Thoughts on self harm. If you don’t care to understand, please keep your comments to yourself 💜
I’m going to lean into the pain. It’s the only constant outside of change. I’m not giving up, I’m not some loser feeling sorry for myself. But I am completely exhausted with facing everything I have to face alone. And if I feel sad about, I get insulted, if I’m happy, I am ignored.
But with pain, I feel something other than disappointment. With pain I get results. I have reached out plenty, but when you have ptsd, people would rather cast you aside. It’s been this way constantly. Then I was met with death, and any semblance I had of support, faded away in front of my eyes.
No matter how I want to believe someone will understand, or care enough to be beside me, I have to let go.
I don’t have any other available coping mechanism. My son is struggling too and every drop of joy, love and hope goes to him. I have nothing to rely on…
Except pain.
My hero. Self harm. I’m careful and clean. Everything can be hidden from my son. Anorexia is the most effective though. I can starve myself and people will treat me better. People like skinny people. And I’m not making that up. I’ve been 300lbs and 130lbs, you get treated very differently. Nobody really cares who you are inside anyway, so at least I won’t feel so invisible. People care when pretty girls cry. I can lose 15-20lbs easily and I know it’ll change how I’m treated.
This doesn’t affect my son. In fact he’ll likely only see improvements in me. Because I do feel better when I can hurt myself. When I know, secretly, that I am caring for myself the only way that helps.
And I’m counting on someone commenting that I’m weak, a cop out, or a coward. Or ungrateful. Or some advice about self pity and reaching out. You don’t even understand and I’ve tried all the bullshit meant to help people. At this point criticism and advice are useless. I have failed at building a family over and over. No matter how much give, so I don’t need advice. I’ve heard it all, applied it all, but truth is nothing replaces love. Nothing makes up for losing your family.
All that’s left is pain. It’s astounding what I’ve done for my son and I. Out of ashes 😆 I’m an artist. I don’t lack self love or confidence. I can do incredible things. I will continue to do incredible things. But I’m also very, deeply, intimately exhausted.
Pain is my only source of strength.
It’ll be my secret. No one will know. It won’t really hurt anything or anyone. I know how to do it discreetly and without causing harm to my health. I don’t really want to die. I just want to feel something that makes sense. What could be more cut and clear than dragging a knife across my skin. Or the joy of my bones protruding and clothes fitting loosely because I’m not behaving like a sloppy consumer. That ache in my belly, that emptiness that takes the focus off of my heart.
Pain.
But with pain, I feel something other than disappointment. With pain I get results. I have reached out plenty, but when you have ptsd, people would rather cast you aside. It’s been this way constantly. Then I was met with death, and any semblance I had of support, faded away in front of my eyes.
No matter how I want to believe someone will understand, or care enough to be beside me, I have to let go.
I don’t have any other available coping mechanism. My son is struggling too and every drop of joy, love and hope goes to him. I have nothing to rely on…
Except pain.
My hero. Self harm. I’m careful and clean. Everything can be hidden from my son. Anorexia is the most effective though. I can starve myself and people will treat me better. People like skinny people. And I’m not making that up. I’ve been 300lbs and 130lbs, you get treated very differently. Nobody really cares who you are inside anyway, so at least I won’t feel so invisible. People care when pretty girls cry. I can lose 15-20lbs easily and I know it’ll change how I’m treated.
This doesn’t affect my son. In fact he’ll likely only see improvements in me. Because I do feel better when I can hurt myself. When I know, secretly, that I am caring for myself the only way that helps.
And I’m counting on someone commenting that I’m weak, a cop out, or a coward. Or ungrateful. Or some advice about self pity and reaching out. You don’t even understand and I’ve tried all the bullshit meant to help people. At this point criticism and advice are useless. I have failed at building a family over and over. No matter how much give, so I don’t need advice. I’ve heard it all, applied it all, but truth is nothing replaces love. Nothing makes up for losing your family.
All that’s left is pain. It’s astounding what I’ve done for my son and I. Out of ashes 😆 I’m an artist. I don’t lack self love or confidence. I can do incredible things. I will continue to do incredible things. But I’m also very, deeply, intimately exhausted.
Pain is my only source of strength.
It’ll be my secret. No one will know. It won’t really hurt anything or anyone. I know how to do it discreetly and without causing harm to my health. I don’t really want to die. I just want to feel something that makes sense. What could be more cut and clear than dragging a knife across my skin. Or the joy of my bones protruding and clothes fitting loosely because I’m not behaving like a sloppy consumer. That ache in my belly, that emptiness that takes the focus off of my heart.
Pain.
