Teeny Tiny Update

Hey there.

  I’ve been meaning to write a lot this past week but have been swamped and such.  I had a friend pass away last week and just haven’t found the motivation to write.  Today was his funeral.  It was very beautiful and gave me the closure I needed. 

  I’m lacking much motivation to write anything more but I promise that I’ll start writing soon and will continue with writing about my history and such.  Thanks!

Picture:

Meow!

History 2

Hello.

  I had that same silly panicked feeling earlier tonight but it went away as I was trying to hurry and finish a project for one of my classes that’s due tomorrow.  After finally finishing it, my panicky feeling was gone but my head felt weird.  I got a small fever.  I feel absolutely fine physically so I have no idea what caused it.  Weird!

   In this blog entry I’ll write more about my history with self-harm.  My impulses were present again today and I think it’s just my coping mechanism alarm going off because of how much stuff the universe threw at me today to remind me I need to snap out of vacation mode.  I ignored the impulse as usual.  The past couple of days I’ve noticed that my self-loathing has been out of control too.  I’ve been loving myself for a while but today was the first time I started saying angry things about myself out loud when I did something wrong.  I have no idea why I’m being so self-critical right now but I know that my body’s physical state is currently repulsive to me.  I want to switch bodies so bad.  I can’t stand being in my skin right now at all.  Argh!

  Ok sorry, back on topic.  Umm let’s see… Oh I know where I’ll start.  I’d like to bring up the issue with self-harm being confused with suicidal thoughts and all of that.  Before I continue, I’m giving you another warning that what I’m about to write is graphic.  If you don’t want to read it, then skip ahead to the next paragraph.  LAST CHANCE!!  Ok.  Ever since I started self-harming when I was 13, to this day, I’ve only had suicidal thoughts twice.  The first time was when I was still 13 and lost my virginity to a boy who was three years older than me.  He wanted to break up with me and I was heartbroken because I thought he loved me.  I wanted to die so bad because I was absolutely devastated from being rejected.  In the heat of the moment, I got an old kitchen knife I had used for self-harming in the past and started a cut right above a vein on my wrist.  I vividly remember this moment and remember my thoughts when I was cutting—I didn’t once think that I wanted to cut deep enough to hit my vein and bleed to death.  I didn’t once think that I was going to end my life right then and there.  I hadn’t even gotten to the thought of what I wanted to do to off myself.  All I knew was that I wanted to die and needed to cut BAD because I was devastated that a boy didn’t love me anymore.  I was sitting on my bed on top of my white flowery comforter blanket, facing the dresser in front of my window in my room when the knife cut open my vein.  I remember everything turning dark as I went into a complete panic from the sight of my blood pumping out of a small cut on my vein.  I thought I was going to die and it was not what I was expecting at all.  I ran across my room and grabbed a bunch of toilet paper to hold onto my wrist and stop the bleeding.  I can’t remember how long it took to stop the bleeding but by the time it had stopped, both of my arms were covered in blood up to my elbows.  I had blood on my face somehow too.  For some reason I couldn’t leave my room to go clean up because I was afraid of getting caught so I stayed in my room the rest of the night with bloody arms, waiting to get up early so I could get rid of the mess.  The worst part of that memory that has stuck with me to this day aside from the shock of hitting a vein was the smell of my blood.  I had never witnessed that much blood come out of me and had no idea that blood even had a smell.  The next day in school I was in my English class and could smell a faint smell of popcorn being made down the hall.  The faint popcorn smell reminded me of the smell of my blood and I got scared because I thought I was bleeding again.  Luckily I wasn’t but my goodness how that smell made me sick to my stomach.  After that experience I avoided cutting anywhere near the veins on my arms.  I did not want to die.  I did not want to bleed to death.  I did not want to hit a vein ever again.  And I certainly didn’t have a suicidal thought for many years after that even though I continued to self-harm.

