I cry, I cut, I win. For now. **TRIGGER WARNING**

I feel like the only two things that have the power to beat “IT”, is self-harm and crying. Self-harm works the best but also feeds it more power moving forward.

When I self-harm, I can feel a physical sensation of pain leaving my body. It’s like I’m killing it a little. It backs down. It surrenders and hides back in the shadows. Self-harm saves me. It saves me from it. It saves me from suicide. What’s a couple of cuts when the alternative that is being dangled in front of my eyes is death that brings with it a promise of no more pain. The first cut halts every single emotion that is currently ganging up on me. Everything inside me freezes. My previously rapidly racing mind suddenly is able to focus on just one thing. The connection of the blade to my skin. The realization that suddenly I’m a match for it. At least until next time. A couple more lines and it’s gone. No more panic. No more pacing. No more worry. No more fear. It’s like scaring away a monster.

Crying. Self-harm is a trade in for the session of tears that bring with it panic attacks and a war against death. However, I know that when the tears hit, I’m closer to the end. If I can just get through that last part of it, that war, I will be in the clear again. Until next time. Crying makes me real. It tries so hard to detach me from everything. From everyone. But crying is real. Crying is a connection to real emotions felt by real people. I’m real then. It fights me hardest when I cry. So far I’ve made it, but each time it happens I’m a little more unsure that I will make it.

That scares me.

This period of crying and/or self-harming, cutting my skin, is like it removes the cover-up. The mask. The facade. And it exposes me for what I am, an innocent broken child that just scared the monster away from under the bed and can now rest. I am me. I think I am the most me right after those intense moments of tears and blood. It’s like a breakthrough. For at least a little, I’ve beat it. I’ve killed it. There’s this peace. This sense of calm that follows such intensity. It’s quiet. I’m quiet. Inside. It’s like silence in HD, if there were such a thing.

I wish one of these times it would stay dead forever, but somehow it resurrects every single time. One of these times one of us will officially win.


4 thoughts on “I cry, I cut, I win. For now. **TRIGGER WARNING**

  1. You just put into words some thoughts and feelings I never fully understood about Liz. I had an idea, a basic grasp of the concept, and I know it worked for her, relieving the pressure.
    But it’s been quite a while since she’s done it.
    Pretty much since they got her on the mood stabilizers.

    But every time it resurrects, you’re still there to fight it back, fight it off.
    And you’re no longer doing it all on your own either.

  2. Have you been writing some of the same posts I’ve been reading here?
    A therapist who seems to be able to treat you as an individual, not as a list of bullet points in the DSM…
    … and a guy that’ll chase down an ice cream truck for you.
    Of course, then there are the parts about being reluctant to open up, which is understandable considering some of the people you shouldn’t have to question in terms of your trust in them are the ones who least deserved that trust. Look where it helped to get you. Ain’t anyone with a rational bone in their head that doesn’t understand that it’s a serious stretch for you to trust anybody whosoever about anything whatsoever.
    You know what they say about how it takes a village to raise a child? Yeah, well, it only takes one twisted son-of-a-bitch with an extra Y chromosome in the mix to really fuck that child up, usually one who’s too cowardly to try to mess with anyone who is beyond the point blind vulnerability.
    The whole village ain’t like that, and you figure out the houses you don’t even want to walk past and you accept the hospitality of those who truly seem to be accepting of you.
    Whoever you are. Or turned out to be.
    And when you’re home, you might want to keep the chain on the door when you check who’s knocking, but you don’t necessarily need to keep all four deadbolts engaged.
    There’s a difference between being justifiably cautious and never answering the door…
    … and Great God Almighty and Sweet Sonny Jesus, it’s a bitch to figure out when you’re crossing over that line.
    I can tell you this much with a certain level of credibility only because it’s about me:
    I shut a lot of good people out of my life only because I was so rabid about keeping the people out who likely would never come knocking again.

    I can’t begin to say “I know…”
    … what you feel …
    … what you must be thinking …
    … what it’s done to you ..
    … any of that crap.
    The only reason I can even share any kind of thoughts on such matters is what I have seen Liz live through, and I hear so many things from others that I heard from her. That I saw in her. That I lived vicariously through her.
    And I know that sometimes her biggest adversary was squatting on the prime real estate between her ears.
    There was never any reason for her to listen to me about her problems.
    So that’s when I would remind her of some things she said. Some very encouraging things at times.
    Go back and read some of your posts. You’ll know the ones to avoid. Go back to the ones that came along when you were getting back up on your feet, the ones from when you were standing strong and upright and listen to yourself.
    After a while you find that a whole bunch of that good stuff makes more sense than the ugly shit you just can’t shake.

    You might feel very alone, but it doesn’t mean you have to remain that way.

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