TW:Self harm
Here I'm sitting at home on a Saturday , well it is exactly noon, and sharing with you my thoughts, feelings, ideas, recovery methods and information on anything I feel passion about. I am finally alone at my kitchen table, curtains closed and a small tableside lamp beside me. That is all I need right now. An introvert like me can not handle not getting free time. I can't write to you first off, but i also can't think which makes me not want to speak. I used to wish I could socialize but anymore I just stare at people and not wonder what they were thinking but visualizing exactly how they felt. It used to be my biggest defect but now I am going to use it to my advantage to not give a fuck.
Tell me, readers, what you want to hear. I am open about everything. At least I am trying to be vulnerable. Baby steps.
It feels somewhat like a page where i confess my sins and you get a reactive feeling , an empathetic (hopefully) or understanding view on common struggles. Yes they are more common than you think, we just have lower stats because people are afraid of the stigma of doing so and being labeled. I know. I have been there. 28 year old, on disability and starting a blog writing to people I know very well but also people I have never met.
I really don't have a clue how this post is supposed to go. I'm letting it take me somewhere. I will bounce from one story to the next no idea what it is going to be about.
Ah, yes. I was to speak of the first time I self harmed last night. I was dissociating a lot yesterday. It was hard for me to connect yesterday. Flashbacks were really dragging me down so I decided I was going to rest since I stayed up until 4 am the night before writing my electroshock therapy story.
I was in the 5th grade the first time I cut. I was downstairs with like 10 classmates from school at my birthday party. Of course I loved being the center of attention but it seemed like that evening someone else was stealing the spotlight from right under my feet. Everyone was Indian style creating a half circle around her and there I was in a corner pouting about it. I remember going upstairs once or twice and telling my mom, like she could do anything about it; After all my bitching and moaning I just sat and listened to her. I listened to her talk about herself. How pretty she was because the boys in our class all wanted to be her "boyfriend". How skinny she was because to a 5th grader, your weight really starts to matter. I hate even saying that because I was so fricking brain washed. I thought you had to look a certain way and if I didnt stand up to my own expectation then I was failing and caring wasn't even worth it.
Watching her engage everyone in the room and captivate them with her stories made me feel like i was strapped to a rocket ship, counting down the seconds until I took off. And I did. I ran upstairs, into the kitchen and grabbed the butcher knife. Why I grabbed one so big is beyond me. I guess I REALLY wanted to hurt myself. I walked into the side bathroom by the back door and laid on the floor rubbing my fingers against the knife's smooth edges. It was silver and it was very reflective. I could see my face as I looked into it. I looked at my left leg and imagined what it would feel like. It turned me on in a way comparable to craving fornication, in others words I was horny. I was horny for the sensation of feeling something other than anger. Something pleasurable. So i took it and I pressed deeply into my skin and slid it to the right. I started to orgasm as the blood pooled and dripped down the inner part of my thigh. I could not believe I created what I thought was a master piece but ended up being a mess; but, I couldnt not stop looking at it. Wondering how it feels between my middle finger and thumb. Rolling it around. Cruising it down my tongue and onto my lips. I had found my kryptonite. I rolled my shorts back down to the middle of my thigh, leaving behind no trace, I went back down to my party and I blasted Christina Aguilera to shut her up.
*If you are reading this, my childhood friend, I was jealous of you. I thought you were better than me at everything and I tried to compete with you but I just couldn't. Now you are off raising a family and making a life for yourself. This was not to talk ill of you. If anything, I am confessing my jealousy to you know. I am sorry*
I didn't cut for years after that though. My friends found out and my mom was informed. I felt scared to do it again until one day in high school I met a girl who had my same struggle. Just because I wasn't cutting myself does not mean I didn't feel pain or have urges. For a 5th grader to have urges to feel better by feeling physical rather than emotional pain is incomprehensible. My new friend showed me her arm. I showed her my leg. I told her how much I missed it and she told me how bad it was ruining her life. I couldn't help but fantasize about that feeling. I saw her scars and I thought, more blood. More scars. But it turned me on again instead of scaring me. I cut myself for 3 consecutive days and marveled at what I had created. What I had painted onto myself. What I had tattooed onto my skin. After those three days I put the knife down and didn't pick it up again for over 10 years. It wasn't until the pain became unbearable everyday and the grief from loosing my father disturbed my way of life. I started to self harm pretty much every day.
My point is this...If you try it once, you will want to try it again. It is just like a drug. It is scary. You feel ten times worse than the pain you were temporarily experiencing. Put down the knife. Throw out your razors. You are worth it and I wish I could look into your vulnerable eyes and sincerely be there for you, To listen to your story and to sympathize and empathize with it. If you are having thoughts, doesn't mean you have to act. Think about it. Why ruin what was given to you?
Love yourself and keep the blade down.
Love and Rage,
Lynsey
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