I got to work today and had a rough go of it. My hands were shaky and I was really edgy. I'm not sure if I can all it manic, but it was close. As soon as the lines calmed, I was still pacing the floors and moving, shaking my hands to rid them of the shakes. I didn't notice at the time, but I see that I have a few nail marks in the back of my hand. Minor dissociation, I suppose, which scares the hell out of me.
I know I should tell Dr. B about that, but I really am afraid of being locked in a psych ward. I can't even have my socks on in bed because I feel like I'm tired up, so really being locked up would not be the best course. She has reassured me time and again that she will not send me into a hospital unless I am very much a danger to myself and she would have no choice then. That always makes me curious, the phrase "danger to myself". I injure myself to take the pain away, or to feel something real, tangible. Doesn't that say I am a danger to myself, or does it mean suicidal? If danger to self equals suicidal then I'll never be in a hospital because I am never suicidal. Even if I was, I'm not sure I'd tell Doc about it. There are still many things that I don't tell her, but I have opened more in these latest sessions then I did at the start.
I feel more free to discuss my self harm. I still think that she is disgusted by certain aspects, though she never says so. She asked me, "What do you think I'm thinking when you mention self harm?"
"I think you're disgusted, most people would be."
She looked sad and said that she was sad that I thought that way. "I'm sorry that you hurt yourself and I wish you wouldn't, but then that's why I'm here. To help you."
God... I feel so ugly and dirty, so horrid. I'm not attractive, not really. I'm chubby and lazy, which means that I never seem to stick to a fitness schedule. I need to eat better, no more junk. I need to start walking again. I'm gaining a few pounds and I hate it. I hate being fat!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Bad Idea
For some reason, I am feel very edgy and I do not like it. I can't seem to think straight and I feel that if I would injure then I could be stable again. This is not logical, I know that. Maybe I could take a sleeping pill and be all right? I'm not wanting to do that yet again because I had a beer earlier.
My therapist did not like it when I said that self injury is like destroying myself one bit at a time, but what else could I call it? I feel like this entire thing is one big bad idea. I feel fat and ugly. I feel manic... I don't know what to do or think right now. The whole thing is giving me a head ache. Fuck it... I'm taking the pill and going to sleep!
My therapist did not like it when I said that self injury is like destroying myself one bit at a time, but what else could I call it? I feel like this entire thing is one big bad idea. I feel fat and ugly. I feel manic... I don't know what to do or think right now. The whole thing is giving me a head ache. Fuck it... I'm taking the pill and going to sleep!
Friday, February 24, 2012
Breaking Point?
I am beside myself right now. My dearest mother is insisting that I have a walkie talkie in my room so she can contact me when she wants. I cannot believe that the little freedom I have is being taken away. Its not right. The entire thing is one sick method of control. I am tempted to break the fucking thing right now! I'm angry, furious that I am forced to be a fucking lap dog!
Sad thing is, when she mentioned it before and I said I didn't like the idea, she was not best pleased. Oh god this is beyond anything I agreed to. I hate it. The older she's getting the more paranoid and ignorant. I can feel my blood boiling and all I want to do is cut to get rid of the anger, if just for a little while. I want to cut so bad. I want to burn so bad... This is not right!
Sad thing is, when she mentioned it before and I said I didn't like the idea, she was not best pleased. Oh god this is beyond anything I agreed to. I hate it. The older she's getting the more paranoid and ignorant. I can feel my blood boiling and all I want to do is cut to get rid of the anger, if just for a little while. I want to cut so bad. I want to burn so bad... This is not right!
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Freedom
Had therapy yesterday. I mentioned it and thought, "Wow, how sad is that?" I realized that I am truly myself when no one else is awake. Before anyone gets up, I can enjoy my coffee and chat online, I can write my block and read my books, I can make jewelry and knit all without having my parents making a fuss or getting in the way. I can wear tanks in the early morning without worrying about my scars. I can chat with my friends without my parents, specifically my mother, telling me to be careful and that those people are only out to get me. I know them better then that.
I feel free in the early morning and late evening. When I am alone, I can be who I am not some actor on a stage. I don't have to put on a happy face and smile though it hurts. Its so hard, exhausting to act all damned day. My only freedom is in the small hours of the morning or evening.
