June 2012
I’m so fucking sick of idiot children who honestly believe nobody will ever love someone who has scars, from S.I. or otherwise. It’s a remarkably false statement and incredibly discouraging for anyone with scars who believes it. There are remarkably superficial people who only care about appearance, but a relationship based on looks will never last because neither will looks. Someone worth the effort any healthy relationship requires will look past the marks on your skin and love you regardless.
Also, scars often fade. Until recently all my scars had faded to the same tone as the rest of my skin, just slightly shinier. They were more obvious to me than anyone on the outside.
My medical leave of absence from work was approved, so I’ll still have my job if I can come back by August 13. I can’t see anything major having improved by then, but maybe I’ll be surprised.
I live in the Southwest desert and it’s over 100F here daily. I do not wear long sleeves year-round regardless of how maimed my arms are. A wristband or two used to suffice to cover anything incriminating. In the last several months it escalated to anything my work uniform covered. Now I’m mad at myself that even a simple tank top makes me very self conscious. Even my own t-shirts show too much upper arm. I’ve been wearing E’s shirts when we go anywhere, for the most part because they’re baggier on me. I’m caring somewhat less, but when I see my family I still try to cover up. The adults all know about my situation, but my nieces and nephews don’t need to see me covered in angry purple scars. That would probably be the only time I cared at all if I didn’t have “DIE” on each bicep somewhere. I wanted to put it on the back of my hands, but I refrained.
When my brain was melting last night at a friend’s apartment I realized how intensely I missed hoodie weather. Everything feels safer when I almost don’t show. Maybe I should move to Alaska.
“YAY MATH!! yes, i am that much of a nerd! i did 32 integrations, and i LIKED it! and sadly, that makes me less than half done, but i don’t have to finish until tomorrow night. i was going to start reading my spanish homework, but then dennis started talking to me and if i try to do those 2 things at once i’ll end up talking to dennis in spanish. that wouldn’t be much fun for the boy. oh well, i don’t have to do that until tuesday either. this whole not having the same class everyday is kinda handy. i like it.”
I decided to peruse the beginning of my LiveJournal and found this. I believe it was just a couple weeks before I started cutting habitually. College is awesome for the socially awkward.
I hate sleep studies. A lot. At the moment I’m most bitter about the paste still on my scalp after washing my hair. It’s been dry anyway because I just dyed it, but washing it several times in one day isn’t going to help. Mmm pastey. Yuck!
Lollipop Chainsaw is quite fun, even though I had to restart on easy to make any significant progress.
I’m doing my best to maintain, but it feels like every facet of my life is on the brink of being entirely non-cohesive.
Not breaking my nieces’ and maybe even nephews’ hearts is at the top of my list of reasons to keep pushing myself forward. I love those kids more than anything, even the silly, little boy who thinks girls are bad at sports.
I’d still prefer to successfully will myself out of existence, though.
