Category Archives: self harm
I’m not entirely sure what’s gotten into me lately…
I’ve been in an amazing mood, but in bitch mode at the same time. I’m just waiting for someone to set me off, so I can explode on them. (Preferably, one of two people.) I think I broke my filter, and I’m enjoying every minute of it.
My give a damn’s busted, but my I don’t give a fuck is still fully functional.
Bahaha. Things shifted for me Monday. I was talking to one of my friends about everything going on. How I’m losing friends left & right (seriously, I’m going to end up being my own bridesmaid at this rate). And something just clicked.
I don’t need these people in my life. I decided to purge my friends, because I don’t want to be around druggies, sociopaths, or violence anymore. I deserve better than that.
Although, the girl I posted about the other day? I’m keeping her on my friends list. I found out something about her fiancé that I’m not sure she knows about. Something that will make it impossible for her to get her kids back. In 2012, he stabbed his stepfather in the head with a steak knife. That man will never be welcome in my home.
As in “Ana.” Well, she’s back, and she’s a real bitch.
The past month or so, I’ve only been allowing myself one meal a day. And obsessing over my thigh gap. And watching my waist slim down until I can wear my necklaces around it. And I still don’t see myself as skinny enough. Like I said, “Ana” is a real bitch.
I know I’ll snap out of it as soon as I can slip into my size “1” pants, and commence freaking out about being “too skinny.”
I’ve never actually been diagnosed as anorexic, however, I do have a lot of anorexic tendencies. I’ve been known to go so long without eating, I black out. In public. Surrounded by EMTs. In the middle of a carnival. Said EMTs followed me around the carnival every year for the next three. Guess I gave them something to talk about. Heh.
I know I’m thin, but I still have the “fat-girl” mentality from when I was considered to be obese by my doctor. In fact, all the skinny hate stuff makes me more obsessed with losing weight.
There have been some weeks that I’ve survived on coffee and energy drinks alone, or even the week I lived on apple juice. I can’t even look at apple juice these days without dry heaving.
Welcome to my fucked up mind.
I’m I smoker, but I’m working on quitting. Scott bought me a vaporizer today, and I’m down to my last cigarette, so we’ll see how that goes.
I can’t take a complement to save my life. I’ll just pick it apart. You tell me I look good today, I’ll think I look bad every other day.
I oftentimes forget to eat. I don’t know how. I’ll feel hungry, get distracted and an hour later just not be hungry anymore.
I don’t do it as much anymore, but I pick at scabs to watch the blood flow.
Insomnia has hit me again. I’ve officially been up for about 24hours. Compared to some of my other bouts of insomnia, this is nothing, but my mind starts to wander when the darkness falls and the house is still.
I caught a glimpse of a barely-there scar that no one else ever sees a little bit ago. It made me realize how much stronger I am today than I was fourteen years ago. I was a cutter. Self abuse was the daily norm for me. Staying up late, punching my thighs until they bruised, using a sewing needle to form names and dates in my skin, picking at scabs to watch the blood flow, carrying razor blades to school and taking them into the bathroom at lunch. I tried to keep the cuts hidden and shallow enough to keep from scaring, and for the most part, succeeded. I have one or two residual scars that are played off as an accident. I haven’t cut myself in over thirteen years. I wish I could say the same about my other former ways to self harm (scratching and punching myself).
I learned in my teen years that physical pain relieves emotional pain. On the inside, I felt like I was dying, while I smiled on the outside. Winter was the best, long sleeves meant I could hide the marks easier. To this day, I still prefer long sleeved shirts, even in 100°F weather. I feel so exposed when my arms aren’t covered.
I moved on from self harm when I realized that tattoos and piercings were a prettier way to get the physical pain to relieve the emotional. I currently have three tattoos and eleven piercings.
Nothing new in almost three years. It’s been three years since I’ve used physical pain to relieve emotional pain. Three years is huge! From cutting myself 3-5 days a week, to scratching and punching myself, to nothing.
It’s no secret that I’ve been having a rough time with my depression and anxiety recently. Despite this, I no longer use physical pain to relieve emotional pain. I write it out. I’m more vocal than I used to be. Sure, some days are a struggle, but there’s no way I’m going to let myself relapse, not after being able to say it’s been over 13 years since I cut myself.