At the moment I’m not writing much, due to fear of saying the same things all over again. Because all my thoughts are about cutting. I just can’t stop them. No matter what I’m thinking about or what I’m doing, it ends with the urge to cut. People ask if I’m fine and I can honestly answer with “Yes!” because I’m not actually bad. But still I think about my personal addictive drug. From the hormonal side of it, the body intern reward system, it’s that and nothing else. I avoid saying that because I don’t want to step on the toes of people who are actually addicted to a substance. But when I talk to addicts I can totally understand what they’re going through. The omnipresence of a desire.
As if my knife was your bottle, your cigarette, your needles.
As if my pain was that feeling you get when you start feeling the effect.
As if my blood was for me what your intoxication is for you.
I had a few wonderful days with people I love but I know that I couldn’t give them what I usually give, just because my thoughts go there all the time. And I can’t even tell them because I feel so stupid – as if I was just looking for excuses for not paying attention. I don’t want to see their fear and incomprehension. And I don’t want sympathy either, after all I’m free to decide. If I had stopped fighting it before the weekend I could have been much more warm-hearted towards the people I love. Was it worth that? Not to cut but be unstable because of it?
My reliable delaying tactic still works now but there is an expiry date. I started with “In two weeks you can.”. Now I’m already sticking to ten-minute-intervals. Much less isn’t possible if I still want to have a clear head for my daily routine. I have dreams of clinics and skills and conversations I don’t have in real life.
I hate it.