Something went wrong … something went sour … something convinced me to hide. Something convinced me that “fake it till you make it” is no longer working. Something is right. Something snapped. Not cutting for everyone else but me is no longer working. It is not working.
And until further notice, it is also pointless to write in here until I figure out who I’m doing recovery for … if I go for it at all. I am miserable. And if I’m going to venture out of my comfort zone or seek recovery, it damn well is gonna be for me. Trust me, if I could be content any other way I would take it …
When I’m ready to stop, I’ll throw away the blades myself. And that will be a great accomplishment. Until then … I’ll just have to accept this for what it is.
Everything in me wants to wage full out rebellion. Something, anything. The silence is too obnoxiously loud. I want to be done with you. Really, really done. The nights are too long, the days are too dark. Without you, I am not safe.
I forgot what it’s like to want to quit cutting for me. I know I’ve accomplished this once … I was just done with it. I am not content with being clean now. I have resisted the urges mostly because I’m too scared of cheating and disappointing “my people”. If any part of not cutting is for me, it is minimal. I crave it. I’m addicted. It is a way to release the anger, a way to set free the ants crawling under my skin. They burrow and twist and writhe and make my want unbearable. I don’t cater to their pleads because of you … I come insanely close but the look of sadness in your eyes is too much to bear. You all who tell me I’m loved and wanted and important. You who tell me there is freedom. You who wrap me in hugs and don’t let go until my hug in return is satisfactory. You who lift me in prayer and annoint my head with oil. I want to be what you tell me I am … I want to believe it … and I want my reasons for not cutting to be totally about me. Because it is exhausting trying to do this for everyone else. It feels pointless and damaging. Going through the motions, bound to fail. Escalating emotion … until my flesh is obliterated … and it’s just me. And I don’t want anyone to see … but the guilt will gnaw. Because I try to continue being brave for you … it’s all for you.
The walls of stress are closing in. Dad’s surgery date is looming overhead. A recent health concern has still left me on edge, and now that open enrollment is coming again, I realize that my cheapest option is at least $150.00 a month. This is unrealistic. I have a bookshelf full of text books … I’m scared to open them up. I’m scared of hoping. I’m scared of not retaining. I’m scared of wasting.
Mom is on my mind. Grandma is on my mind. Both names are foreign to me. I don’t know them, I don’t trust them. Time is running out though …
Same ol’ junk running through my mind … running, running, running.