Just another Darkness

Yesterday I was afraid. Today I dared. I am the only one guilty of this crime against me. But I am not mad at myself. I did not push the blade down. I just let it slide over my skin. Feel the tickle of the metal. My fingers are sweaty. I guess I am still afraid. It is fascinating how such a thin piece of metal can have such a visible effect on a human even if we don’t actively try to make a big impact. I do not know how much harm I would do if I got mad at myself and cut… if I felt unheard and felt like I needed to scream louder. Cut deeper. For now: these cuts… mere scratches are enough.

I am sliding back into addiction. Why? Because I am so afraid. So afraid that I suddenly just think: I gotta leave. And I walk out and into a bathroom until I feel able to return. Or I start crying in the middle of a lecture. Sometimes I see my chest vibrating with the beating of my heart. I shiver and sometimes my hands tremble.

I know I should be fighting the fear without hurting myself. I know I should just be handling the pressure. Study harder. Trying to distract myself. I should be talking back to the voice that says I could be cutting. But all I really say is that I do not want to be alone. And then again… I want to be alone. And I isolate myself because being around people does not make the fear go away. All it does is drag those people down along with me. Just… seeing that I’m everything but okay… it hurts them. And I still cannot talk. I wish I could.

I have been in therapy for two months now. Nothing changed. Absolutely nothing. Actually… when I started therapy I was better than I am now. I thought… I might learn how to prevent me slipping… but I didn’t. I did not even get started in finding a way. I have no idea what went wrong. I thought it would help. I think I will see another therapist. I am not ready to give up yet. Just another darkness that I need to survive… Another darkness that will leave its scars on my skin.

I am so sorry. This whole thing is such a mess… and I created it. I was fine before I was so incredibly stupid. And then I created this blog to share what would help me get better… and all I am doing is explaining why I hurt myself. And… how it feels.

Down once more

I’m listening to my breathing as the urge takes a hold of me. The two days old red lines on my thighs hurt. I used a blunt blade. Stupid craft knife. I want -I need- an actual razor blade. The alcohol is coursing through my veins. I used to think I was incapable of cutting when I’m drunk. Not true.

There is not even a trigger for this urge. Just me fighting. Cutting is an addiction. If I slide down that path more than once in a few days… I am back in that world of pain. And there I do not need any triggers whatsoever.

Sometimes I manage to distract myself until the urge has gone away. That is actually the case fairly often. Thank God. But with every time I cannot. With every bloody letter on my skin I spiral down a bit deeper. And the further I fall the greater the chance of me cutting again.

I know the mechanisms. It is not like I am blind. And I say I want to stop. But I am doubting my own words. I am questioning my own motivation. Do I really really want to stop? Have I become so addicted? Do I want to fight? Do I really want to find the energy to fight the urge? Would it not be so much easier to just give in and decide to not care about what cutting means to anyone else? Because it is release for me. Or is it?

Tortured by Fear

Imagine sitting in a dark room. Alone. Without sound, but the beating of your racing heart. And it does not stop. You try to control your breath. Slow your heart down. But fear keeps rushing it. From time to time you seem to see the walls around you moving. Closing in on you. Maybe they will crush you one day. But there is nothing you can do. Nothing. No sound. No smell. No heat. No cold. Just fear. Parallelizing you.

This is how my days feel right now. I am trying to distract myself. I am trying. It does not work. I cannot speak about my fear. I am not allowed to. I cannot. It will go away. Hopefully. I keep telling myself, it will be alright. And I know I might be lying to myself.

No, I do not want to cut. I want to end it for good. A few months ago this thought scared the hell out of me. I remember thinking, that I would never do it… but this was exactly what I thought, before I started cutting.”┬áNow the thought does not scare me. Because I am so busy being tortured by fear. I still don’t think, I could kill myself. But… I wish I was faced with the choose of my life and someone else’s. I’d gladly choose to safe the other person.

The people closest to me. The whole world. I am not mad at anyone. I am not disappointed in anyone. These emotions I only have for myself. I still love. The beauty. The people close to me. I still wish to protect them. Who I hate is myself. All I want is to escape the fear. I know I cannot. I know I just have to wait. Be patient. And… When this all is over. I will have suffered enough from this anguish to forgive myself. I will go on with my life.

But for now… for now I am in a dark room. With walls closing in on me. With me trying to distract myself from that very room. Trembling. Shivering. And nothing I can do. Nothing.