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So, as you may or may not know I've been cutting myself since the age of 13. I've never really talked about it. That's one thing I try to keep to myself. Although I have mentioned it, just not as blunt as this.
I've been doing really good. I was going on a year without cutting. Then s**t just started to get worse and worse.
It was that day those guys called me fat when I cut again.

I never cut because I'm suicidal. That's not it. I cut to relieve stress, anger, anxiety...whatever...like the social worker said, it's my very immature way of dealing with s**t. Every now and then since that time, I would cut a little. Never deep, not much, just enough to bleed and feel better. That is until Sunday....

Sunday I hit rock bottom.

I went to work on Sunday in a good mood. Ready to make money. I NEEDED to make money. My car payment was due Saturday the day before and I wasn't even close to having it. I have a drink before work to get ready. To ease my nerves. I get out on the floor and it's dead. I go back in the back and drink more because I'm bored. I go back out and there is a small group of guys who call me over and we start talking and drinking.

I don't remember much from that night because yes, like I said, I hit rock bottom. I started doing lines of coke on the floor with these guys. Drinking, drugs, the works. I don't do drugs. For some reason that night, I just did. Not only coke, but I took a xanax and to make s**t worse, the coke was laced with METH. I DIDN'T KNOW THAT UNTIL MY URINE RESULTS CAME BACK FROM THE HOSPITAL!

I have no idea how I got home. I'm shocked my club even let me drive home. I came inside and passed out. I woke up around 2:00 AM Monday morning/Sunday night and went into the shower. I sat in there crying. Ashamed of myself for what I did. I took out my razor and just began to cut and cut and cut and cut and cut.......

I remember the water was red. Red from all the blood. I usually only cut my arms, but I cut my legs and my ankles and even my waist this time. I dunno if the drugs egged it on, or if everything just built up...I don't know. There were/are well over 100 cuts on my body. Some deep, some not, some big, some small....

I got out of the shower and look in the mirror. I look like something out of a horror movie. I look fat, I look pale, I'm bleeding, I'm crying, I'm a ******** mess. It didn't even help this time. It just makes me more ashamed. I go lay down and wrap myself in a towel so there isn't blood on the blankets.

I wake up Monday and tell Jay I need to head to the mental health place. He says okay. 6 hours later, nothing. I head home. I get in the shower and Jay sees how bad I cut myself and takes me to Mountain View Hospital. They admit me.....on a 72 hour psychiatric hold. This isn't my first time I've been on psychiatric hold. About 5 years ago I was stuck in Summerlin Hospital for the same thing.

I tell them everything. The drugs, the drinking, etc, etc...how this isn't my first time.
That s**t sucked. At least in Summerlin Hospital we had a little hallway for all us crazy people, but I was stuck in the hallway right in front of the door by the ambulance enterance. It was awful. Plus, Gage couldn't come back there. I wasn't allowed anything. I couldn't even have a fork with my meals. Only a spoon. I can't leave until I get evaluated by the social worker.

Finally, on Wednesday afternoon he came. I was so ******** happy because that was worse than jail. They didn't even do s**t for me. They didn't even bandage me up. They just sat me in a hallway, gave me a sleeping pill at night and Oh, a tetnus shot. FUN!

When the social worker told me there was meth in my system, I cried. I haven't touched that stuff in five years and the one time I do drugs, I get tested and get drugged from doing drugs. He gives me a refferal to go back to the mental health place. A front of the line pass. He tells me to go to AA. Which I agree with.
He tells me that I'm obviously very insecure and need to find a new job. DUH!

I finally get released and Jay picks me up. I get to see my Bubba. I'm so happy. I'm so tired though. So sore. Luckily, Gage sleeps okay. It was so nice to sleep next to both my babies. smile

Yesterday I get up early and head back down to the mental health place. I get right in. The psychologist guy is nice. He tells me that I'm the type of person who needs to worry. He's right about that. He can tell I'm very sensitive and antsy. He asks if I'm paranoid and I say yes. I hate people looking at me, I feel like people are talking about me. He says that I'm a sweet girl though. I appreciate that. He asks about my past drug use and I'm honest. I have used drugs in the past, but it's not a daily thing. I was clean off meth for five years. Drinking is my big thing.

I get prescribed a mood stabelizer, an antipsychotic and anti deppresant. (I obviously spelled all that s**t wrong). I dunno if it's going to work because even right now, I'm feeling anxious in this house. I'm getting grossed out and irritable. The car company called me on Wednesday asking where my payment was. I made Jay answer it. I couldn't deal with it at that moment.

I'm ashamed of what I've done. Not only to me, but to Gage. I can't even work now. I can't wear shorts or tanktops. I can't take Gage swimming for awhile. I can't go back to dancing. No way. I can't do it. I don't know what to tell the car company. I can't stop stressing about it. I can't help it. It's there in my mind. I can't be comfortable here in this house. It's dirty. I'm not a dirty person. I'm hoping these pills kick in so I CAN relax and be calm and easy going. Not a ******** nut case.

Monday, I'm going out and applying anywhere and everywhere. I need to get my life together.

Judge me if you want. I don't care anymore. I just want to get better and be the best mom possible. I know it's going to take a little time