  My second experience with having suicidal thoughts was about three years ago when I was in the middle of a long-term relationship with an addict.  I don’t even remember what was going on that day but I remember driving downtown to go visit my boyfriend and I was angry at him for some reason.  This was probably the lowest point in my relationship with him where I felt absolutely hopeless and stuck.  I felt like I couldn’t get any lower and that I wasn’t living my own life anymore—not just with him, but with going to college too.  I felt like the choices I was making were not for me at all and I was truly unhappy.  So for a few minutes while driving down the freeway, I started thinking about suicide.  I thought about this ‘easy’ solution to my problems and what it would be like to not be in existence anymore.  I didn’t think that people’s lives would be easier with me gone or anything.  I just felt I was at such a low point and I wanted to disappear.  Again, I didn’t even think about how I wanted to end my life.  I just thought about the sensation of non-existence.  By the time I pulled up at my boyfriend’s house, the suicidal thoughts were gone and I haven’t had them since.

   I have cut several times before and after both suicidal thought periods and not once did the thought of suicide cross my mind.  I wanted to cut for multiple reasons which I will go into eventually.  Most of the times I cut were because I was angry at myself or angry at someone else and needed to release those extreme internal emotions.  I needed to see them ooze out of my arms.  I needed to feel them physically leaving my body.  I needed to have control over SOMETHING.  But not once did I sit there and go oh gee, I want to die, I’m going to cut so I die.  No.  I understand how one would associate a cutter with being suicidal and I know that some people who are suicidal do cut as well.  But not all cutters are suicidal.  And not all suicidal people cut.  Does that make sense?  I’m going to go into this suicide topic again soon but I’m out of energy to vent about it. 

  Anyway, that’s all I’m going to write about for now.  I will post more history stuff soon.  Thanks again for reading. 

Picture:

Found on the internet.  Hehehehe.  I wonder what that dog sounds like when it tries to breathe.

Anxiety or Jetlag?

Howdy.

  I’m not feeling good right now.  I can’t decide if it’s some minor jetlag or if my anxiety is just horrible and I’m coming up with excuses.  It’s been a few hours since I’ve gotten home from an 8-day spring break vacation in California.  I had an absolute blast!  So I may be having this weird feeling because of the flying or something.  It also feels like I have a bad feeling.  I hate admitting I have a bad feeling.  If I deny that bad feeling, it’s like my brain is trying to negotiate with the universe and maybe I’ll win this time.  I really wish I didn’t have this feeling!  Or maybe this feeling is just anxiety?  Or jetlag?  The ultimate answer may be that it’s just 4:00 in the morning and I haven’t adjusted to the time shift yet.  Anyway, I’m feeling strange.  I hope that everything is ok out there.

  Today was also the first day since my scarification incident that I’ve had the impulse to self-harm.  I don’t know what brought it on or triggered it though.  It sort of popped up in my head like it’s a normal impulse I have throughout the day and it’s something that needs to be taken care of right away.  When I’m in that state of mind, I no longer feel proud of myself for fighting my impulses and I forget every promise I’ve made to myself and others about self-harm.  I go right back into that mindset as if I had never stopped and I instantly start planning in my head where and what I’m going to do.  I guess the difference now is that I’m actually realizing what I’m doing and I’m stopping myself.  It’s hard for me in this moment to be proud of that though.  I don’t feel like I’m making any progress at all.  Even if I’m not actually self-harming but I’m battling the impulses in my head, is that progress?  Why I can’t I see it as progress?  I’m stuck in this huge hole that I’m trying to climb out of.  I’m halfway up the wall, almost within reach of the top, but I’m still in that damn hole aren’t I?  No matter how far up that wall or how low on the bottom I am, I’m still in that stupid life-destroying hole.  How is that something to be proud of?  Sorry--I don’t mean to be negative and gloomy.  I’m just trying to vomit out all these words so I can go to bed with a metaphorically happy feeling in my stomach.

  I have been sitting here for a good 30 minutes and can’t think of what else to add so I’m going to go to bed.  Thanks for reading this strange little rant.

P.S.  You know what I learned on my trip while I was out collecting rocks and seashells at the beach?  That people are like seashells.  I never found a perfect seashell but I found some absolutely beautiful ones.

Picture:

I'm posting this picture strictly because of seeing what the name of the file was.  I download this picture off of the internet because I thought awww what a cute bird!  Then I saw the filename.  Look at this bird as if it's Venom (from the comics) emerging out of a tennis ball.  Hahahahaha.  Ok I'm going to bed.

