struggles

What people don't realize or yet understand is what it takes to be Charlotte. I'm at a constant war with myself. It's like I never win. I'm struggling time after time to just breathe in and out somewhat normally. My brain striving to be this perfect model of what a normal person is and it's hard. Some days I feel like I can't do it anymore and then other days it's great.

"I'm not perfect but I keep tryin', cause that's what I said I would do from the start"

I always thought I had to be this or that or even look this way or that way to feel okay again. I'm just now finding out that no matter how hard I tell myself that no of that matters it really does.
When you are a recovering person like me from things that are hard to even admit it's sort of a reality everytime something comes up in life showing you how you aren't as perfect as everyone else or even as perfect as you thought. I know they say nobody is perfect but in my mind sometimes I find myself saying certain people are. I find myself saying that maybe I'm not enough. It's a work in progress getting better and each day I just pray I move in the right direction leaving yesterday behind and making tomorrow the best future it can be.













-Char

I wont be just another statistic on a suicide site.

I've always been the person who says how stupid it is to kill yourself. Quoting sites on the rate of suicide among the young population. I Charlotte can say here now that I've even thought of it as an option before in my life. Those thoughts were before I started saying how stupid it was.

I didn't realize until Thursday night how big of a hypocrite I was being. It's hard to accept the fact that you've spent years hating yourself for ever thinking those suicidal thoughts all those years ago and that you are in the middle of a relapse. 

I had a moment in time about 1 hour in which it all came tumbling down. I was standing in the bathroom looking at my tear stained cheeks in the mirror trying to find a way out. I was asking God how much it would hurt if I just down a bottle of pills and never looked back. I kept asking him if he would be disappointed in me. I kept asking him how long before they took affect. I didn't really want to go. I mean part of me did. Part of me just wanted the attention so everyone knew that something was actually wrong for once. I sat on my bed and all I kept thinking was 'if I do this if I just take the easy way out will you be disappointed in me? Will you hate me God? I can't do it unless I know for sure you wont hate me.'  I kept asking him if I would be able to see my grandpa and sisters. If I would be happier wherever I ended up as long as it wasn't in that particular moment.

Of course I'm still here so you know I didn't do it but I wanted to. Why? I don't know. I just felt like I was breaking. I felt like I was going insane. I couldn't breathe. That's how it started. My chest got all tight and I started to panic and I felt like my heart was going to explode. I was looking at the ceiling. It felt like suddenly everything was against me and then all of a sudden I was crying. I had my facebook open an apology to someone I once cared about with a promise to never tell anyone things written. I was ready for a goodbye.

I guess my point is I'm two down without any clue how to even say something like that to my mom. Sometimes I feel like she deserves to know but then I have flashes of me in a mental hospital and I can't do it. I feel insane sometimes. It's like I'm not even in control of my own body. 

The next day I didn't feel any better all I kept thinking was I should have just done it then I wouldn't be feeling so blah today. I could have saved myself the trouble. Saturday came and everything was different. I was in the car singing while eating an ice cream music up loud with my mom coming home and it was like nothing mattered anymore. Everything I felt Thursday was gone. My mom kept saying all day that I was really hyper. I think I was just happy. Happy that I didn't take the easy way out. 

I'll never be ready for a goodbye. No matter how much I think I'll be I wont. It's too soon. I know for sure that I'm standing here because I asked for help from God and that I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it alone and I couldn't do it because I'm not that kind of person. I don't take the easy way out.

I'm writing this because even though all that happened I've never been better. I'm actually kind of happy. I feel like a big weight was off my shoulder.

I know that I won't ever do it. I'm too afraid of death for that. I do know that I was calling my own bluff and that for that brief hour I wasn't me. I don't know who I was but that doesn't matter. I'm here. I've survived the worst and managed to find the good out of it. I wont be a statistic on a graph. I refuse to be number used to show how many do end up doing it. I'm better than that.

untitled

Sometimes I feel like someone is sitting on my chest. I feel so suffocated that it's hard to breathe. It's like the simplicity of simply breathing in and out is nearly impossible to do and when it does happen it's a hard painful struggle. It's impossible to control and it generally comes before or after a string of tears. I compare it to what death probably feels like. It's almost as if I'm buried alive.  Each gasp of air harder than the next. Each blink of an eye more blurry and tear stained.

It's impossible to recover from the harsh breathing and rapid heart racing that is taking over me. My head aching and spinning in different directions. I try to ask God to make it stop. I try to bargain with him for my breathing to turn back to normal. Bargaining for some air. It takes awhile before it calms but then again it always does. I'm not sure if it will ever stop or go away. I'm not sure if I can ever make it not happen. I've grown used to it. It's as if it has become a part of who I am. I hate that. I hate that it can control me but I have no say it.