Out of Routine
I only feel sane when I’m writing here. I only have control when I am writing here. I did hit walls, but out of anger. And then I took the razor. I was careless. I am so fucking stupid. I can’t even hide these except under long sleeves, and my mom looks for those now. Actually, I think she really just expects me to cut myself.
I was terrified. I sat there, contemplating slitting my wrists for the thousandth time. I really wanted to talk to someone. Josh? No, I’ve called him for help too many times. Jared? No, he doesn’t even really like me. I told myself to just shut the fuck up. You don’t want help anyway. You like the pain, you provoked the argument which ended in blood. So shut up. And the other half told me to get in the shower. I don’t know. The shower is where I can think clearly. I kneeled on the shower floor with my forehead against the wall for the longest time, telling myself it was going to be okay. Bull shit. It is not going to be okay. I don’t know what to do with myself. I mean, fuck! I’m only sixteen. I’m supposed to be happy, not contemplating means of killing myself every other day.
I feel so alone right now. I know I am not the only one out there, but when there’s no one to hold me and tell me I’ll be okay… I’m losing the belief that there is someone out there who will make me better. That idea that cutters and self-injurers get the help they need through some clinic or therapy only exists in books. It doesn’t happen in real life, you don’t get sent away and come back all better, or on the way to becoming better. No body wants to listen to why you hurt yourself. Especially if you don’t even know.
I don’t even know why I continue to write here. No one is listening. Sure, you’re reading this right now, maybe saying “Poor thing” or something. Or maybe you’re saying “Shut the fuck up, no one cares.”
It really is just like real life. People see you, and they say “Poor thing” or “Oh well, I didn’t know her.” or “Good riddance, I was tired of the complaining.”. And that’s it. There is no more. And yeah, if I want change I have to change myself. Good luck with that, I think I’ll just kill myself.
“That idea that cutters and self-injurers get the help they need through some clinic or therapy only exists in books. It doesn’t happen in real life, you don’t get sent away and come back all better, or on the way to becoming better. No body wants to listen to why you hurt yourself. Especially if you don’t even know.”
Sad, but true.
And this next part is probably the worst thing in the world to say/ask, but have you thought about cutting somewhere else, like a place that’s normally covered (with clothing)? I mean, if you absolutely have to give in to the urge, you can at least do it in a place that’s discrete and not get harassed about it. I can’t and won’t tell you to stop because doing so would make me a hypocrite.
I think it’s good that you have someone that worries about you (Jared, as mentioned in your newest post). If I were someone else, I’d probably say “You shouldn’t lie about your feelings, blah, blah, blah.” This has been said to me several times. I know how hard it is to get out. At least you have someone that cares.
Feel free to ignore this blather if you so wish to.
Yeah, I did the whole thigh thing for a while. That wasn’t a horrible question, but I do have a sick answer. I like to look at them… it’s just easier that way. I mean, I’m usually semi-hysterical when I make that decision so I guess I don’t usually plan where I’m hurting myself.
And yes, I know he cares. But I don’t think he really worries, he has alot on his mind. I think it’s when I stare of into space, or burst into our classroom bewildered that confuses him.
The funny thing is that he’s told me I shouldn’t lie about my feelings too. What’s even funnier is that I know he hides his true feelings, he told me so once. I don’t blame him, I guess he’s like me in a way and wants better for other people, we both know how it is to feel real bad about ourselves. I mean, I give advice all the time, but as I said if only I could learn to follow it myself.