The Dilemma

If we cut, we fail. We fail as a friend, fail as family member. We fail as human being. We are cowards. Choosing to not handle our life. But to run into addictions arms instead. We choose to hurt ourselves. And everyone who knows about it.

If we resist the urge, we fail. Fail to resist the urge. Fail to find relief. Fail to be brave enough, to do what we say we want to do. Every time we resist the urge, we question, whether it had been there to begin with. When we resist, we are not happy. We are sad. We feel cold. And we know the urge will come back soon.

There is no right choice for us to make. We try to hide what we are going through. May those who we love be spared our pain! May we be spared the thought to have hurt them with our choices!

All I hear…

More than once I have been told:

You are not badly ill, overall you are a healthy young woman.

I know it means, that I can become fine, without loosing myself in the process. It is supposed to mean that I can and will get better. But that is not what I hear. All I hear is:

I am not sick.

And there are a number of consequences to that. If they do not think I am sick, well can I stop trying to get better? Because if I am not sick there is no need for me trying. There is no need for me working. Do I have to stop being proud of myself if I resist the urge? Can I stop trying to distract myself. Stop trying to find alternatives? Can I stop keeping in mind that I cannot drink too much, because I might slip? Because substance abuse is just another symptom for an illness, that I do not have?

Or does it mean I am imposing? Do they really think I would be faking the pain? As a matter of fact I have acted hurt before, which hurt me in return. But really… no human happily physically hurts him-/herself. I do not know if it is even possible to fake being in pain to this point.

Am I creating it all myself. Am I suffering from nothing but an idea, that I created myself? Is it all the exaggeration of a drama queen. A normal reaction of a young woman to extreme fields of tension?

That is not what they are saying? Well… If I am not that sick, then what is that pain I am feeling? Why am I cutting? Why do I hurt myself? Why do passions fade away. Slip away under my hand? Why do I feel like crying might help, but all it does is leaving me more empty and more fatalistic than before.

I know. no one is trying to invalidate my emotions. No one is trying to say the way I perceive the world is untrue. But that is all I hear. If I am not terribly sick, then why did I even put up with therapy? And why am I tossed around on emotions? Why do I feel fine one moment and the next I just… wish for it all to end?

And if this is normal… please tell me how everyone puts up with it. How can one live without breaking if this is the norm? How? How is not everybody addicted to alcohol and other drugs? I am supposed to shut up and deal with it? I will gladly. If I am told how the fork this is possible.

I know it is never meant to mean any of this. I know it with my head. But it is not how it feels. Because, frankly I wish I was not sick. And when I am not spiraling down, I appreciate the efforts to cheer me up. And I am even sure, that when someone says something like that they are telling the truth. And I know that there are a great many times, where I can see that truth myself. Moments where I feel fine. Moments of happiness. But there very same statement can be so devastating when I am at my worst, because it questions my perception of things. And the issue with that is, that there is none better at doubting me than myself and that is not something that should be enhanced in any way.

I am not saying I cannot handle the truth. I am not saying that no one should ever tell me that I am mostly healthy. Because it is the truth. But sometimes what I have described is all I hear. Maybe… because it is all I want to hear.

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?