History

Hey there folks,

  I’m feeling a bit better today as far as feeling isolated and strange goes.  It’s weird being away from home (I’m currently on vacation) and seeing everything and everyone from far away.  Not that I’m focusing on that right now but it is an observation I’ve made while being away.

  A while ago I know that I was talking about making my blog more about my history/story with self-harm.  The reason why I haven’t talked about it more is because I’m scared to.  Pretty soon I’m going to let my friends know that I even have a blog and I know that some of them don’t even know of my problem with self-harming.  So I don’t know… my brain is a mess with trying to figure out what to do about this.  I could just say screw it and jump into the water so to speak.  It’s the only way I’m going to get myself to obtain my goal anyway.  I’m still trying to get over the fact that I’m writing about myself too.  I’m not writing about someone or someone else’s problems.  I’m writing about me.  It’s something to get used to eventually.  Argh!  Before I type any further, I wanted to talk about a setting I changed with this blog.  I made it so a warning comes up when you read my blog, informing you that this blog contains adult stuff.  I consider self-harm or at least what I’ll say about it adult in nature and I don’t want kiddies reading it if they’re not supposed to.  

  Anyway, where do I even start?  What do I want to talk about when it comes to my problem with self-harm?  I don’t know where to start.  I read a quote today that said something like “If you don’t know where to start, go back to the beginning.”  Hah!  I could do that.  But is it too boring?  Why does it even matter?  Blah blah blah?  Blah! I need to stop thinking so much.  Here goes.  I’m just going to start typing.

  I was 13 years old when I first started self-harming.  I didn’t even know it was called that at the time.  I knew nothing about it beyond what it did for me and how to do it.  The first day I self-harmed is still vivid in my memory.  I was 13 years-old and only an 8^th grader.  My best-friend and I were spending another day at the creek by the pond in my town.  I remember sitting on a large rock next to her where she showed me how to erase my own skin with an eraser.  It was something silly, fun, and painful that I was used to participating in at that age.  I erased a large mark on my skin that was about 2 inches long and a half-inch wide, in the direction of “down the road” and not “across the street” (“down the road” means parallel with the direction of your veins, “across the street” means across them, or perpendicular.)  I loved the feeling of creating a minor but odd looking wound on my skin that didn’t hurt until after the layers of skin underneath the erased layer were exposed to the elements.  It was such a small moment of experimentation, but at the same time was the tiny spark that started a fire which spread in every direction of my being.  I lied to my parents about the grotesque mark on my arm, telling them that I had slipped at the creek and scraped my arm up bad.  They completely believed me and I felt awesome for doing something rebellious that I could so easily get away with.

  I loved the feeling that first eraser mark gave me so much that I continued to erase my skin on both of my arms in little areas.  The pain from the erase marks was extreme but for some reason I enjoyed it and wasn’t worried about the harm to myself I was causing.  I started wearing sweatshirts all the time so nobody at school would see after having a close call at school.  Someone had seen my bandaids covering an eraser mark and reported me to the office.  One of the ladies in the office quoted a line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail – something about flesh wounds – when I was showing her my arm.  She asked how I got it and I told her that it was a dare.  I was asked nothing more and sent back to class. 

  At some point in time the curiosity I had for erasing began to get boring.  I think this is the point where self-harming became an addiction/copying mechanism for me.  I was dealing with my parents splitting at the time and all the social dramas in Jr. High.  The pain from self-harm was turning into the answer for all my problems and made me feel like I had something I had control over.  The pain was starting to not be enough for me.  I had to try something else so I started using sharper objects to cut my skin instead of erase.   At the time, none of my friends had ventured as far as I was venturing when it came to doing silly stuff to ourselves.  Nobody had tried cutting yet.  While this was still going on I still had no idea that what I was doing was called self-harm/mutilation.  I had no idea what the hell I was doing.

  I always wondered if this was mainly an addiction for me and what part of it I was addicted to.  Was it the pain?  The process?  The control?  The sight?  The blood?  The release?  The secret of it?  I was chasing that first ‘high’ for quite a long time.  I tried sharper objects and cut deeper and more often.  I finally reached the sacred ‘tool’ when I found that a relative had surgical blades I could gain access to.  Disposable, sterile, sharp blades.  These became my favorite ‘tool’ that I used ever since.  Why didn’t I go beyond surgical blades like I did with all my other ‘tools’?  Surgical blades scared the living hell out of me.  They were dangerous, sharp, and deadly.  They became the line I couldn’t cross but a line I was willing to stand right in front of and challenge like humans are good at doing.

