I decided to give it a try. I already have a blog, but it's more public, it doesn't contain any personal thoughts of mine nor anything about my feelings etc. That blog is just another stupid, fake blog, just telling about my days. I want to delete it, but still I can't. And I know my English isn't so good, I'm not from countries where English is main language.
So this is my personal blog, where I will write everything that keeps me awake at night and that eats me bit by bit.
Talking about eating, I think that is my biggest problem.
Every bite is taste of hell. I have hated my body since I started to think about it. I have heard mean comments about it from my step dad, from people that I used to call friends, from anonymous people on my main blog and of course, from myself. I have played soccer for almost 6 years now. I'm not going to stop anytime soon. I love how the calories burn and I feel lighter, for a moment. Then I look in the mirror and see a fat monster. Then I take my eyebrow blade (it's as sharp as shavers) and with smile on my face, cut my thigh.
Yes, I'm a cutter. My first cuts where couple years ago, but they were those which you can't see in the next day. Then I stopped, because I was afraid: "What if I kill myself?" Now I laugh to that sentence. How could I have been afraid of cutting?
Then, spring 2012 came. I lost myself, got deeper in the black ocean. The piranhas of it gnawed me slowly and painfully and it left scars on my arm. Words 'FAT', 'UGLY' and 'ALONE' were etched on my arm among the bloody lines. That spring I wasn't afraid of really doing it. But back then I still didn't want to die. I just wanted to feel alive and unleash all the emotional pain to physical.
^First actually visible cuts, april or may 2012.
Then, just before my summer holidays, everything went bad. My mom and big brother accidentally saw my arm. Mom tried to ask me what's wrong, what happened, why do I do this, how do I do this. I told her I cut with scissors. I didn't want her to take my favorite blade away. Scissors aren't too sharp for me.
She said I can't do that again or she'll take me to a therapist or doctor. I promised her I won't. Tears fell through the whole conversation. But I am glad my mother is so caring. She hugged me tightly after that and said she'd never believed I could do something like that. After all, I have so wonderful life. She always tells me that. I have own room, family, friends, I'm good at school (I actually aren't) etc etc.
And I always tell her it doesn't meen you are happy. But she always ignores that. It's like she doesn't want to take it in.
Well, I stopped carving my arm. For about a month I didn't self harm. But my mind was still a mess. Then, in June, I started to cut on my upper thigh. Nobody can see them even if I'm wearing shorts, I cut them that high.
For first, I had only few lines there, nothing too shocking. But my big brother found out about that too. I was just sufring on internet on my bed, wearing shorts. I hadn't noticed they had been folded a bit, just that much few red line was visible. My brother walked in my room casually without a reason. And accidentally, he saw. I begged him not to tell mom. He just said 'Why do you do that?' and left. I was shaking like crazy, but I was poker faced. I changed in to sweat pants and continued computer stuff.
My brother didn't tell mom.
And I stopped cutting again, for a while.
But it began again, I don't remember when, but it wasn't a long break.
The cuts began to be deeper, they multiplied and soon my left upper thigh was coved in different lengt and depth scars. There was several 'FAT':s among them.
And since that day, for several months, I have cut always deeper and deeper lines.
These are 1-2 weeks old pics. The smiley is now bit purple. It reminds me of how much it hurts to smile. On the upper picture you can see only one area of my left thigh.
Now, I haven't cut for almost a week. You know why ? Because mom found out again. She just asked me:
"You don't do anything to harm yourself anymore, do you?" She just asked it, like she often has after the first time she found out. Though she hadn't asked that me for few months now.
I was wearing a hoodie over my t-shirt. I just smiled to her and said, "of course not". She demanded that I need take the hoodie off. She took my arm and looked at the thin cuts on my wrist and the bit older scars on my arm.
"You promised"
I ran into my room and she followed. I couldn't keep the hysterical cry away. I couldn't breath. But mom was unbelievable amazing again. She just closed me in her warm arms and asked again why do I do this.
"Because I'm alone and don't feel anything"
I calmed myself down and went to bed. She sat next to me and stroked my hair. Mom said maybe we should go to doctor. I started to cry again and repeated the word no.
Then I fell asleep.
This is my story. I'm struggling every day with the urge to cut. The only thing that keeps it away is smoking and being with the ones I love. But I've realized I love less these days. I care less.
About everything.
Couple years ago I was afraid of dying.
Now I can't wait for it.
But still I start to cry and feel like choking every time I think about how would my mom be after that.
It keeps me still here. Tortured.
I won't tell anything about myself that could expose me. Though I think no one I know would ever get to read this. But still, just to be sure. This is my escape now.
