Last night (21st of March 2013) I decided to put an end to cutting myself. Before I go any further, I don’t want anyone who reads this to think that it is a cry for attention or a vouch for sympathy- I’m writing this online to keep a record for myself of when I started to look after myself better. Last night was the first night cutting didn’t make me feel better or at least make me lose focus of what I was upset about. It’s difficult to describe how I feel when I want to cut, but something would happen and I would just switch off, and my mind would go blank and I would become lost in myself and feel small and terrified of what was happening to me. I could feel all these dark thoughts and feeling enter into me and it scared me because I felt too weak to make it stop. After a while my mind would focus onto cutting. It was like my body craved to be cut, like it would make the pain inside go away. I tried so hard last night, and have been for the past month or so- to ignore it and just sit through the dark thoughts until they ebb away but last night I slipped up and decided to cut while my boyfriend was out of the room. Usually, it would release how I felt inside and my whole body would concentrate on cutting myself and I would only stop once I was satisfied with what I had done. I could feel it beginning to get addictive, even though I knew I could stop whenever I wanted- I chose not to because I felt too weak to put the effort in. I was never ashamed of my scars I used to think of them as ‘memories’ of how I got through a bad night. But last night, I didn’t get this feeling. I felt worse. I was ashamed and I felt almost like a failure. It didn’t help cover the feelings inside it just increased them. When my boyfriend found them he just held me until I felt better, and gradually I did. I scared myself last night, I had gotten so far that I realised I had gone too far. And then I clicked back on. No more cutting. I’m better than that. I have people who love me and I need to respect my body. If I’m upset, I can get through it by the means of other things, music, writing, sleeping. I need to be strong again, strong for myself, and strong for other people as well. I needed to be brave, and I needed to have courage. I’m not saying that I’m never going to have a bad night again, or never want to cut myself again- of course I will still feel like that for a while, but with time and the help of those who care about me the feeling will gradually decrease. I have chosen to push those thoughts away and focus on other things. If you’re reading this, and you feel the same or you still hurt yourself, message me, and we can help each other. No one can make you listen when they tell you to stop cutting as much as you want to, its more a personal decision. Something just changes inside. You can get through it, and so will I.
In the end you realise you’re holding onto something that doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe it did once, but thats the past. You can’t keep expecting it to all fall back together. It doesn’t work that way. Instead you’ve got to pick yourself up and move on. Become a stronger person, learn from those who hurt you. Because in the end the only way you can get through it is through perspective. It is up to you to realise that every person, every moment, every memory, is simply a lesson to help you move on. You need to move on. Let it go. It is how it is.
If you don’t like the Maine I think you should revaluate your life choices.
I want to go live on a beach house with pretty white fences and chairs and white walls with a blue roof. I want there to be big green hills behind me and I want to have as many dogs and cats as I want. I want to be happy and I want to be in love at my beach house. I want the water to be the same blue as my roof and have flower pots hanging from the bottom of each window. I want to have pure white sand and it then mix with the green from the grass. I want to have wooden sun loungers painted white and I want the sun to shine and I want to be able to sit back and appreciate every little detail of my paradise.