  Ok I’m exhausted from typing.  That’s all I want to write about for now and a pretty damn good start if I say so myself.  Before I finish, and I think I’ve mentioned this somewhere in a previous post, I wanted to say that I’m not writing about this in support of self-harm.  I DO NOT promote self-harm in ANY WAY.  My experience with it is hopefully an experience that others can learn from.  I want to supply the right answers to those who have questions.  I don’t want to supply the wrong solutions.  Self-harming is very negative and if you know someone who self-harms, be sure to be there for them if they need you.  If they want help, then help them.  Just know that not everyone out there fully understands self-harm for what it really is so sometimes it’s hard for a self-harmer to want/get help.  I’m hoping I can provide a better understanding of what it is so others will have a better understanding.  And hey, ignorance is bliss.  Sometimes things are best left unknown or unheard.  To each their own.  If you don’t want to hear anymore about this then I won’t make you but I’m not going to stop talking about it.  You can choose not to read any more of this and I will not judge you.  Do what you want because you’re just as human as I am!

Alright, it’s about 2:30 A.M. and I’m starting to feel like I’m regressing into an elderly lady with low blood sugar and blurry vision.  Thank you so much for reading this.  I appreciate it more than words can say.  Night!

Picture:

In honor of St. Patty's Day. Found on cuteoverload.com

Isolation

Hey. 

  I’ve been struggling lately with the feeling of isolation.  I think that I’m starting to get used to it but am worried that my subconscious will want me to push everyone away.  I haven’t had the urge to push everyone away but I have wanted to push away those that bring negativity towards me.  I am keeping those that bring love to my life close though.   Then there’s the category of people who I’m attached to but are the ones who are bringing hurt and negativity to me.  I wish it was one person or maybe two so I could write another letter to them (that I’ll never send) to get my feelings out.  When I sat down to type out letters, my list quickly grew in my head and it worried me.  Yes, I have true friends.  Yes, I have true family.  But I am now seeing certain people around me who are not bringing me a single ounce of good.  Why put energy into trying to keep them in my life?  They don’t define me and never will.  Anyway… coming to the realization of how big my list of mean people I have in my life has made me really face the feeling of isolation.  I think I’m starting to accept the feeling now.  I’m not choosing to be alone or away from everyone though.  All I’m doing is accepting and acknowledging that strange feeling of isolation.  I want the feeling to exist and do its thing until I can figure out what I need to do next.

  I’m having a hard time eating lately.  I was eating breakfast this morning with a couple people (I don’t want to say who or where) and one of them made a comment about how much food I had ordered.  I know that joking is their nature, but it shot me back into that anxiety with eating.  I just can’t do it.  I can’t eat.  It’s getting harder and harder for me to have an appetite and enjoy food without getting uncontrollable thoughts about how bad I am.  Earlier tonight, I saw myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth and realized how heavy I look to myself.  It just doesn’t feel like me.  I feel enveloped in several layers of disguise—so many layers that I can’t even recognize myself.  And then when I realize that what I see in the mirror is truly me, I get sick to my stomach.  I don’t want to look or feel like this.  I look and feel repulsive in my own skin.  Yeah yeah I am accepting of who I am and what I look like, but that doesn’t mean that I like what I see.  I accept that I look the way I do but am not okay with it at the same time.  I feel like I’m finally getting small specks of confidence back into my consciousness and every time I become aware of how I look or someone says something triggering, those little specks of confidence crumble in the wind and disappear, placing me back at square one.  I want to figure out what my body is trying to hold on to.  Do I still need protection?  Am I still wearing armor that is growing thicker and thicker by the second?  What if I don’t want this armor anymore?  I can protect myself just fine without it!  I am absolutely sick of this battle.

