was pretty much the butt of every prank and joke the middle-school bullies pulled.  

One day, it was particularly bad.  Mom had made me wear this pair of overalls with Sylvester and Tweety Bird on them.  NOT the thing you wear to middle school when you're already being picked on.  But I wore them.  Well, a girl in my class had put ketchup in my seat at the lunch table.  To this day, I still won't sit down without looking.  Well I sat and ketchup went all over my ass and when I stood up... You get the picture.  Half the cafeteria got a great laugh before I was able to get to the bathroom.  My teacher wouldn't let me go to the office to call my mom to bring me a new pair of pants.  Then a little boy kept following me around singing "Ella Ella Ella doo-doo stain!!!"  It was mortifying.

That same day, I was in art class.  Still with ketchup on my ass.  Kids were still laughing at me.  I started crying.  Which attracted laughter like blood attracts piranhas.  I ran out of the classroom and into the bathroom.  It took me a minute to realize that I still had the Exacto knife I was cutting clay with in my hand.  I barely thought about what I was doing before I drug it across my wrist for that first sweet time.  The release was instant.  I did it again.  And again.  And again.

I sat and let the blood drip to the floor and cried.  It hit me what I'd done and the pain set in.  Eventually I stopped the bleeding, pulled my sleeves down and went back to class.  I never knew that was the first day of an addiction that ran rapid over my life for the next 11 years.  

I cut when I was depressed, mad, sad, sometimes for no reason at all, just so I could have the adrenaline rush and the crash that followed so I could sleep at night.  It was a major part of my life for so long that I still think about it and even crave the feel of the blade biting through my flesh.  

There are a lot more reasons why I continued cutting for so long.  A few of the big ones were because I hated the fact that I was realizing that I was attracted to women and I was punishing myself.  I was morbidly depressed and unmedicated.  I hated pretty much everything about my life and I blamed myself for anything and everything that went wrong.  As did my mother, so that didn't help much.

There are other reasons, but the list is really long.  Looking back on it some of the reasons were stupid.  But we all do stupid things in our young age.

So this challenge should be interesting.  Fair warning though to any of my readers... Some of these topics and the things I write about may be graphic.  They may also be a trigger.  So be wary.

Scooter Out.

Holy Shit Honey Boo-Boo

I'm sure all of you have heard about the brain-dead sensation that's sweeping the nation.  It goes by the name Honey Boo-Boo.

This child is a 7-year-old pageant girl with a loud mouth, vicious gas, and (according to the TV show she now has) bad breath and NO manners.  She is 100% proof of my idea that people should be forced to undergo IQ testing before they are allowed to procreate.  This child is a disgrace to the word "Southern".

Now, normally, I will claim being Southern, as well as boast about it, but this entire family makes me embarrassed to be Southern.  Here are a few reasons why:

WHO THE FUCK SAYS THAT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION?????  Actually.... Who the fuck says that AT ALL????

......................................Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.  Whatever helps you sleep at night.

I couldn't find an actual gif of the actual family actually doing this but.... They call this their "Local Department Store".  Apparently, they dumpster dive as a family quite often.  The appalling thing here is that Honey Boo-Boo admitted on national television that all of her clothing comes from the dumpster.

The way that these people look with pride on mediocrity and stupidity frightens me.  Is this what Americans really enjoy?  To be able to watch some of the stupidest people on the planet all act like retards and fart on TV?  Does anyone ever think that by giving this family their own show, this kind of behavior is being ENCOURAGED????

Moms, answer me this....  Would you rather your daughter grow up a bit of a quiet plain Jane who is smart and goes on to do something credible and useful with her life or would you rather raise a Honey Boo-Boo and think to yourself as you try to sleep at night "Well, she's not smart, polite, well-mannered, or clean, but at least she's a pageant girl!!"  Take your pick, moms.  

Our nation is running fast towards applauding families like this and shunning those that are filled with intelligent human beings.  

I'm JUST SAYING.....  Legalize mandated IQ testing before people are allowed to procreate.  DO ITTTTTT!!!!!

By the way....  With her volume and stupidity, this child would be useful for one thing that immediately comes to mind..... Zombie Bait.

Scooter Out.

Hello, My Name Is Jaded

Jad·ed [jey-did] adjective - worn out or wearied, as by overwork or overuse.

Once upon a time, I had a lot of faith in humanity and people.  I was able to give my heart and my love freely.  I took being hurt in stride.  I got up, shook it off and moved on.  But I swear to you that I don't lie or exaggerate when I say that every single person who was supposed to be there for me and promised me that they would has let me down.  I mean everyone.  My parents, lovers, friends... Everyone.

I don't trust easily.  When I give my trust and it is broken it can take years until that person gets it back.  If they ever do.

Within the past week I have been hurt by other people.  I have been let down, abandoned when I was in need, cried, and even cut myself.  My heart is tired and my soul is weary.  What am I supposed to do?

