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I don't want to live that way

I don't write enough in this blog. I wish it was a positive sign that I'm on the mend or not in need of writing here, but it's not. I'm just bottling it all up, like I always do.

Since the last time I wrote in here... things have changed. Or rather, changes have taken place in my  life. I should really, feel a lot happier, be in a more secure place. And when I'm with him... the contentment I feel is genuine. I like him. I like him a lot (heck, I wake up every day and just feel more and more affection for him). And I want nothing more than to be whatever version of me he was attracted to in the first place. I want to let him in so badly.

I don't ever want to have to lie to him about or hide, aspects of myself from him. He deserves to have the best me that I can be. And it's hard to tell who that person is at the moment, but I know that this... thing... doesn't factor into the equation. And until I can get that under control...

It's an open secret that I cut. Let's face it, the scars are far too regular and evenly spaced to have been caused by random accidents, and the fact that they don't seem to heal, is a dead giveaway that something's off. But that's as far as I feel like I can let him in. I can't tell him why I cut and I can't tell him when I do it. It's my coping method. I'm okay as long as I have that. He shouldn't have to deal with me when I'm at my lowest. He shouldn't have to see me like this. He doesn't deserve to be treated like some sort of dumping site for my problems. He shouldn't have to be put in that position.

I hit a whole new low today. Exerted more pressure. The lines are deep red, and bold and beads of blood are forming and forging trails down my arm. And they hurt in that warm, stinging way.

Let's not tell anyone.

Riccochet

I am so sick and tired of vascillating between two extremes all the time.

I was actually feeling okay at the beginning of this week and now I'm not. Really really really not.

My leg is a mess. As is my arm. My hand.

And thankfully, no one wants to know.

Trigger

My leg.

It matches my hand.

Except the lines are straighter and more parallel.

I'm trying hard not to view them as beautiful.

Deceit

1. Have you eaten?

Yes.

2. What happened to your hand/arm/leg?

It was the cat.

3. How are you feeling?

Great.

 

Let's keep it at that.

 

 

The first

So this is my first post in my new blog. I don't really know what to say. Given the site this is hosted on, it's not hard to guess what this blog will be for.

So I suppose I should talk a little about mself:

  • I'm terrible at talking about myself
  • But that said, I am female, 19 years old and living in the UK with my mother
  • I have only recently started to get help for depression because I always believed that I'd just snap out of it
  • I haven't actually "snapped out of it." I've gotten worse
  • My school performance is really suffering because I was dumb enough not to seek help earlier despite knowing that what I'm feeling probably isn't normal
  • I used to be at the top of the class and a bit of a teacher's pet so the fact that I'm pottering around near the failing range makes me feel worthless and like a failure, which doesn't help my school performance
  • Learned helplessness -- I tend to give up when things get tough because I'm already convinced that nothing I can do will change the sitiuation
  • I binge-eat
  • I think I'm better off dead, but ironically, am scared of dying
  • Sometimes... I do intentionally inflict injuries on myself.
  • I berate myself and try to think of different punishments for everything that I do wrong all the time
  • I get really worked up and scared at the mere prospect of school and social situations because I feel like I've let so many people down and everyone probably hates me and they're better off  not having to deal with me
  • Because I get so worked up, I tend not to sleep at night
  • Which then makes me really sleepy during the day, which means I can't concentrate on schoolwork
  • I've noticed that all the bad things I do are cyclic and I hate that I can't seem to break the cycles
  • I'm scared of telling people that I'm depressed because I'm afraid that they'll just think I'm attention-seeking
  • This has gotten me into the habit of compulsively lying and avoiding, which makes me feel even worse about myself

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