I'm wishing I could afford therapy right now. After last months realizations I just haven't been myself, or more like I've been someone I thought I had overcome. I'm a little ashamed to admit this, but I've been struggling with the desire to cut myself again, as well as the usual stuff. I can only assume that my realizations about how well I pass are what triggered it after all this time. I haven't intentionally harmed myself since September 2010, but something pulled the addiction back out of the recesses again.
I'll start with saying that I haven't done it again, but the urge to has come back with a vengeance. It's honestly past the worst by a couple of weeks, but it's not something I really wanted to write about at the time. I came very close though, and if it wasn’t for me eventually opening up to Stef about it, I may have done it. I think at this point I can say that I successfully fought off the attack. I haven’t felt it that strong in years, so it’s honestly been scaring the hell out of me.
I think I may know what helped to alleviate things, but I won’t go into that on here. It’s honestly not something I should make a habit of doing regularly either, but it’s far less destructive to myself. On top of that I filled up quite a few pages in a journal I keep, and wrote a poem or two. Writing seems to be what I’m hooked on lately, more so than painting. I seem to gravitate more towards writing when my anxiety gets out of control for some reason.
I’ve given up putting the full story on here anymore. In this case I prefer to write it and hide it away, if for no other reason than what I write when I’m in that state of mind doesn’t sound like me. Dare I say, I’m not myself when I’m having an attack like that. In a nutshell, I regret the first time I ever took a blade to my skin. If I had known it would lead to years of self mutilation and addiction, I’d have never started. It is the scourge of my life, and I wish more than anything that I could just stop having the desire to cut myself.
Sadly it’s not that easy. I did spend years harming myself, it took me a long time to stop, but I did it. As much as I like to think of myself as having recovered, this recent attack proves that I’m nowhere near as recovered as I’d like to believe. I do have to come to terms with the fact that I will always have to deal with this addiction, no matter how many years it’s been since I last did it. The urge and desire to fall back into my old habits will always haunt me, and I have to fight like hell against it. For now it’s back to manageable level, I weathered the storm, and it’s time to get back on track.
I’ve been fighting off the depression again lately, but I think I came up with something to help today. I decided to actually pull out some pretty girly clothes and wear them around the house all day. Normally I end up wearing what I sleep in all day, which consists of one of my old guys big t shirts, and a pair of long leg pajama bottoms, nothing too special. It’s not particularly girly looking, and looking at that day in and day out I know doesn’t help my self image very much right now. Thankfully today seems to have helped a little, I didn’t bother with make up or anything, but for some reason it made me feel better.
My guess is I needed a little reminder of why I started this to begin with. Girlying myself up a bit more than usual seems to have brought that back. Hopefully now I can concentrate more again on the things that really matter, mainly getting a job. I’m getting desperate for one now, so I hope the job market is starting to pick up. Also, here's a copy of one of the poems I wrote when things were at their worst.
The Girl With Crimson Eyes
I still recall my first glimpse of her,
this alluring girl with crimson eyes.
I was still so young, yet curiously intrigured.
it strangely felt so good when she was there,
and though I knew that our love would be taboo,
I fell for her, I fell hard indeed.
we only grew closer as the days turned to weeks and months,
she had this hold over me, something I could not explain.
when life sought to break me, she was there as comfort.
in her arms I was held as I cried inside,
and when it was over, she was still there,
leaving scars as a reminder of her love.
she was my first true love, my one and only.
she made me feel like no other could.
what a pair we were, this girl and I.
though I would often stray from her,
she was always there when I came back with a heavy heart.
I knew she could kill me if she so desired,
but I let her under my skin, and trusted her with my life.
the years rolled by as the love hate relationship flourished,
she was mine, and I was hers.
what a jelous mistress she truely came to be,
driving off any who would seek to take her place.
I was left with few, if any friends,
most who got close were frightened away by her.
I knew I had to let her go,
I knew I needed her out of my life,
but I just couldn't rid myself of her.
the more I struggled the tighter her grip became.
I longed for her deeply,
but I despised her for stealing so much of my life away.
on and on the battle went, she came and went so often,
but I finally rid myself of her grasp.
the years have gone by,
with only sparse reminders of her slipping in from time to time,
but now she's back for me,
back to reclaim what's hers.
I resist, but I can feel the need for her touch,
it's burning in my veins.
she's begging for me back;
just one more embrace for old times sake.
it sounds so wonderful, but I can't give in.
she haunts me day and night in her struggle to reclaim me,
trying to break my will a little at a time.
I am resisting the temptation, hard as it may be,
but I fear I may one day give in again.
I love her, this girl with crimson eyes,
though I want her so bad, it is a love that cannot be.
Six years of blogging
3 hours ago