When a person is constantly hurt they eventually become cold.  I'm so afraid that I feel that coming on in my life.  I don't want to be cold and unfeeling but if I continue down the path of constant emotional beatings, I know I will be.  I'm not even sure if writing helps anymore.  I used to be able to turn out a few poems, put my feelings on paper, and I would feel a bit better.  Now it just doesn't seem to help the way it once did.

I figure that maybe something is wrong with me.  I know that I am emotionally unstable.  I'm on medication, but I'm not sure it's helping at all anymore.  I mean.... I cut myself this week.  How is that medication helping if I'm doing that?  I swear there is something wrong with me.  I know there is.  There has to be.  

I want to publish a few poems I've turned out recently.  Maybe that will help someone, anyone, understand enough to offer me the sound advice that I can somehow give to other people but can't seem to come up with for myself.

Gauntlet

My head and heart are fighting

Anxiety ripping through my skin.

The old familiar feelings

Flooding through my veins again

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight...

If wishes really came true

My heart would win this fight.

Screaming on the inside

While holding the outside together.

The perfect mask of serenity

I've been wearing for forever.

My love for you prevails, 

But what problems will it fix?

Can I just stand by

While you continue to scratch the itch?

Lack of control

Doesn't mean lack of strength.

How much time will pass

Before we see this to length?

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight...

If wishes really came true,

You wouldn't be fighting this fight.

Denial runs deep

In both of our hearts.

You cling to your hope

While mine slowly departs. 

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight...

If wishes really came true, 

I'd wake up this night.

The blackness creeps in

As I struggle for air

Screaming out to the nothingness

In the pit of my nightmare.

The sun creeps over the horizon

As reality sinks in.

The time has come for you and I

To face the gauntlet again.

 

 

Let's See 

You said you'd take a broken heart for her.

Let's see how true that turns out to be

When you're laying on the floor

Clutching your eyes as if to push those acidic tears away.

Let's see how long you'll last

When emptiness launches it's attack

When it finally hits you that you're alone

That you've let go of your heart

So that see can beat happily away

While you are left pathetic, cold, numb;

But not numb, just wanting to be.

You drown yourself in a forbidden ecstasy.

That fire in your lungs won't help you.

That alcohol coursing through your veins won't do.

It's not enough.

Nothing is or will be.

Can't you see? 

You're not so strong...

Not for yourself anyway.

You'll be Hercules for her

But in the end when you're alone,

It's like all the circles of Hell have crushed you.

Especially that without hope...

But you've never needed God, have you?

Religion won't help either...

Don't turn into a hypocrite.

All that will do,

If anything at all will give you time.

Time for your shattered heart to heal

More deformed than before and more jaded

Than any bashing has left you.

So let's see how you plan to keep your promise.

After all...

Loyalty has served your scattered spirit well.

 

 

River

The ropes have been unbound

Drowning

The thickness fills mu lungs

Sinking

The sound of her voice still haunts

My feet touch bottom

The pressure crushes me

Her voice still rings in my ears

Fingers on my skin

Breath on my neck

Hands in my hair...

Blackness.

Sweet unconsciousness sets in

I lose myself

She follows

Breakthrough...

Air passes my lips and I taste life

Screams erupt from me

And tears from my eyes

She possesses me.

Teeth in my heart

A knife in my back;

No resistance can stop her.

Crawling

The moonless night holds me

The ground is my bed

I'm falling....

Slipping....

Gone.

Sleeping the sleep of the dead.   

 

Scooter Out. 

Stone Walls and Barbed Wire

Upon reading the title of this blog, you probably think it has something to do with prison or jail.  You're wrong.  Stop assuming.

When I was 2 years old, I had my heart broken for the first time... My dad left.  He went away and I thought it was something I'd done.  He swore he'd come back for me, and never did.  I didn't see him again for another 2 years.  But I waited for him... 

When I was 8, my grandmother died.  I didn't know she was even that sick until she was dead.  

When I was 16, my first love blindsided me with the first taste of romantic heartache that I'd ever felt.  Needless to say, I was a bit of a mess for a while after that.

Shortly after that, I was in a severely abusive relationship with a guy because I was trying not to be gay.  I was at the height of my depression and self mutilation.  Once I he cracked a few of my ribs with his truck, I broke things off with him.  I still have scars on my face from that.

I've been broken up with and cheated on and hit and screamed at and called every dirty mane in the book by people who have claimed to love me.  

I've also grown very accustomed to seeing my mother and step-father screaming at each other.  So I haven't exactly had the greatest of examples in the relationship department.

