I broke a promise I made. I promised I wouldn’t harm myself. I noticed the scissors by my desk at work today and I took them to my wrist. I didn’t draw blood. The marks will probably fade in a week. But I was angry. I was pissed. At myself.
I reached out to people. I took a picture of the self harm and I sent it out to people. I got both support and rejection depending on who it was. My aunt totally rejected me. “Get help. See a doctor” she said. I already see a doctor! I am in therapy. Don’t you see, this is how I help myself. It’s my temporary fix. It’s my temporary therapy.
It has been a while since I last cut. I spent a long time looking at my old scars before I decided to make new ones. I just happened to be wearing a shirt today that only went up to my elbow, so my forearm was exposed and that’s where I usually do the damage.
I’m not doing well. I want to go inpatient. I want to live in the hospital. But damn, that’s expensive. I can’t afford it. However, I do have health care insurance. But I already went bankrupt because of the medical bills once, and I can’t do it again for another seven years. Thinking about the money makes me want to kill myself now. I can’t cope. I can’t cope.
My grandmother passed away yesterday. I was supposed to be seeing her this weekend. I hadn’t seen her for a year and a half. I believe she was looking forward to my visit. I wanted to sit at the kitchen table with her and drink hot tea and just talk. People in my family don’t understand mental illness. I have it. My brother suffered briefly from depression. My grandmother lived with schizophrenia her whole life. It wasn’t something that was talked about. She was just “ill” at times. My family doesn’t understand my depression.
I currently hate my life. I don’t want to be working. I want to spend full time in recovery. I want to go to a therapy group every day and learn coping skills or be in the hospital where they can get me on some different medication. I need something that works! I need to not be depressed any longer. This gets old. I hate being depressed. I hate not being able to get out of bed on the weekends. I hate feeling suicidal. I hate not having a normal life abundant with friends and family.
Then, do something about it, they say. Well, I’m trying but I don’t feel very successful at it. Every day I try. I try to fight the urge to self harm, the urge to drink, the urge to go stand at the top of a bridge and look down. It wouldn’t be fair to my family, for me to do those things, to harm myself more than I already have.
I have trouble with food too. I ate because I was hungry tonight but I am regretting having eaten after looking at my body in the mirror. I don’t like the way I look. I have had anorexia in the past. I see myself and I don’t see pretty. I wanted to make myself throw it all up tonight, but then I would lose my medication too, and I don’t want to have a problem with bulimia on top of all my other problems. So I won’t start that.
Going to see my family this weekend for the first time in almost a year and a half. We’ll see how that goes.