When I say I'm self-harming again, I really should explain. I was never a cutter, really. I tried it, didn't really get many kicks from it, whatever. I burned myself every now and then, too, but it wasn't really my style. I've always been a picker. Pick and pick and pick away at it, like I'm trying to dig out of my skin whatever's trying to claw it's way out from the inside.
The proper name is dermatillomania. Compulsive skin picking. A form of OCD. Mine is severe, though there are times I forget this little fact. It started when I was twelve. I am now twenty-five. I was doing better. I really was. Then, just like every other... fucking... time, I got triggered.
Stress. It's a funny fucker, isn't it?
Summer is always a bad time of year for me. I've struggled through many summers in long sleeves, ninety/hundred degree weather, 100% humidity, and lying through my teeth, "Oh, I'm fine, really, no, that isn't sweat coming through every pore of my body, I'm fine, really..." Hiding, because shame is a bitter, angry, horrid pill to swallow.
I've done therapy. In and out, off and on. I've had so-called "professionals" try to push and pull and manipulate me into various treatments or mentalities, all to no avail. Usually, it just pissed me off, and I left. Noooo, you don't get to tell me I'm a perfectionist with obvious self-loathing and self-esteem issues, nooo, I TOLD YOU THAT THE FIRST DAY! Noooo, you don't get to tell me I have "anger issues" that I need resolve, noooo, FUCK YOU...
It's a vicious cycle of screwing myself over, time and again.
I think I need to go back to therapy, is what I'm getting at.
I hadn't touched laxatives in a very long time. I used to take them quite often, and when I stopped, I didn't have a bowel movement for two weeks. I was so constipated, I was vomiting after every meal, simply because my body would not, could not, keep the food down. There was no room. That's how bad it was.
Earlier this evening, I took my first two laxatives in over a year.
I've also taken some diet pills the past few days. My mind is seriously considering pulling out the "big guns", the anti-depressants and other medications I squirreled away when I quit them cold turkey, years ago. (Side note: I quit them cold turkey because, 1: pharmaceuticals were my last resort back then, I was seriously making a plan and setting a date for killing myself, 2: I started feeling better after awhile, and 3: the realization hit me that my 'good doctor' psychiatrist was really a drug-peddling FUCK running an addictive fraudulent scam out of his office.) The meds are still good, to some extent. Though it is definitely not recommended to treat yourself... with old medications you were prescribed at a very dark, hellish time of your life. BUT oh... well... ya know, I feel it coming on, and I don't want that blind tunnel vision of that wicked depression monster, it's hideous, and I just know that if I start self-medicating NOOOOOOW... I should be fine. I'll be fine! Right? Right!
...Riiiiiiight...
But really, now, these crazy, energized spastic days I'm having??? It's crazy. The energy is frenetic, relentless, and the insomnia is getting to me, and I want to sleep, and I DO NOT WANT TO EAT, and I can feel the itch to self-destruct just writhing and crawling beneath my skin and it's causing me to do badthings and I don't want to do badthings but maybe I do because maybe this is the only way I really know to cope, and FUCK FUCK FUCK.
I think I need therapy. Or to go find the local mental institution and tell them I've lost my fucking marbles and the skies are laced with color like a marbled cake batter, and I can hear the hum of the everything, and see energy floating around things and people and nothing and the shadows are coming back and sometimes they whisper, and at night, oh god at night, the eyes are looking in the windows, and they're watching me and I know it's silly, I know it's stupid but there are clawed hands underneath the bed and I know I KNOW that these are not real but to me, to me, in those seconds of terror that grip strong and fast my heart and chill me to the bone marrow, that curdles my blood, I KNOW there's something there, and it's coming, it's waiting, its mouth is yawning wide and open bigger than is normal and there are teeth and they are for gnawing and ripping meat and the tongue that dances behind those teeth wants pretty red rivers to flow from my pores...
And there are bumps and bangs in the night and they ARE real, these are not imagined, and there should be no bumps and bangs, I am alone, I am alone in a big house with no one for miles in any direction, and I am alone, and there should be no bumps...
See? Do you see...?
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