Well, this would be my first blog entry here, though it is most definately the first one about what I do. I know that this online thing is about prevention and stuff, and as I read through other posts, I realize how much stuff is really out there. How many of us there are.

I don't have anorexia, bulimia. I don't have OCD, nor any other medically defined issue. I have hypergraphia, but that's a different story. It has nothing to do with this.. whatever it is.

A little about me: I come from a loving family. I go to church every sunday and have a grounded faith in the Triune God. I am lutheran, though I make references to mythology as if I believe in the greek and roman gods. You can thank Disney for that. I have lots of friends at a small, private lutheran high school in MN. I've never been abused. My family is rich by no means, but we aren't really in debt either. I am in speech (serious prose) and I have top grades. I am not pressured to do drugs or drink by anyone really, nor am I pressured to be perfect. Basically, I lead a seemingly wonderful life.

So what's wrong with me?

That's the question that I really secretly know the answer to. My problem is love. My problem is hearbreak-- not always the romantic kind, but the frienship kind as well. My problem is defined by no other words but love, and disappointment. In others, but also in myself. In this very life I live.

An excerpt from a few days ago in my journal, also found on my xanga site: 

"So lately, I've been involved in Anne Marie's life. Mainly because of the fact that if I wasn't, there is an excellent chance we'd both be dead.

You see, if we didn't have each other, I sometimes think we'd have nothing. Any normal person would look at us and say: we both have loving families, pets, friends, and congregations that would support us. And yet, none of it seems to matter when you're sitting alone, crying in the dark. None of it seems to really fix anything.

We are both clinically depressed. Me more than her, but we both have it. We deal with it different ways; my cutting, and her anorexia. We think that no one knows, but that is a small lie. I can name two people for each of us that have an idea. Emma, and the Melhouses. God bless them both. But they really don't stop it; Emma went to the dean of my small, private lutheran high school. There are about 300 of us in the entire school--9-12 grade. Guess how long rumors take to spread. Most of my teachers know that there is someone in our class that is cutting, and most of them know it's me. At least, we think so. They either think it is me, or Sarah T, who's mother is very worried about that stuff for no reason but too worry. Her mother has talked to the dean about cutting before, so we think that maybe the teachers think it's her who's doing it, and not me. Which, I'm sorry Sarah, would be awful but wonderful for me.

My family doesn't know. My mother may suspect, but in any case, has never confronted me about it. Anne's mother has multiple times commented on her weight loss. Both of our mother's believe they know what's going on.

Ha.

My arm is not the only place that tells, nor Anne's weight loss. No. There are other things, too. The unmentionables.

And all through this, we lead a pretendingly happy life among our friends. Then again, that would be true if we knew which ones were really our friends, and which ones hated us {that's only an appliance to me-- Everyone pretty much likes Anne. Just compare our crush cans.} In any case, we are not happy people.

"A chemical imbalance in the brain." That's us; that's me. The girl who wants to take drugs and alcohol and have as much as she can-- the one who wants to take her life. That's me. I've never gotten drugs. I refuse to let myself drink at age 15. I would end up at a treatment center before I'm legally able to drink in the first place. It would be too easy, and it would be too fast.

So I sit here, typing until my fingers go numb. It is a cold winter in Minnesota this year, and I refuse to cover up for the certain fact that it won't matter to anyone whether I really do or not. I think about everything that is happening-- how Anne thinks I've gone for what, 15 days? without cutting. How misguided that is. How I've lost more blood within the last 70 hours than every before. How much it hurts, but how good it feels. We are talking about suicide and anorexia and cutting and "chemical imbalances." We're talking about Anne and I.

What we aren't talking about it the beautiful crimson red blood flowing in the shower. The ribs poking through the seemingly transparent skin. We aren't talking about the weight lost, or the blood gone. We're laughing, we're pretending to laugh when we are hurting more than we ever have before. And we both know it."

And that's my life pretty much right now. Just thought I'd post something today. Something to make someone understand. Love you all,

Alyssa Bg.