Cloudy with a chance of showers

My youth destroyed me. I was so loved and doted upon, called beautiful and taken care of by whoever was near. If I hadn't had all that, it wouldn't hurt so bad to be nothing now. I mean I'm nothing. Sure I'm a daughter, sister, friend, and girlfriend, but it feels empty. The last four times my sister called me it was about presents she wanted me to buy her, her boyfriend, and her son. Mom is basically bipolar, she spent my entire youth not in existence, and not that she doesn't have to take care of or deal with me, she adores me. As for being a friend and a girlfriend, I think a lot of that is just a mask for me not being lonely, them not being lonely. Life is stagnant, and hurtful. It's bills and mental abuse. Empty goals and cold homes. I distract myself from the way I feel by playing games, and pretty clothes. Nothing seems worth it. Not school, not work, not the future. I just want to be done with school so I can apply to work in the peace corps and be out of this for two years. Maybe I'm just having a bad day, but sometimes I think "This is the real me, and the rest of the time, I'm being drugged by possessions and endorphins". I miss addiction. It was the one thing I could count on.

This is what Hell is like

My whole life I have been told that every wrong move I make puts me one step closer to Hell. Guilt and fear are why I started cutting to begin with. I cut myself to escape real Hell, but was taught every time I made a cut I was putting myself at the top of the Devils list.
I can't wait to meet God and ask him what I did to deserve the life I live. I still wish I cut, I would cut two to three times a week if I could. You know the only thing stopping me? The one thing I fear more  than death, than failure, than weakness or shame. Being unattractive. I guess I can add shallow to my list of faults. I never understood why I put so my stock into my looks, every problem I've ever had is due to not being taken seriously because of my looks, or being taken TOO seriously because of my looks. I can't even put into words how much pain I'm in.
I bring up hell, because I often wonder(being a person who believes in God and the Devil) how hell compares to real life. You work your ass off,  just to barely get by, you hope that your hobbies, friends, family, and materials can keep you happy long enough to survive. But they never do. All I ever want to do is be some one worth while, succeed, be a role model for women and children. But I take one step forward, and when I finally think stability has sunk in, I fall down a flight of stairs. I went to a Christian haunted house in 2008, and walked through a scenario and saw what Hell "might" be like. It was sad, scary, and overly painful. Most of my days are the same. I don't know if I was born cynical, or just a realist...but WHAT IS THE POINT?
What do we have to look forward to? Your memories won't matter when you die, the sex you had wont matter, your paycheck won't matter where you're going, and neither will my wardrobe. So why do I go to work? Why do I smile for the people I love? Why do I pay my bills or go to school?
Because I fucking have to.
Because suicide will lead to your family and friends having a harder time, and resenting you for being so selfish. I have no choice but to live out my life and die trying to succeed. And...I, I just don't want to. I don't want to be in pain anymore. I don't want to worry anymore, it's a slow suicide that will age me quicker than my addiction to cutting.
And if you think I'm crying out for sympathy, please don't respond with it. I don't need someone to feel sorry for me, because there is no reason, lots of people have much worse lives. I just don't have a strong heart, or undying faith. I've got a tiny thread left of my nerve, and there is a rock weighing it down.
I need a friend, but I don't trust anyone. I need advice, but I've heard everything from "it will pass" to "pray". I need drugs, but won't be another statistic. I need a hug, but hate to be touched. I need therapy...but could never afford it. I need a strong drink and a dozen sleep inducing pills.

Post traumatic

So I did the entire week of just fruits and veggies, which prepared me for the Master cleanse fast. I didn't do this to loose the weight, but to get rid of the toxins that remain dormant for up to ten years. My sister is in her second round of cancer, and even her doctor said it would be a good idea for her. I know I just said I wasn't in it to loose the weight, but I have to admit, being 5lbs lighter makes me feel stronger, faster, prettier. I would've been happy with ten pounds, even though that wouldn't be healthy. I have the perfect BMI for my age and height, I need to stop judging myself. It's not good.

If you have ever considered doing a fast, I reccomend it. And not for the weight loss, and not even for the whole "removing toxins", but for learning self-control. I didn't realize I ate unhealthy until I was on the fast and recalling all the crazy things I eat in one week. It was disappointing. I have to tell you though, I was on the brink of depression while doing this fast. It turns out, if you take the food out of your life, there isn't a lot to look forward to. I'm not sure there is a whole lot of anything to look forward to normally though. But that could just be "Sunday Shannon" talking. I call my blog "40% chance of Shannon" because I never know if I will be me today. Within minutes I can let my thoughts take over, and then Shannon is as good as dead. My thoughts lead me to my past, and my past is a battlefield. Once I go there, it's hard to see past the bullets, and debri.

Sunday Shannon seems to go there more than any other day of the week. Which is strange, I like my job, and mondays are usually really good days. But Sundays feel...lonely. They feel foriegn or like an assasin, they creep up on me in a layer of black. I think what makes Sundays so bad, is that I have no one to pretend to. I am alone most of the day, and I know it sounds sad, but sometimes I need someone around so I can pretend to be happy. Usually after a few minutes of pretending, I lay down the gun of my past and step back into the present.

Can you have post traumatic stress forever? Like when things that you can't speak of happen to you, do they ever leave?

