I thought today about how it’s been five months on Wednesday since I self harmed, that the scars are almost faded and I no longer have to worry about my arms being on show. For a moment I was really proud of myself and then I realised that was a lie because pushing a blade through my skin and watching it bleed is not the only way I could have harmed myself and I may not have physically hurt myself but I became intent on hurting myself emotionally (and yes physically in other ways), almost testing myself to see whether I’d break. Almost, and I’m being honest here, hoping that I would break.
Sometimes it’s like i’m watching my life from the outside, hovering above myself like it’s not me, like it isn’t real life. I’ve had moments where I’ve woken up, I’ve cried and then I’ve forgotten again. I’ve had mornings or nights where I’ve literally washed away the pain, or the dirt or the shame in the bath and moved on. I’ve told my friends fun drunken stories missing out the darker undertones and the uglier details, playing down the fact that before replying to their text, I had been sobbing in my bed or on the floor. Occasionally now I’ll walk down the corridor at work and I’ll have a flashback or someone will come too close to me, or I’ll see someone that looks familiar or a voice too close to my ear and I’ll shudder. I’ve become more guarded, more vulnerable and someone who hates to be touched.
In summary I’ve changed. Mostly in a positive way, I’ve learned coping strategies and I’ve repaired relationships and things about me that were weak. I’ve gained knowledge and insight about myself and how my brain works. I’ve learned to control my mind . I’m 100% not the same person I once was. I continue to learn more about myself and the world around me every single day. I don’t have the innocence I once did and I have certainly learned that you can’t trust everyone, often the people you love the most will be the people who hurt you the most, sometimes just because it’s so unexpected.
The urge to cause myself pain is something I think will never leave me, I think it is just a way in which my brain works. Just the other day I had an urge to hurt myself, so I took myself up to the gym in the hope that I could do it in a positive way. I power walked and I ran until my side hurt and I’d taken all the skin off my heel until it was bleeding but I knew it was worth it. I knew it was a way of refocusing that energy.
Yesterday I had hair rage. Whilst doing my hair I had such an intense and overwhelming barrage of all emotions that I fell apart. I cried to my mum that she had to leave for the family BBQ without me, that I needed time, I tore around my room in circles, in a rage and trying not to cry until finding a razor and sitting with it, knowing it was the only way to release some emotion. I was excited about that euphoria, even if temporary. Then I told myself I couldn’t, that I had an unbreakable deal with someone and I couldn’t bear to tell her I’d broken a promise. It was too much though and I knew I had to do it in a hidden place so no one would find out so I pressed down on to my leg until a slight graze appeared but I couldn’t go through with it, granted the razor was blunt but I also knew that I was stronger than that. My heart wasn’t completely in it. I just wanted it all to stop.
Deep down I know I’m still just existing rather than living my life. I barely sleep unless I don’t take my thyroid pills for a couple of days in order to get some rest, I’m constantly hiding an illness, I’ve spent nights in pain or even got myself so worked up I’ve had to stay in the bathroom for hours because I’m sick. I sit at work and think about just walking out, taking sick leave, or quitting altogether because I’m worried i’ll get to a point where I have to anyway, that maybe i’ll fuck up so much that I can’t do it anymore. Jump before you’re pushed. I’ve been off medication a few weeks now, and I tell myself it doesn’t make a difference, that i’m the same but I know that’s not true. Deep down I can feel that decline, already there’s a difference in what I can cope with. I’ve stopped talking to people, I’ve stopped going to places, I’ve deleted my facebook, I’ve almost cut ties with everyone. Everything is just so loud. Yet I know I’m being stupid. I’ve gained the awareness and control to quickly jump in and straighten myself out again, almost like a reflex. Even when I wish I wouldn’t.
I also know I’m just scared. Scared to ask for help, scared to reach out. I know that it’s not like last time. This time I don’t want to be ill, I don’t want to turn in to that person who just hurts all the time. I know exactly what makes me happy I just can’t quite get there. I have an appointment on Wednesday back in the community and I desperately want it, but I also know that tomorrow, stupid me will pick up that phone and postpone it. Or i’ll walk in there and tell them everything is fine. It’s like a war in my head but none of them are winning so it’s just staying in the middle. I can’t seem to help myself. Somehow this time feels different. This time I feel like I either have to get better once and for all, or I don’t.