Trigger Warning: Detailed Self Injury ideation.
No one wants to hear the ugly truth. Least of all at this time of year, when we are all supposed to be merry and bright – or at least pretending to be if we can’t actually accomplish the feat itself.
Mind you, no one ever really wants to hear MY truth at any time, or so I’ve been led to believe. I’ve grown up knowing my truth isn’t important, isn’t valid, isn’t even “true” in the eyes of others. And by that, I mostly mean in the eyes of my mother. It’s hard to believe you are worthy when your own mother hates you and everything you are.
But this is about the now, not the then.
I used to self injure on a regular basis. Daily. Weekly. Different levels, different times, mostly on my arms due to factors of both pain and ease of access. And there’s something… primal?… in hurting yourself on the arms… It’s hard to explain a feeling that reaches deep down inside your core.
The last few months I’ve been needing to self injure again. For a couple of months, I smoked instead, hoping the feeling would pass. Smoking gives me a feeling of “hurting myself” that isn’t the same, but makes do in a pinch. It also feels a bit bad ass which is good for my soul in general. Unfortunately though, while I’d be a happy smoker if I had only myself to consider, I am a mother, and I’ve never wanted to be a “smoking mother”. I never wanted my kids to grow up with that. So I quit after a while because I just had to. And the urge to self injure came back to its full force.
For the last couple of weeks, I have imagined myself cutting. I’ve planned it. At first, I would go to bed and sleep, so the feeling or opportunity would pass. Lately though, I’ve stopped trying to wait it out and instead waited for that opportunity to arise so I can disappear and do my thing. No such moments have come to pass however, and so the feeling keeps growing and growing.
Last night in my dreams, I cut half my arm. One cut after another, trying to accomplish a feeling of peace that never came, and so another cut and another until I just gave up. My dream continued the whole night with those marks on my arm, mostly covered by a long sleeve shirt so no one but I knew they were there. Everyone in my dream hating me, or just tolerating me, just like I feel things are in real life.
I don’t want my kids to grow up with a mother who cuts any more than I want them to grow up with a mother who smokes. Yet that urge!!! That urge to punish myself for being me. It’s all-consuming. Impossible to stave off completely.
I know why I’m feeling like this. Some reasons are personal and not up for public disclosure. Others are trivial (I don’t have a job, and my kids didn’t totally like all their Christmas presents, not to mention there was nothing for me under the tree except some chocolates from my support worker). Others are just pathetic (it feels like nobody likes me sob sob). In relation to, and despite of, that last one, the one I think is the most relevant at the moment despite its pathetic nature, I don’t need anyone to tell me they like me. I don’t need platitudes from people I’m probably never going to meet in person. I need real, honest to god, friends. People who I can go and visit on a whim, just turning up with no notice and treated as part of the furniture when I arrive because it doesn’t bug them AT ALL. People who turn up at my place whenever it fancies them (and often enough that I don’t start to wonder whether we are in fact friends any more). Someone who calls me their sister and means it. Shows it. Invites me to family gatherings. Someone who goes out with me and does stuff. Who knows what I want for Christmas even if they can’t afford to get me anything (or who takes my husband shopping!!!). Who understands my limitations (e.g. I can’t make phone calls, even though I can talk on the phone, and I rarely do birthdays, because I often forget, so I just do Christmas instead).
I want some close friends. It’s no secret my family hates me for the most part (and the rest don’t understand me one iota). And my husband and boys are great, but aside from being male (they like computers, not pedicures, damn it), I need more than just my immediate family. My husband loves me because he just does. My kids love me because I grew them. I need more. I need girl friends. After all – I can talk to my husband about anything, except my husband!!!
Right now, I just feel evil. Not worthy of anything good. Only worthy of bad things, like pain and scars and tears and fear – perhaps even death. I’m lost in my own shame of being me.
And that is why I haven’t posted anything here for a while.