i've had cutting cravings all day. i've managed to avoid it, but mostly because i have nowhere to do it. my arm's been given away, and i don't want to over-scar my backup location (my hip) because then i've got a new spot to worry about concealing.
but i don't know what else to do with this temptation to self-harm. i tried snapping my hair-tie (one with the metal bit where the two ends meet, for added sting) on my forearm, where i used to cut. unsatisfying. i punched my arm a bit, too. unsatisfying.
i'd work out until it hurts but that doesn't feel like injury. it just feels like exercise. i wish it could feel like injury, i might do it more.
there's nothing as satisfying as feeling the tip of the safety pin scrape along that fragile, smooth skin, and feeling the sting as i trace it through the scratch, dragging it through again and again until i've torn myself open enough to see just a few drops of bright red blood beading along the line. ....that's how i cut. no razors, no slicing. i can't take those clean, sharp blades. (i used a mildly serrated knife for a while... that was nice and efficient... damn, how am i nostalgic for cutting?)
i always kind of thought i was a wimp for doing it this way, but i guess it takes another kind of pain tolerance to trace a safety pin through an already-opening cut... that's what my friend said, anyway. i still think i'm a wimp, but sometimes i think of that to make me feel better.
i know i'm really just a wimp.
sorry i'm gruesome.
i just miss my other addiction. i conquered KW, i guess i'm itching for my own indulgence.
i kind of also miss how reckless i was last year. last march.
partying, smoking, experimenting... i find far too much beauty in self-endangerment.
maybe that was another way i was trying to make myself beautiful.
i once wrote that "perhaps there's some sort of beauty inherent in fragility. we appreciate it all the more, knowing it could be far too fleeting." ...of course, there, i was merely describing snow-laced tree branches.
i think i've come to this revelation before - that i am way too entranced by self-destruction. and its poetry. i don't know why self-destruction is such a poetic concept to me.
i would see KW wasting himself, his potential, and it pissed me off.
maybe i hoped someone would think i was wasting my potential. which would mean, of course, they thought i had potential. (i certainly didn't think this.) and hell, even if nobody thought that, i was still having fun, wasn't i?
alas, i am much too cautious again.
i have no medium.
i never have.
there's never any gray.
i am all or nothing.
i am winning it all or losing everything.
i am the best or i am the worst.
i am success or i am a failure.
(for any of these, it's always the latter.)
i'm a perfectionist with black and white thinking. which is probably pretty common.
i'm always seeking perfection, and anything less is failure. but we all know that perfection is unattainable, and so i set myself up for failure before i even begin. funny, considering i'm afraid of failure. absolutely terrified. i live my life avoiding it. or trying to.
one of the worst things i'm having to learn is that failure is inevitable.
it's not exactly a rejuvenating epiphany. it just makes me want to curl up into bed and sleep my life away.
at my worst, i would go out and party to stop myself from ever having time to be introspective and feel my depression. fun was my patronus, keeping the depression dementors away. (i'd like to make that more poetic but it just comes off as dorky...)
i wonder if i can use that type of strategy to my advantage at college - obviously the partying strategy wouldn't be to my advantage, but maybe if i study nonstop i won't ever have to just... think.
it's gotten to the point where i haven't been introspective in so long that i don't even know what i'm afraid of anymore.
it used to be i could tell you i was miserable because i felt lonely, because i felt like a failure, because nobody will ever love me, because i just generally suck.
but now i shut those thoughts out before i can hear what they say.
i shut the doors in the faces of their cancerous whispers.
so yes, i don't know what's wrong.
but that means i don't know how to fix it.
No comments:
Post a Comment