but you guys were so encouraging about my last post and the struggle i’m going through, and it means a lot to me. and now i’m about to rant about personal things because i need to get it out, so proceed with caution.
i try not to talk about the depression i deal with sometimes, because it’s always felt like a much bigger thing to me. the only way i can describe it is feeling like something dark is living inside of me. mental illness runs in my family; my grandmother tried to kill herself numerous times and ended up in a psych ward twice; her father was an alcoholic who tried to burn down their house when they were children while the kids were sleeping. my mom was sexually abused and though i’ve never actually said this to anyone, so was i.
part of that is why i’ve suffered from disordered eating my entire life. it’s partly why i abuse painkillers and take them with alcohol as often as i can get away with drinking. it’s also why i’ve been cutting myself since i was 14.
besides food, the latter was my first real addiction. i started with pencil erasers, then graduated to razor blades on disposable razors. i have faint scars from those, small white keloids that litter both of my arms, though lately the scars are dark and pink and won’t fade to white over time.. people who’ve never done it might not understand the addictive quality to it, and assume it’s a cry for attention. i’m sure sometimes it is, but once you realize how good it can make you feel, how in control of any situation, attention isn’t your motivation. in fact, i dread anyone noticing — the doctor’s called me out on it, my mom knows, and that alone is enough to feel like hell.
when you cut yourself, it releases beta-endorphins. “beta-endorphin binds to the same receptors in the brain as heroin and morphine.” in a word, it’s addictive. it’s grounding. there’s a purity in watching yourself bleed that’s unlike anything else i’ve ever experienced; i’d rather watch myself bleed than have sex or watch a good movie or read a good book. again, food aside, it was the worst addiction i’ve had, and i was sober from it since i was 18 or so (i turn 26 next month).
lately, i’ve fallen into a depression that hasn’t been this severe since i was a teenager. it’s been hard. i bought razors off the internet and lately i’ve fallen back into the same habit of going as deep as i can. these razors go a lot deeper than disposable 3-blade razors. i have a scar that’s four months old now and wakes me up in the middle of the night because it hurts so bad. i want a tattoo on my wrist for my birthday, yet i keep adding new cuts, sometimes deep enough that the skin splits apart and for a moment, i think i can see inside myself. it’s dark and ugly, which seems fitting, and i’m disappointed when i stop bleeding.
i don’t like being this person. i’ve never been normal and i’ve always liked the darker side of things. i’m okay with that. i’m sarcastic, dry, with a sense of humor as dark as the other things in my life. but some days, it feels like something is living inside of me, adding kindling to a flame i wish would burn out. i’m not a normal person. even my depression seems like there’s more to it, but no one in my life understands that desperate feeling like you’re actually going crazy. at times, i feel like peeling my skin back layer by layer, like i’m looking for whatever this is that’s inside me.
this past week i haven’t given a single fuck about my eating. fast food every day, large fries, sometimes twice in one day. no thought to health, no thought to how close i was to the 100s last week. i feel like i’m in a neverending spiral of relapses. i’ve had a rough month, physically and emotionally, and somewhere along the line i feel like i lost control.
now i have cuts that would probably need stitches if i were brave enough to show them, but i feel like i can’t even get that right because i want them to be bigger, deeper, to bleed incessantly, but i feel like a failure in that regard, too. but when i press the blade in, i’m thinking you’re a worthless piece of shit and nobody will ever love youand i don’t know how to stop being that person because hatin myself is the one thing i know how to do, and i do it well.
so i’m binging again, cutting again, taking pills again, watching the control slip away like condensation running down a window.