I recreate desicions in my mind, I dig up the past with a rusty shovel. Each time I bring it up and take myself there, I try to manipulate my memories and my past. It never works. My memories are stronger than I am. I try to tell myself that If I had just been a good person, nothing bad would have ever happened to me. I try to tell myself, that if my mother had not been a bad person that I wouldn't have had that same fate in store. Like she can not repay all of her sins, so the reaper put the load on my shoulders so that I would suffer in turn making her heart break for my trails. Well, I wasn't born into that type of family, her heart does not break when mine breaks. As a matter of fact, everytime I show weakness, it seems to make her even stronger. It seems to make my past stronger as well. So I can't show weakness, I must remain numb to my feelings.

I should have taken medication when all of these things happened to me. I don't advocate drugs, but if I had them, I wouldn't constantly feel so weighed down with pain. Pain is heavier than a elephant, but makes your body as frail and light as a feather. It'll get better tomorrow, I just have to make it through this day. The little engine that...could

People who are crazy tell everyone they AREN'T crazy

I wonder more often than not about women's hormones. About my feelings. I go through ups and downs quite a bit, and sometimes I wonder "are these thoughts and feeling real? Or are they lies that I am feeding myself to sabotage all that I have that is good?" I would love for my downs to just be lies and nothing more, but how can they be? How is it possible to lie to yourself? Shouldn't I be aloud to question everything? Shouldn't I be aloud to say "I feel sad" or "I feel confused"? Because I do feel those things, quite a bit. But more than any other feeling I get in life, I feel unsatisfied. I know that's a common feeling, but it eats away at me. I can never be too thin, never be too loved, never be too happy. I feel so unsatisfied, that I worry there will never be anything to make me feel whole.
When I felt this way as a child, I would cut myself.
I'm not a child. I can't do selfish crys for help anymore. Or any cry for help. Being an adult means not asking for help. It means you don't burden society with your problems and pathetic feelings. The world has no time for sadness or wanting. It slows down productivity. I search for things that get me "high",but nothing compared to cutting. I never did drugs when I was younger, and alcohol is okay, but never really needed it. I can only image that drugs feel the same as cutting. That it's something you're proud you don't do anymore, but you would give your left arm to feel that rush again (no pun intended). I look at the scars I've collected over the years, and I am sad I no longer have such perfect skin as I did before depression hit. All of the scars on my body are self inflicted with the exception of two. One on my back from falling off a horse, and the other under my chin from before I can remember. The rest, those are mine...those were a choice. And each scar was intended for someone in particular. The scissor marks on my right and left wrists that you would have to squint to see now, those where for my mother. The two on my upper right forearm, those were for "old times sake". The rest all had private destinations for people and feelings.
Right now, my feelings are borderline crazy. It's partially hormones because being a woman, means to be a little crazy; but the other half is that I am coming off of a high that I was on yesterday. Me high? No. Me, cut myself? Yes, well unintentionally. I was carrying a bookshelf by myself when it split into. The half I was still holding, with the force of me pushing up, went into my hand, into an artery and splattered blood everywhere. I told everyone I knew that I was in pain. Honestly I wasn't in pain, I was reliving that adrenaline rush that I have tried to duplicate with punching, exercise, or sexuality. For a few minutes I was panicked about all the blood, but once I figured that I didn't need the hospital or stitches, I was fine. I was great. The high lasted three, to four hours. But like all good feelings I came off of it, and I feel as I do right now. Empty. Sad. Needy.
There must be something I can do that doesn't involve a loss of blood. Eating blow fish? Hunting? I've tried to replicate it, and it just ends up frustrating me. The best thing I can do when I feel this way is sleep. When I sleep there is a sixty/forty chance that I'll wake up happy. Those are good odds when you are having an internal battle.
The battle within is much like a battle you'd see on a movie or video game. Someone wants someone to die, and someone would like to live. Well I would like to live, but part of me just wants to rip me to shreds. This is messed up right? Help me out here, If I'm not alone, I would love to know.
It seems like everyone I tell my feelings to, they nod blankly as if to say they are scared, or that I am being a baby and I need to take control of my thoughts. Thanks guys, love that support.
I'm dizzy in my thoughts, and I can't type as fast as I am thinking the words in my head. Am I rambling? Maybe If I say everything that I feel, I'll have nothing to feel sad about, and I'll be happy? That's not something I have ever tried.
I don't feel comfortable telling friends and loved ones that I think I may be crazy, and I don't think they like to hear anything that isn't smiles and giggles. And damn am I good at smiles and giggles! It's how I got through high school. It's how I broke so many good hearts. Maybe if I had just been comfortable to be more like me, and less like perfect barbie, I might have been happy. I might have hurt less people. I might have told some guys I dated that I didn't know why I dated them, that I didn't like them. I remember I didn't want to date Nathan, I just felt sorry for him, and Matt Hecox I dated him because I wanted to see what the popular crowd was like. I dated Richard because he wasn't in high school, and that was much better than being in high school. I dated Tres for real. He is a lot like me, an asshole, book snob, antisocial, rude. If I spent less time dating and worrying about how all these men saw me, maybe I would find myself beautiful.
I wonder what went wrong with me. and when?
Was there a moment I could go back to? My first kiss when I was in middle school? The first time I cut just a few months after? My first date in high school?
"If I find my way, how much will I find?"