Lately, I have found myself on the doorstep of what I'm terrified to even think of.  I met a woman.  She is beautiful, smart, funny, strong, and overwhelmingly sexy.  We have so much in common it's not even funny.  She gives me butterflies.  But I'm so terrified to even attempt to cross the line into a relationship.  I like her, but she's WAY out of my league...  I'm so afraid of being hurt again.  I honestly don't know if my heart can take it.

I'm almost 23 years old.  I'm ready to find The One.  The person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.  I'm ready to settle down.  Ready for that True Love.  Yet, I'm so bloody jaded, that I can't bring myself to consider another relationship.

I want more than anything to find someone who has the determination and the love for me to bring down the stone walls and barbed wire around my heart.  I don't really know how to let people get close to me.  Everyone I've ever let close has either left or died.  I know the whole dying thing happens, but it's still shitty.

I want to let this woman close to me, truly I do.  But I honestly don't know how, and I'm so afraid of being hurt that my brain keeps saying "Is it even worth the risk".  My heart wants so much to believe in this woman.  To believe that she could maybe be the one to bring down my walls.  But what if she's not up for the task?  I'm not quite sure she knows what she's getting into with me....  But she seems confident.  And she seems to like me, too.  :)

What on earth can I do to conquer this insane fear of mine?

Scooter Out.

How To Tell When Scooter Has Had A Shitty Day

It never ceases to amaze me how the woman who has known me since I was still swimming around in her uterus can't seem to grasp when I've had a bad day or when I'm in a bad mood.  

She seems to think that if I don't talk a lot, or I yell at the dog to shut up when she's been barking for 2 hours non-stop, I'm automatically in a bad mood.  That's not true.  I'm not particularly verbose anyways... At least not at home.  I learned long ago that talking a lot at the house is a bad idea.  

My mother and I are too different to have conversation that doesn't include yelling.

Anyways, I decided to make up a little list for my devoted blog followers so you don't end up on the wrong end of my temper.

Top Five Ways To Tell That Scooter Has Had A Shitty Day:

• I come home from work with either alcohol, ice cream, or both.  Stress eating at its finest to me means a pint of ice cream and a cheap bottle of wine.  When you see these things in my hand as I enter the door after work, you might want to steer clear of me for a while.

 

• As soon as I get home, I retreat to my bed or my shower.  Either of those mean that I'm trying to relax.  When I need to relax, it means... I'VE HAD A BAD DAY!!!!

 

 

• If I tell you that I've had a bad day or that I'm in a bad mood.... Guess whaaat???  

 

• If I petition you for sex.  I normally don't behave in such a manner.  But when I'm stressed the fuck you, I WILL maul you with my vagina.  I have no qualms doing so either.  So if I offer, you better jump on board and prepare yourself for the wild ride you're about to take.  You may not be so lucky to be exposed to my awesome snatch again.

• Did you just TELL me that I'm in a bad mood???  Well, guess what... I AM NOW AND YOU'RE IN MY FUCKING WAR PATH!!!!!

So.... Now you know.  Any of those warning signs means that the volcano is close to eruption and evacuation is probably the thing you want to do if you value your life.

 

On the upside, after half a bottle of wine, things become funny again.  After the whole bottle.... I feel warm, fuzzy, and desire human contact.  Usually in the form of sex.

 

 

 As of right now.... Things are funny.  I think I need to dig deeper into that bottle...

Scooter Out.

 

What Movies and Books Have Done To My Brain

I love to read.  I like to watch movies, too, but not quite as much.  Through the years, I've read some fantastic books and seen some amazing movies.  But some of those books and movies may or may not have warped my fragile little mind

Let me elaborate...

Harry Potter has been making me wish that I were a witch since I read the very first book at age 9.  

Twilight made me wish I could run super fast and be super strong.

The Hunger Games made me want to learn to shoot a bow.

Reading Sherrilyn Kenyon novels.... Honey you don't even wanna know what that makes me want...  If you wanna know, read her books.  I HIGHLY recommend them.  

 

Then there are various other books and movies I've read throughout the years.  If I had all the wishes that I wished from reading, I'd have an ass-load of amazing abilities and powers and all the sex I ever wanted.

I've often wondered if other people have this problem, or if it's just those of us who read excessively or watch movies or whatever the case may be.  Is it a girl thing or an active imagination thing?  Or is there just something a bit....off....in my brain?

Sorry if this kinda stupid.  I'm just off on a bit of a tangent right now.  :P

Scooter Out.

I'm The Sober One Having Fun!

First off, I'm not dead.  I took a bit of a hiatus because my life went to Stress Level 11.  No offense to my rabid readers.

So, I wanna talk about alcohol, yet again.  It's been suggested by a few people my age that because I'm not your normal 22-year-old drunken party animal, that I'm a stick-in-the-mud.  Well, I assure you I AM NOT!!  I will go out and dance, both on floors and on tables and be completely sober!  What can I say... Table dancing is fucking epic.

