Rock Bottom

I read someone say once that rock bottom is when you stop digging.

What does rock bottom mean to you?

Over the years I've realized the rock bottom I keep seeking is truly bottomless. Wouldn't it have been bleeding out in my bathroom floor? Trips to the ICU? The sheer number of hospitalizations or being sent to a state hospital when everyone gave up on me? The loss of people who got tired of my illness? The loss of jobs and opportunities and purpose?

So many things. I've always had a death wish, seeing how far I can go, to what extremes. I wanted something to feel like I had finally reached "Enough." Enough would mean feeling whole, complete, sick enough, close enough to death that I was scared. I have yet to get there, if it even exists.


If rock bottom is actually when one stops digging than maybe that's why I haven't reached it. I have yet to stop digging completely. Always further to fall, skin to slice, bones to see rise to the surface and pills pumped out. I have yet to feel fear and if you can't scare yourself into stopping then what does it take? It doesn't seem enough to be tired, either, because I am beyond exhausted of this Limbo. Maybe I have to want better, believe I am deserving of better. Im not there yet, not in a place of desire for more. Maybe I will never feel sick enough. Maybe I am running out of time.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

on drama

Image
Growing up I was the least dramatic. Silent, not speaking. Not expressing pain in medical procedures, learning to deny all physical pain altogether to others and then to myself. Denying wants and needs. Not expressing emotions, thoughts, feelings to anyone and then diminishing them to myself, discounting, telling them to shut up, that they weren't important, werent even real. Learning never to complain or bother or exist.  Cutting when I was in the unbearable emotional pain I told myself I had no reason to feel, a cut being a reason something was wrong, something to point to. Bandage and fix. Proof of something. No one could know. Then people knew and I got horrible reactions from medical professionals but no reaction from my family. I was bad for doing it and crazy and deeply ashamed of hurting myself. I was fucked up. Then I was screaming with it, more and more extreme and outrageous and reckless attacks on myself but then witnesses to hurt and scare to share my horror my death
Read more

Confessions of a chronic cutter

Image
Talking about cutting today in therapy, and guiltily comparing someone else's surface scratching to what I view as like, "successful,"  more extreme cutting for me, made me think of the ways that I kind of romanticize self-harm. Only for myself though. I don't wish others to harm themselves. At times I view self-destruction and damage as an almost beautiful thing. I describe gaping gashes and streaming blood in romantic words in my head, with infatuation, calling up the magical feeling of release and relief. I think of it as something special and perfect. Intimate. I daydream about different ways to cause more severe physical harm, like the times I decided to burn my arm with a metal knife heated against the stove, and pressed it, scorching my skin. That was an achievement in my world. Something I feel like I should do again, that I've been slacking. I need to push further to feel the euphoria and fulfillment. Danger is in my body. It feels so inticing. It calls t
Read more

how I have gotten here

I'm 34 years old and I've been struggling with what people call "mental illness" my whole life. PTSD, MDD, BPD, and anorexia are the labels they've settled on over the years. They, borderline personality disorder in particular, have been used to control me throughout my life, but labels don't define me anymore. As I've gotten to know myself, labels stopped being part of me, though I'd be lying if I said they don't still haunt me...damage has been done. the mental health system has hurt me as well as helped me. I'll continue getting into that in later posts. Mostly, this blog is to share my journey. I don't label myself as "in recovery" because to me that means something other than where I am now in my life as an adult. I still starve myself. I cut myself badly and frequently, struggle to get through the days. I just got out from another hospital stay just days ago. But I am working towards something like healing, if that exists. N
Read more