Palamon
Silence is Purple
- 8,156
- Posts
- 15
- Years
- Age 27
- he/him
- Snezhnaya, Teyvat.
- Seen today
If you insist on reading further, I must warn you, this is not a positive blog entry. It is a true entry, and it pertains to an addiction I've had for a year.
If you insist to read further, I'm going to warn you again. It's not about a good thing. And it's what you think it is.
If you actually read this... I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to read this... I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.
If you insist to read further, I'm going to warn you again. It's not about a good thing. And it's what you think it is.
Spoiler:
Since April of 2013, I've been addicted to self harm. It wasn't as bad as it is now. It started out as a feeling. I was failing a class. Earth Science. I was in tenth grade then. In the beginning, it was pretty much pencil poking. I don't know, but I felt as if...something inside me needed to do it, and so I did. It was a temporary relief, and I just kept on doing it until I got caught. The teacher told on me. She told on me, and for a little while, I was able to stop. The addiction was on halt. I didn't have the feeling for awhile. At least until August of 2013. ...Poking became scratching. Albeit, with my nails. I only did it twice. I ended up leaving scars all over my right arm from a mental breakdown I had one day. I don't know what I was feeling then, but I know I could have done better. I probably knew deep down that it didn't have to be this way. So, again, for a while, I was able to stop. A month, which I guess isn't a while. After that, it got even worse. School rolled back in, and my insecurity got really bad. My anxiety got even worse. I ended up stealing paperclips and in the back of my mind, I thought "this will make me feel better," that feeling became a catalyst. Every day, sans the weekend, because I didn't have anxiety, I would use paperclips to cut myself. There was this illusion that went through me: "I feel something. I won't feel numb anymore, red is wonderful" whatever it was, it empowered the part of me that desires to be perfect, and eventually, I practically cut a vein. That wasn't pretty. Deep down, I realized that "this isn't what I wanted. I didn't want to get a permanent scar! This isn't what I'm supposed to do to cope with anxiety!" But I couldn't stop. The addiction was already in overdrive. And the addiction doesn't leave me. At some point, for a little while, my home anxiety was even worse. I don't know why, but for a small time, I turned to kitchen knives and poking something with that. That didn't last long, but for some time, the addiction was even worse. Often I wonder, why I would turn to this, and it seems I have no answer.
I am getting help. I'm seeing a psychologist, but this addiction is overpowering me. It's completely overpowering me, and I can't break free from it. I admit, it's gotten better. I've been cutting a lot less now. I've barely cut in about a week. I haven't really this month at all, but the addiction still exists. It's still inside me. And I know it's going to require something for me to stop with this. Anxiety or Anti-depressants. Because I know, this is not okay. I know that this needs to stop. And I know that I shouldn't be cutting at all.
I know...trust me...
I'm sitting here, typing this in long sleeves because I can't wear short sleeves. Not with my arm as red as freaking Christmas. I have to hide all my cuts and scars from publicity. I don't want people asking me about them. I have to lie and act as if I got scratched by a cat because I don't want people to think I'm crazy...I don't want people to think I'm this mental child who needs to be put in an institution, so I hide my cuts from public.
It doesn't feel good to lie.It doesn't, but it's just something I feel is right to do.
When I go back to my psychologist. (I don't know what's going on with that) I'm bringing up anti-depressants again. I'm sick of cutting, and I can't stop on my own. I don't remember how.
I am getting help. I'm seeing a psychologist, but this addiction is overpowering me. It's completely overpowering me, and I can't break free from it. I admit, it's gotten better. I've been cutting a lot less now. I've barely cut in about a week. I haven't really this month at all, but the addiction still exists. It's still inside me. And I know it's going to require something for me to stop with this. Anxiety or Anti-depressants. Because I know, this is not okay. I know that this needs to stop. And I know that I shouldn't be cutting at all.
I know...trust me...
I'm sitting here, typing this in long sleeves because I can't wear short sleeves. Not with my arm as red as freaking Christmas. I have to hide all my cuts and scars from publicity. I don't want people asking me about them. I have to lie and act as if I got scratched by a cat because I don't want people to think I'm crazy...I don't want people to think I'm this mental child who needs to be put in an institution, so I hide my cuts from public.
It doesn't feel good to lie.It doesn't, but it's just something I feel is right to do.
When I go back to my psychologist. (I don't know what's going on with that) I'm bringing up anti-depressants again. I'm sick of cutting, and I can't stop on my own. I don't remember how.
If you actually read this... I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to read this... I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.