The Original Fake Audrey.

 Mental Profile

Oh wow where to start, let’s just give you a brief summary…there was cutting, bulimia, depression, obsessive compulsive disorder, anxiety, insomnia, bipolar disorder, panic attacks, almost suicide attempts, and then the newest one of eating disorders. Welcome folks to the infamous infinite lists of mental defects. It was all I used to talk about for a reason… now lets take a long and painful walk down memory lane. You be the judge of my level of insanity after reading this whole thing.

Here it goes, my inter therapist ready to come out. –Now in reflecting mode- Alright so it started with the summer of going into eighth grade. My sister was going to Italy , my other sister was going to New York , my brother was never home and my parents were always delirious…you know where this is going. That summer I got bored and depressed. Surprise, no I think not. Expected, since the guy that I had fallen in love with or might I say now, obsessed with just didn’t feel the same has I did…for two years. I felt like I had wasted a big junk of my life by that point, then summer came. Oh yeah by the way, that summer my parents had lied to me saying I was going on that trip to Italy with my sister and kept building up excitement in me until they crush me with the bad news that I wasn’t going a few days away from my thirteenth birthday…wonderful. Recipe for disaster. I knew it was too good to be true. That is when I started to live in this impatient ignorant theory that I was never going to get out of this place. Eighty percent of my life has been locked up in a room staring out the window…I felt stuck. –Sigh…and break mode-

Alright so I’m crushed so I start getting online a lot more. Find this place called buzznet, in replacement for a trip to Europe ; I get a video I-Pod. Which changed my life more than anything so far so I guess the outcome wasn’t has shitty has it seemed at that moment. Anyways, I get into rock and that whole emo scene garbage just because I was some “n00b” on a creative site about mostly music. So I was a teenie at first and of course didn’t realize it.. But I got over that whole “self pity is the shit” phase and gussied up a bit. But that’s when Katie was created. The other side, I must be suffering from multiple personality disorder also, because every time I was alone I would be my own worse enemy, my inner devil, and a crueler version of my dad. That’s when the self harm started. I used scissors the first time. Then razors became my poison, habit, addiction, whatever you wish to call it. I was back in school at the time. But Christmas was approaching and that’s when I started this Totalwreck account. I created has only an account for myself to write personal journals that nobody would read but then someone left me a note about how they could relate to one of my journals and it meant something to me that someone else actually could feel the same...

So I got addicted to this site, this account, the image of what a totalwreck should be. I was already fucked up I thought, I saw blood fucking running down my leg for god sakes… I thought there was no way back to a sane self. So I tackled my weight. Puked and cut one mental defect right after each other. Made little phrases like “ADFU” and I thought I was so badass. It stood for “Absolutely disturbed and fucked Up” go figure. Boy, you’re cool right, no. But I thought so, carved it into my skin. It’s scarred on my leg forever like a bad tattoo. Those letters don’t even cross my mind anymore…I can’t believe there was even a time when I would label myself with letters…boy, I was a loser. Bahaha. Anyways it was obvious I had depression but no one knew, no one was ever around and when they were they just pissed me off. –Shrug- Expected since I was seriously angry ninety eight percent of the time. Time past I kept this shit up.

Then came the salvation of writing, and I met someone absolutely amazing on this site that helped me those times that I cut a little too deep. Someone that was always a lot more shit faced than me…I painted the picture; she tilted the frame on its axis. We were a pair of suicidal destructive sisters. Her name was beauty, love, regret, and anger but she went by Erika. Her story is a bit more painful than mine, but I hold back the intricate details to myself still anyways, you know the drill. So I survived that summer with her help, there was a day I had gone over the edge just a little bit. But I lived; I took a smoke got over it. Sighed and the world didn’t stop spinning after neither. I’m too impatient to ever wait for a better day, that was my problem until the option was die or wait. I waited, it paid off.

But with depression came anxiety, the worst feeling ever. Trust me, it escalates then follows to the next problem; panic attacks. Ugh everything is cause and effect. My problems are all a chain. There’s no one solid reason for these mental complications, just a story…one thing leading to another. I use to break stuff when I got angry. Broke a mirror with my fist, used the shards has a weapon against myself. You don’t want to be me at thirteen or fourteen…

Once my anger got out of control again I got worried. I kept trying to stop cutting but kept relapsing. I couldn’t sleep after that too since I tried to write my life in my head. This was organized chaos. I made myself check things constantly out of fear of people finding things out about me. This is why I hide behind an Audrey Kitching picture and always will, and please don’t valve this entry any less than a person who parades all there hideous mistakes with a picture of there face, I’m still going through most of my shit still anyways. How could I show this face? Moving on, I’m crying alone hysterically in my brother’s room one day and for the first time I’m found. It’s my sister and she’s worried since we went to dinner and I was pissed half of the time there because they try to monitor everything that goes into my mouth…which was irritating and uncalled for. Weight was always an issue, I was never huge just never normal until now. That night my sister gets something out of me; I tell her that I cut. She’s about a year and a half late from the first time I’ve tried it but it’s now or never I’m guessing.

That day I also tell her I must be bipolar, she agrees. She’s observed, it was no secret that I something was going on with me. But they never knew the level of how serious it was…how far it almost got. That night before I told her was the last time I cut. I haven’t cut Since Dec 12 of last year. Which means it’s been 6 months, 1 week and a day; and considering the fact that I’m already trying to find scar removal treatment to move on like this horrific stage in my life never happened. Which is impossible since I’m scarred with this negative embroidery of dark hazy black linings on my clouds of raining frustration. I was over it.

My apologies for the novel by the way, I need to stop doing that…anyways I’m moving on. I’ve changed but I’m slightly the same. But my latest obsession has been weight. Such as starvation until I faint which is stupid yeah but it’s no different from most of the girls out there right now living life. I’m just the only one who’s writing a mental profile long enough to explain it. –Shrug- I don’t care to be honest with you. They all lied when they said it’s what on the inside that counts, when really the outside is the first attraction to everyone who isn’t blind. People do judge a book by its cover. I want to be opened, is that so bad? Everyone does. If I was skinny I would have the whole package, just a few months and if I’m still alive I’ll have the confidence to be openly shallow. Bahaha. Alright now you could hate me for speaking my mind. I don’t mind fucking myself up, but it’s a different story when it comes to other people so yes…I still do think of myself as a good person. Just someone who seeks problems to cover up the scraps of a boring life that I’m trapped in; suburban filth of cotton, plain vanilla sanded down wallpaper, walking past houses with white picketed fences and waving American flags. Just to cover up the perception of a simple girl who is playing a destructive seen in her head of when she burns this place down to orange burning color. Just to live a little until the addictions that I kept controlled in my mental profile, start to control me. I lose. (It’s the phrase I use for everything) I’ll get over it. Life is just an ironic joke. I drive myself into these complicated equations, I live to write the story of this tragic thing called boredom, it could lead to some pretty hazardous mistakes. Still no regrets though, I'm maybe more depressed but I’m surly more knowledgeable of these things called mental defects and I could still say this with an ironic contradictive smile on a beautiful face that isn’t mine, my imperfections are fucking perfect!