 

By the way.... Fair warning, this is going to be a GIF heavy blog.  :P  AND I DON'T OWN ANY OF THEMMMM!!!!!

Anyways... Multiple people have tried to get me drunk.  Or even tried to get me to smoke pot.  Let me just throw this right out there.... I have no desire to be puking my guts out and feeling like shit the next morning because I decided to drink half my weight in whiskey.  I love whiskey, and I do drink, but I exercise control.  Lots of it.  Except when it comes to sex....  

 

And, no, I've never smoked pot, either.  I'm neither Cheech, nor Chong.  I'm Ella.  And Ella doesn't desire to smoke pot.  I've smoked 3 cigarettes in my life, and I hated it.  It made me smell bad and made me nauseous and gave me a headache.  I won't even go down the road of the coughing fits.  So I decided that it was SO not worth the damn trouble.

Let me kinda go back and explain why I don't drink that much....

I come from a long line of alcoholics.  I have an addictive personality so I just don't feel the need to cross that line.  I'm already crazy enough.  Let's not add a drinking problem to that, okay?  Thanks!

I have a friend that was slipped a roofie in a drink that some guy bought her in a bar.  Thank God she had enough sense to call her sister to come get her instead of going home with that creep.  I feel a "you could have been dead in the ditch" speech coming on here.... That I think I'll skip.  You all get it.

One of my best friends in high school was gay.  VERY gay.  He's the reason why there is now a written rule at my old high school that states that male students can't wear make-up.  He was dating a soldier a few years back.  Well, this soldier was VERY in the closet.... Thanks to that whole "Don't Ask Don't Tell" bullshit.  Thanks, Prez.  I owe you one for that. Anyways, the soldier's friends found out.  They waited outside the bar where my friend did drag shows on Friday and Saturday nights.  They grabbed him, drug him into an alley, and brutally beat him to death.  They were all drunk.  What did they get?  A dishonorable discharge from the military and 5 years in prison each.  Gotta love the American judicial system.  Sadly, back then, that didn't qualify as a hate crime.

I've been hit by enough drunk males.  Period.

So, I have my reasons.  I don't care if some people think I'm lame or dull or whatever.  I know I'm not, so fuck them and their stupid opinions.

And if you don't know me well enough to know that I'm not boring, ask the people I've shared a bed with...  Or who has seen me dance on a table...  Or has gone to a bar with me.  Lol.  I'm only boring at work, and I get paid to be that way, so I can do it.  It's hard, but I can do it.

So for those of you out there who don't drink or don't drink much, YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!  You've got to stand for something, or you'll fall for anything, so stand up for what you believe in, even if you're standing alone.

Besides, if you're on my blog, then you're among friends.  :)

Scooter Out.

America: Land Of The Free And Home Of The Offended

So... I thought I would use the excuse of our nation's birthday to mention that political correctness is kinda fucking us up.  At least... That's what I think.

The First Amendment gives all Americans the right to free speech.  But as political correctness grows and grows and more and more people become offended over trite things.  To me I suppose it doesn't matter if someone calls me "white" or "caucasian" or whatever the fuck else you can call a white person.  I know what I am and I really don't give two shits what other people call me.  But, then again, that's just me.

I'm not saying that it's okay to insult people. I'm just saying that it's silly to dwell on whether or not someone is "black" or "African American". (side note - I think an "African American" is someone who IMMIGRATED DIRECTLY TO THIS COUNTRY IN THEIR LIFETIME from Africa.  Just like an Irish American is someone who immigrated from Ireland.  Or any person who came to this country from another.  Period.)

You can't say anything without offending someone.  You can't say Merry Christmas.  Now it's happy holidays.  Why?  Cause not everyone celebrates Christmas.  You can't say Happy Birthday, cause there are certain religions where people don't celebrate their birthdays.  You can't say black or Indian, or Mexican or gay or poor or rich or any other damn thing that might rub one person that wrong way.  This country has become so caught up with the petty bullshit, that we've forgotten what originally made our country great.  Helping each other.  Loving our fellow man or woman.  Fighting for a common cause to grow and be, not the country that most other countries can't stand, but the one that others strive to be like.

We've lost sight of the most important things... That All Men Are Created Equal.  ALL.  Not just this group or that group.  ALL.  All citizens of this country should be given the same rights.  The right to marry and grow as a family and worship whatever god they feel is there without that fear of someone saying "oh, no honey!  You're wrong!  This is MY way and MY way is the ONLY way and I'm right and if you don't do this then you'll face an eternity in HELLLLLLLLLLL."  Well, fuck you too, then.

 

 I just don't get all the whole politically correct shit.  I really really don't.  Not a bit.  Oh well.  Perhaps one day someone will actually give me an explanation that makes sense.  And doesn't involve the words "oh well this person or that group of people might be upset or offended if you do this or say that."

Scooter Out.