Self-harm and laxatives; what twisted fun.

I think people really do underestimate how much self- hatred it takes to actively cut yourself, I have scars on my legs, my wrist, and I am doing pretty well. I haven't cut in a while yet, but I need to, its become so embedded into my life now, I've somehow normalised it and I feel the need to, it's relief to me.

I've been addicted to laxatives, taking around 20 at a time (recommended dose- 2) and I would take them until I'll be in the bathroom feeling pain that I never thought was possible. My whole insides became twisted, I'd be rocking on the floor curled up in a ball screaming in agony, but it would also make me sick, and the reching just tightened and pulled on my muscles even more. I am lucky in the sense that, when I was forced to come off of the laxatives I hadn't had any long term damage. But I will never ever forget the excruciating pain of the laxatives, they controlled everything. I'd wake up and take about 12, then go to sleep and have another say 10 or have twenty in one go and just wait until I could feel empty again. Because, the irony is when I feel empty, I feel whole.

Cutting is a different emotional state all together. When I cut, I am fazed out, I don't understand what I am doing, it is almost as if my soul has left my body and I am standing over myself watching myself. I go into states of deep depression and can't escape now until I cut. When people damage you so much, and people give you scars and take away your body, you become so used to the fact that your body deserves pain that you inflict it upon yourself. Its quite a twisted sight. I remember after cutting for the first time, screaming in my bed, screaming I WANT TO DIE, crying with my eyelids screwed shut, and my Mom had walked in without me even knowing and stood by my bed watching me, I became terrified and backed into the corner and the blood was running down my arm. I screamed at her, I was so aggressive. Screaming for her to get out and leave me alone, I felt violated her seeing me that way, and I want to cry thinking about it. That state I go into is the only thing I can write about and nobody can imagine, its the only thing that nobody has seen, it is the only thing that is mine. And though it was out of concern, my mother took that from me. So now I have nothing.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I am slowly killing myself, but sometimes death or hiding is so much less painful than merely looking in the mirror. I hate my reflection, but I am trying. I am just so tired.

Treatment is so tedious, I have been to one appointment and haven't heard since, I was forced into telling a stranger EVERYTHING, then left to just deal with that. The reason I ahve this anonymous blog is to try to help others without exposing myself. My urge to cut is increasing day by day now, and eventually I will break and I will loose my own bet. But when you have such an emotional attachment to cutting and can only find solace and peice in the what is meant to be pain, you can't just stop cutting.

I love to cut

I love to rip and tear at my skin

I love to see the damage.

But I hate the scars.

The scars are there forever now, but by creating my own scars, I took back control. I can hide my other scars by focusing on self-inflicted.

I sound so twisted and aggressive and abusive and scary. But I don't hold the ability to inflict pain on another person, I deserve it, thats why I do it. You however, do not. I want my readers to know that, and I want them to know that no matter how dark and obscene my life becomes, I would never, ever, hurt anybody else.

After leaving for university, I lost a group of friends who I loved, who I thought I would be friends with forver, and so I trusted them, I told them a lot. But though they think they know everything, they still are missing many peices to the puzzle. And I am so sorry for trusting them, because now they are gone, and it seems I am the only one that cares. Was I ever good enough for them?

I know how to solve this problem. Let's cut!

All my love

JuietX