I flipped out this morning after a night of drinking, my roommate and his friend and me are on the porch, roommate is having a manic moment and going on about how he wants to see me happy yadda yadda and I'm telling him that he doesn't understand why I'm not happy, what secrets I have that I don't tell him about that are why I'm not happy. His friend chimes in with, "I think I know what it is."
The look on her face, the tone in her voice, everything, led me to believe that she knew. I can't handle people knowing. I wish I could convey the amount of shit that I feel when I think someone knows, it's like being kicked when you're down, repeatedly, until you can't breathe and your sight just goes red with anger but you can't do shit to stop it so you just take it. So I flipped out, felt ashamed and envious and angry, etc....and cut for the first time in a couple years.
***triggering part*****
What scared me is that this time, in the back of my mind I knew I wanted to do damage. I wanted a gaping hole. So I sliced the same spot over and over, holding back the flaps of skin to view the subcutaneous fat like I'd seen in surgery videos. Then I had a moment of thinking what the fuck man, what are you DOING. I stopped. Looked at it. Obviously needed stitches, it wouldnt' stop bleeding.
Honestly when I was slicing myself like a fucking xmas ham, in my head I wondered if it would really be this easy to slice other shit off that I want gone. It seemed too easy to do, I don't feel the same kind of physical pain I did years ago. I've thought about it alot, almost gone to the point of performing surgery on myself once. Told myself that that's alot different than just slicing open your skin, but still.
Of course I didn't tell the Er the whole story. Didn't tell them I was drunk when I did it. Didn't let on that I was as mentally fucked up as I feel. I know how to play the system, and right now I have to keep working and shit, not throw my ass in a psych ward. Looking back this whole relapse was really stupid. They blood and piss tested me in the ER. Weren't as shitty towards me as previous times. All in all, it was still fucking stupid. I know why I did it, but at the same time I don't.
The look on her face, the tone in her voice, everything, led me to believe that she knew. I can't handle people knowing. I wish I could convey the amount of shit that I feel when I think someone knows, it's like being kicked when you're down, repeatedly, until you can't breathe and your sight just goes red with anger but you can't do shit to stop it so you just take it. So I flipped out, felt ashamed and envious and angry, etc....and cut for the first time in a couple years.
***triggering part*****
What scared me is that this time, in the back of my mind I knew I wanted to do damage. I wanted a gaping hole. So I sliced the same spot over and over, holding back the flaps of skin to view the subcutaneous fat like I'd seen in surgery videos. Then I had a moment of thinking what the fuck man, what are you DOING. I stopped. Looked at it. Obviously needed stitches, it wouldnt' stop bleeding.
Honestly when I was slicing myself like a fucking xmas ham, in my head I wondered if it would really be this easy to slice other shit off that I want gone. It seemed too easy to do, I don't feel the same kind of physical pain I did years ago. I've thought about it alot, almost gone to the point of performing surgery on myself once. Told myself that that's alot different than just slicing open your skin, but still.
Of course I didn't tell the Er the whole story. Didn't tell them I was drunk when I did it. Didn't let on that I was as mentally fucked up as I feel. I know how to play the system, and right now I have to keep working and shit, not throw my ass in a psych ward. Looking back this whole relapse was really stupid. They blood and piss tested me in the ER. Weren't as shitty towards me as previous times. All in all, it was still fucking stupid. I know why I did it, but at the same time I don't.