I Remember (1)

I remember the way your hair smelt of smoke.

I feel...

Dirty, used, broken, annoying, stupid, dark, sad, lonely, scared...I wish I knew how to control such emotions. It would come in handy quite often. Social situations would be much easier for me to tackle.

I had a really bad dream last night. He was there in my bed, lying on his side looking at me, he said he was glad he sold me. I blinked and he was gone. I had just fallen asleep again when the phone started ringing. I got up and answered it. It was her this time. She said I was worthless and that I would be better off dead. she said that I was dirty and that nobody would ever love me. I blacked out.

Brei must've been out because my head was fuzzy and there was blood on the floor. I had hit my head on the counter top when I fell. I stood up and clicked the redial button on the phone. It was my therapist and she kept saying that she was sorry. I don't know why. Then again, I don't usually understand human interactions.

Dif-tor heh smusma

Sylar

Vacations

My therapist is on vacation and it sucks. I don't know who to ask about things. I don't trust just anybody with these kinds of questions but I'm getting desperate. It scares me.

stupid.

I messed it up. Again. She's going to hate me forever. 

therapy

I don't understand how everybody expects me to be better after the tinniest bit of therapy. How they expect me to come home a changed man. How they expect me to wake up a new person. I just don't understand. It took years to make me this way so it only makes sense that it would take years to turn me back into the person I used to be...I don't remember who that is though...Adlar? Gabriel? Me? Me of course. I'm the cause of everybody's problems.

I'm supposed to be a girl. Mom said so. I'm supposed to be a girl because otherwise they won't love me...they'll send me away. Nobody loves me and no one ever will. I'll just stay here. Trapped forever. I was trapped as a boy, why shouldn't I be now? Nothing's changed. 

She says I'm getting better but I find it so hard to believe her. I'm so tired. 

the title of this blog doesn't make any sense...

I don't know what else to call it but none of this is 'in the past' it's more of a 'me writing whatever is on my mind' before I go to bed or whenever.

I'm shrinking myself.

I've been having urges again. I hate that I can't do anything about them. I don't like being so powerless.

She says this is normal...that it's just a phase. It doesn't feel like a phase. 

I've been having suicidal thoughts again. Just want it to stop. I wish I could do something to make it go away, but of course I'm too weak as usual.

I wish people wanted me...for something, anything really. It feels nice to be wanted. Sometimes I think Peter is not enough. That....that I need more then that. It's stupid, I know. 

Gabriel has been cutting again. I don't like it when he does this. It makes Peter so angry with me. He made me do bad things in the shower...I didn't mean to make him mad. Maybe I'll write about it on my other blog but I just want this one to be about thoughts and stuff. 

My biological mother has set up an appointment to meet me. I don't know how I feel about that. I feel like she's trying to mess with my mind. I feel like she won't like me, won't like how I talk, won't like how I look, won't like how I'm not straight...sometimes I wish I was, but then I think about what it would be like without him, sad, lonely, depressing. 

I don't know.

I don't know

Hospital...

Death...

Pills...

Suicide...

Words...

Goodbye...

Too late...

I just want to sleep...

I was expecting to see some results now since its been almost two months, but I suppose that was  wishful thinking at its finest. I still kick and hit and bite in my sleep...I just want to be able to sleep. That's all. Is it really all that hard?? 

I don't know. Everything seems so much stupider when I write it down. 

I'm sick.

I'm so sick and tired of my parents thinking that they can just come on over and 'visit' whenever they want. They said they didn't want anything to do with me one minute and then the next they're acting like we're best friends. Which we sure as hell aren't. 

Have they never heard of this new thing called telephones? 

Argh. Now I'm too frustrated to sleep. 

They act like they're doing me a favor by visiting! Like I can't meet anybody else, like I need them!! I'm so tired of people acting like I need them to live. As if I'm so dependent on them that I couldn't go the whole week without them. 

Another thing I'm sick of is people thinking me and Peter are together because of sex! We don't even have sex! I haven't had sex with him in a very very looooong time. Whenever we....attempt...I end up doing some fairly strange things; puking, kicking, yelling, screaming, smacking his head against the wall (trust me, that one was really bad), punching, hitting, biting, slapping, and there's always the emotional roller coaster that follows. 

How shallow would you have to be to be with someone just for sex? 

I can't write for shit anymore...

My good deed of the day...

Not kicking my mother in the head.

What happened?

What happened to me?

I used to be so…different…

I don’t know what happened.

Deciding to journal again, and see how that works out, I can’t seem to write for shit anymore, reading over my old journal/diary stuff is actually painful to see how good it was, even if I can still pick it apart and it sucks, but…there was still good stuff there, I can barely write more than a page any more and I don’t like it.

And my therapist says journaling is a good thing right?

So, I hope to write at least a little something here every day/week for however long it takes. Even if it’s just about my life or whatever. Something. Even if it’s nothing but me tearing myself down, I need to get into the habit of writing, and perhaps I’ll have something to show for it when I’m done.

Ring around the Rose

I've been remembering more. Things I don't want to remember...I forgot these things for a reason. 

I hurt him again

I had another…night terror. It was like all the others,  Peter and I are together, alone, and we're—sharing our feelings for one another. We're—kissing, touching, and Peter is murmuring to me, telling me that he…loves me. And then...then it changes. It always changes and…and they are there. They take me away, and Peter stands by and encourages them. I fight; I try to get away, but there are too many of them, and Peter does nothing; he stands back and laughs...and they take me; they hurt me, while he watches and enjoys it.

Only this time it was different...yet the same, if that makes sense. 

Peter stepped away, a smirk on his face, his eyes hard and cold, empty of the light of love  that had been in them only moments before. “Take him.” He nodded to a group of shadowy figures. “Do what you want with him; he can take it. This useless freak is tough.”

“Peter…” I reached out a hand (as I always seem to do) and Peter took another step back, his face filled with revulsion.

 

“Peter, no!” The figures stepped forward, blocking Peter from my sight, hard, cold hands started grabbing me, painfully wrenching my arms, bruising flesh. With the last of my strength, I lashed out, striking, fighting, even though I knew it was useless, knew that they would win, that my cries of pain would fade because they would win; they would take me and use me and...

And then I woke up...Peter was bleeding on the floor. I hurt him. Again. 

Why am I so violent?