I feel free in the early morning and late evening. When I am alone, I can be who I am not some actor on a stage. I don't have to put on a happy face and smile though it hurts. Its so hard, exhausting to act all damned day. My only freedom is in the small hours of the morning or evening.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Nothing Of My Own
Mom said yesterday that the house is too small, that we need more space for when my niece and nephew come to visit. The solution? Put the niece in my room! Oh, of course, why did I not think of this? That would be because we tried that once before and I had to sneak into my own room, and barely move all night so she wouldn't wake up. I am beyond sick of bending to the will of everyone else. For fuck's sake! If I could afford to move out, I would, in a heart beat, but since I can't I'm stuck with allowing everyone to do what they want to me. Feel like a victim, violated for what they wanted and left to deal with the aftermath.
I have to get rid of things I've had for years, because Mom thinks I'm too cluttered. She doesn't want me to become a hoarder. I could fucking shoot TLC for showing that programme. Now she thinks that I am weak and incapable of anything! FUCK!!! I mean really, I am stronger then she ever was. I have never allowed a person to beat on me without delivering more then I got. I handle my own issues, I cope as well as I can and that usually involves blades or flames. But damned if I deserve being treated like an idiot or a mental case!
I mean hell, I am this close to just giving in and telling her to do whatever she wants. Don't bother asking me anything because you aren't going to care what I want anyway. One day, she'll see that all the strength she empowered me with was a bad idea because I am going to snap and freak out on her.
I have to get rid of things I've had for years, because Mom thinks I'm too cluttered. She doesn't want me to become a hoarder. I could fucking shoot TLC for showing that programme. Now she thinks that I am weak and incapable of anything! FUCK!!! I mean really, I am stronger then she ever was. I have never allowed a person to beat on me without delivering more then I got. I handle my own issues, I cope as well as I can and that usually involves blades or flames. But damned if I deserve being treated like an idiot or a mental case!
I mean hell, I am this close to just giving in and telling her to do whatever she wants. Don't bother asking me anything because you aren't going to care what I want anyway. One day, she'll see that all the strength she empowered me with was a bad idea because I am going to snap and freak out on her.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Assignment
I wrote last time that my therapist sent me with a homework assignment. First to free write on anger then to write a letter to self harm. The free write on anger is proving difficult and I think I'll write poetry without rules instead. Anyway the letter is done and I wanted to post it here as well.
Dear Self Injury,
It would be easy to say that I don't like you, even that I hate you, but I find it difficult to hate one that has been of such help to me. You've made it easier for me to handle problems that I didn't have the ability to cope with, emotions that were too difficult for me to handle. Times when I felt numb, you've been there to let me feel something tangible. When I've felt too much, you've given me only pain to focus on.
Hitting, you've been a constant companion for over a decade. You never leave a lasting mark, only a change of colours. Your effect doesn't last as long, but you're always around when I need you most. I'm afraid of using you sometimes because I don't want to cause any lasting damage. A broken bone is hard to explain, bruises are easier.
You've been with me a long time as well, Cutting. I've used your services when I need to calm down, when I feel a failure, or that I am not enough for anyone. Your sting is just enough to keep me from loosing myself, from becoming numb. In some way, I'm glad that you're there when I need you, but you've left me with scars. I can't wear shirts shorter then my elbows now.
Its funny how we don't realize that something is self harm until much later. I'm not sure when it started but Scratching or Picking my skin has become as common as Bruising. I don't realize I'm using you until I have bled and the deed is done. I have noticed that I pick when I'm anxious. You're the sneaky one, you come onto my skin of your own accord, uninvited. Often I don't realize how much damage has been done until its too late. You've left your marks on my hands.
Finally, Burning. You have left me with the most damage, you're also the youngest. I'm glad that you don't show up too terribly often. The problem is that you're too good, you feel too good. The pain you give me to focus on isn't like any of the others. The high lasts for hours and the pain can continue for days. The scars, though, though are highly visible, yet no one has ever noticed them.
Self harm, you have twisted my mind and warped my thoughts to the point that anything and everything can become a tool, a weapon to kill the emotional pain. You've become like a gang land ally. I have to pay a price for your help and its not always the help I need. Certainly not the safest way to cope with my problems. In a way, I feel you've lied to me. You promised to make me feel better. I guess I should have read the fine print where you said that it wouldn't be permanent.
Sometimes I feel as if I've become a can of soup, you know, labeled. I have come to think of myself as a Harmer or an Injurer first and a writer second. I know all the thinks I am; clever, intelligent, talented, grounded. Every time I turn to you, though, everything melts away and I am merely an Injurer or a method, cutter, burner, scratcher.