  Oh and another thing… I got a new tattoo!  It’s a lot to explain so I’ll do my best.  The tattoo consists of a simple-looking butterfly, swirly doo-dads, forget-me-not flowers, and the quote “The best way out is always through.”  The location of my tattoo also has meaning.  First of all, with the butterfly design I picked—there’s something called The Butterfly Project that I became aware of a few years ago when my self-harm had picked back up.  The Project consisted of various suggestions of how to help fight the urge to self-harm.  One thing that was suggested was to draw a butterfly in the area where you were going to cut, metaphorically giving life to said butterfly.  If you didn’t cut and let the butterfly fade naturally, the butterfly is metaphorically released into the universe.  If you did cut, you have to wash the butterfly away, thus ‘killing’ it and not allowing it to be free and alive in the universe.  At the time I was so inspired to try this and looked up a simple butterfly design because I didn’t want to make one up on my own.  I found a really simple one and drew it on my leg.  This method worked for the longest time!  I eventually got distracted in life and stopped using this method obviously.  So when I was formulating this tattoo idea, I stumbled across that same butterfly design I had found years ago and started working on a tattoo design from that.  The swirly doo-dads I had been doodling for years and thought I’d add them behind the butterfly.  Forget-me-nots are and always have been my absolute favorite flower of all time.  They are so small but so beautiful and blue, my favorite color.  As far as the quote goes, it’s from a Robert Frost poem titled “A Servant to Servants.”  The poem is honestly too long of a read for my liking, but that particular line has stuck with me ever since I read it.  I knew instantly that I wanted a tattoo of it because of how much it meant to me and this butterfly design I had already come up with worked perfect.  I finished the design and took a while to find a spot to put the tattoo on my body.  There’s an area on my right leg where I had self-harmed several times in the past.  About three years ago or so, I had cut the words “ugly fat failure” into my leg.  The reason why I did it was stupid and it’s the only set of scars on my body that I absolutely can’t stand to look at.  They’re not true to me.  They don’t speak truth at all.  I’m not ugly.  I’m not fat.  And I’m not a failure.  I didn’t want such strong words to be seen on my body anymore, so I decided to put this beautiful tattoo on it.  Anyway, that’s the story about the tattoo.  I may or may not post a picture at this point in time mainly because it’s healing right now and looks scabby and gross.  I get so happy and excited every time I see it now.  I see something beautiful in an area that I wanted to ignore for the rest of my life.  I absolutely love it!

  My impulses to self-harm have been non-existent lately.  Ever since my scare with trying scarification, I haven’t had any strong impulses to cut at all.  I’ve had a few down moments but have found some unexplainable inner strength to push through and move on.  I’m hoping I can keep this up.  I really want to be done with these impulses.  I don’t want to bring harm to my body anymore.

  Well I think I’ve satisfy my urge to purge feelings out onto an electronic device.  I finally feel tired which means my mission was a success.  Thank you for reading!

P.S.  I can’t get the horrible earthquake and tsunami in Japan out of my head.  I’ve been hovering over my phone to get constant updates on what’s going on over there and am completely devastated as I learn something new.  It has woken up the urge to get out there and help.  Every time a disaster strikes, I want to get off my butt and help any way that I can.  So when this happened I got completely sick of being obsessed with small crap in my life when this pain is going on in the world.  I want to give back.  I want to do something for the world around me.  I looked into joining the Peace Corps and seeing what other volunteer work I can do in the community around me.  I’ll keep writing updates about how my search is going.  In the meantime, if you can donate to the American Red Cross or other legit organizations to help Japan, PLEASE do.  They need all the help they can get right now.

Picture:

Hahaha.  Yes.  Found on google.

Tattoo:

This was taken right after it was done so it looks all puffy and such.

Scarification

Hello again.

  I’ve wanted to write for the past few days but have been too busy to get around to it.  I’m barely able to do it tonight though because of how tired I am feeling, but I will try anyway.

  Things have been feeling very strange lately.  Ever since doing my Death Lodge I am still in an ongoing process of changes that seems to be picking up pace recently.  My overall perception on everything including people, thoughts, the universe, consciousness, etc. has been changing completely.  I have also been having disturbing dreams about being attacked or dying.  Aside from those dreams, all the other ones I’ve been having have left me feeling bad energy from them.  I’m not sure what is causing these dreams but I would love to find out so I can finally get some good sleep!