I hate how you have become like a drug to me, like heroin. If I injure enough, I'll calm down and sink into oblivion. If I'm really lucky, I'll sleep without dreaming, without the nightmares that have plagued me for some time. I blame you those partly. The more stressed I get, the further I try to go without you, the more difficult the nightmares become. Some mornings, I wake and want to go straight to you to make the start better then with me stressed out and edgy. Self Injury, you've been a helpful friend, but, like every friend I've had, you can't be trusted. I want to live my life without you, but I'm not sure I'm ready that I can. You have infiltrated my life like a Cold War double agent.
There has to be a way for us to part ways, one day. I know that I'm strong because I bear much weight on my shoulders. I know that we can separate, its going to take time and help, but I'll move forward and live my life without you.
Right now, I feel weak and feeble because I rely too much on you. It has to stop. You're not good enough for me. This parting is going to be long and bittersweet, but it has to happen.
Most Sincerely,
R-
Dear Self Injury,
It would be easy to say that I don't like you, even that I hate you, but I find it difficult to hate one that has been of such help to me. You've made it easier for me to handle problems that I didn't have the ability to cope with, emotions that were too difficult for me to handle. Times when I felt numb, you've been there to let me feel something tangible. When I've felt too much, you've given me only pain to focus on.
Hitting, you've been a constant companion for over a decade. You never leave a lasting mark, only a change of colours. Your effect doesn't last as long, but you're always around when I need you most. I'm afraid of using you sometimes because I don't want to cause any lasting damage. A broken bone is hard to explain, bruises are easier.
You've been with me a long time as well, Cutting. I've used your services when I need to calm down, when I feel a failure, or that I am not enough for anyone. Your sting is just enough to keep me from loosing myself, from becoming numb. In some way, I'm glad that you're there when I need you, but you've left me with scars. I can't wear shirts shorter then my elbows now.
Its funny how we don't realize that something is self harm until much later. I'm not sure when it started but Scratching or Picking my skin has become as common as Bruising. I don't realize I'm using you until I have bled and the deed is done. I have noticed that I pick when I'm anxious. You're the sneaky one, you come onto my skin of your own accord, uninvited. Often I don't realize how much damage has been done until its too late. You've left your marks on my hands.
Finally, Burning. You have left me with the most damage, you're also the youngest. I'm glad that you don't show up too terribly often. The problem is that you're too good, you feel too good. The pain you give me to focus on isn't like any of the others. The high lasts for hours and the pain can continue for days. The scars, though, though are highly visible, yet no one has ever noticed them.
Self harm, you have twisted my mind and warped my thoughts to the point that anything and everything can become a tool, a weapon to kill the emotional pain. You've become like a gang land ally. I have to pay a price for your help and its not always the help I need. Certainly not the safest way to cope with my problems. In a way, I feel you've lied to me. You promised to make me feel better. I guess I should have read the fine print where you said that it wouldn't be permanent.
Sometimes I feel as if I've become a can of soup, you know, labeled. I have come to think of myself as a Harmer or an Injurer first and a writer second. I know all the thinks I am; clever, intelligent, talented, grounded. Every time I turn to you, though, everything melts away and I am merely an Injurer or a method, cutter, burner, scratcher.
I hate how you have become like a drug to me, like heroin. If I injure enough, I'll calm down and sink into oblivion. If I'm really lucky, I'll sleep without dreaming, without the nightmares that have plagued me for some time. I blame you those partly. The more stressed I get, the further I try to go without you, the more difficult the nightmares become. Some mornings, I wake and want to go straight to you to make the start better then with me stressed out and edgy. Self Injury, you've been a helpful friend, but, like every friend I've had, you can't be trusted. I want to live my life without you, but I'm not sure I'm ready that I can. You have infiltrated my life like a Cold War double agent.
There has to be a way for us to part ways, one day. I know that I'm strong because I bear much weight on my shoulders. I know that we can separate, its going to take time and help, but I'll move forward and live my life without you.
Right now, I feel weak and feeble because I rely too much on you. It has to stop. You're not good enough for me. This parting is going to be long and bittersweet, but it has to happen.
Most Sincerely,
R-
Friday, February 10, 2012
Homework
So my therapist gave me a homework assignment. Since I go so far between seeing her, I asked if she thought that would be a good idea. She was agreeable and gave me a few points to write on. First, write on anger, free write style. Then a letter to my methods of self harm, either collectively or individually.
I think that I made the right choice last time when I had her ask me anything. I feel more free to talk about self harm and what its done to me, or rather what I've done to myself. It helps. We'll just have to wait and see what happens, not much to do but wait as I see it.
I think that I made the right choice last time when I had her ask me anything. I feel more free to talk about self harm and what its done to me, or rather what I've done to myself. It helps. We'll just have to wait and see what happens, not much to do but wait as I see it.
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