  I wanted to write a little confession.  I shouldn’t necessarily call it a confession though.  It’s something I need to get out because it’s too much to carry around and I am feeling like an idiot for letting this happen.  **********WARNING:   Before I continue, I’m going to get pretty graphic, so please don’t read this paragraph if you’re queasy!  This is not for the faint of heart.  Last chance!!!  I’m serious.  I’m going to get graphic!  Alright, you were warned.  First of all, my impulses with my self-harming have been fine since the last time I relapsed.  In the meantime I’ve been looking up everything I can about scarification.  Scarification has been practiced for a LONG time and is considered to be a form of body modification like piercings, tattoos, etc.  As defined on Wikipedia, scarification “involves scratching, etching, or some sort of superficial cutting or incision as a permanent body modification, etching designs, pictures, or words into the skin.”  There are several types of scarification processes but the main one I’ve been interested in is cutting and skin removal.  I looked at several photos and videos, admiring the beauty of the process and the finished product.  Then I thought to myself how awesome it would be to try it on me.  Not just because I already knew how to use my ‘tools’ but also because it looked like a beautiful process and I wanted to create a piece of art.  Oh but before I continue, I do not in any way consider scarification a form of self-harm.  Self-harm is done with negative reasons and emotions.  Scarification is COMPLETELY different with no negativity involved whatsoever.  I wanted to make that distinction before I wrote any further haha.  Anyway, it took me a few days to decide that I wanted to try this.  I didn’t want to self-harm myself – I wanted to create art.  I picked out a simple design and got a hold of some ‘tools’.  In the back of my mind I knew that this could be considered self-harm only because of what I was doing to myself and not WHY… which is probably a huge reason why I regret doing this in the first place.  I caused harm to myself even if it was for different and positive reasons… I still caused harm.  Ok so here comes the graphic stuff.  With the skin removal process, you have to first cut an outline of the design and then cut and ‘peel’ off the skin in between the outline using a surgical knife and tweezers to peel off the skin.  I watched a couple videos of scarification artists doing this to customers so I could get an idea of the technique but didn’t watch much because it made me feel grossed out completely.  Now, I know I don’t have the skill of scarification artists but know I could try the technique to get an idea.  The design I decided to do was an outline of a 5-point star.  The space in-between the outline would be removed after making the outline first.  I picked a spot on my leg, disinfected the area (which I normally never do) and cut the outline out just fine.  After this point, everything went south.  I am talking about this because it scared me so bad and I am still bothered by it!  Ugh.  I started at one of the points of the star and began to cut away the skin.  I got about 10 seconds into it when all of a sudden, I started to get extremely nauseous.  The last time I felt this weird sensation was after my gall bladder removal—my blood pressure dropped so low that I almost passed out and got all pale and clammy and wanted to barf.  Anyway, I stopped what I was doing immediately because this feeling of nausea got unbearable and I needed to run to the bathroom.  I made it to the middle of my hallway when I felt like I was going to pass out.  The thought of dying instantly ran through my head.  I thought that ok, maybe I had gotten something in my bloodstream and I’m poisoned and am going to die in the hall.  I didn’t want to die in my room or in the bathroom.  I felt like I was going to die and the only control I had was where I was going to die.  I lay down on the floor and my vision and hearing went out completely.  After it came back, I still felt like I needed to throw up but felt like I was maybe going to live.  I crawled up the stairs into the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet in time to throw up.  I sat on the floor, hugging the toilet bowl, trying to collect myself.  After deciding that I wasn’t going to die and that I could stand up on my own, I made my way to the sink and brushed my teeth.  I couldn’t believe what just happened.  It scared me so bad.  Even though I have had that horrid sensation, this time felt completely different to me.  I actually felt like I was going to die because I had lost control over something I ALWAYS have control over.  I couldn’t believe it.  I didn’t lose much blood at all, didn’t cut deep, nothing bad.  I think the skin removal sent my brain into shock and panic.  I feel awful for talking about this but I really wanted to share my experience and make it clear that I am NEVER EVER going to do this again.  I never want to put myself through something like that.  I feel completely ashamed about what I did and wish that I had done it professionally if at all. Argh.

  Alright, so aside from that, things are going well.  I will write again soon.

Thanks for reading.

Picture:

OMG I WANT ONE!!  Found on cuteoverload.com