ITS ALL IN YOUR HEAD

entry three

I'm constantly sitting on the edge. The edge of sanity and insanity. Constantly walking the line of feeling absolutely everything, and nothing, waiting for the wind to decide where I should fall.

I don't know which one is worse.

Feeling everything so intensely that I want to scream, and dance, and cry all at once. Or feeling completely numb. It's a lose/lose situation I guess. Because each one results in self destruction.

I don't remember a time when I wasn't harming myself in one way or another. As a child it was in small ways, eating too much so my stomach would hurt, not eating for days so I would feel faint, calling myself names and isolating. But as I grew, the behavior grew with me. I was only thirteen when I first cut myself. I had seen an older high school girl with cuts on her arms, and something in my head just clicked. Maybe it would help.

All I had was an old pocket knife, that was so dull I'm surprised it actually did any damage. They were small, and surface level, barley enough to bleed. I didn't know how to go deep, I didn't know that was even possible. At first it became a monthly habit. A punishment for myself when my thoughts got really bad. No one noticed. So I began doing it more often, not fearing my parents finding out since they hadn't for an entire year. They didn't scar over much, and if they did they faded really quickly, I guess you could call them baby cuts.

As I got older, the cuts got slightly deeper. I used foundation to try to hide the redness on my wrists, and hide behind long sleeves. But my parents found out.

I didn't cut for a long time after that. And I had to resort to my old habits. Binge eating, starving, picking at my skin, hitting my head on the wall, calling myself names— keep in mind these were all triggered by the smallest of things too. An argument with my sibling. Embarrassing thing at school. Felt ugly that day. Got a bad grade. I felt too much all the time. And I had to keep from exploding.

I waited it out. Letting my mom check my wrists spontaneously, and she enrolled me in therapy.

After a few months life seemed to move on. And I realized my wrists weren't the only place I could cut. So I got a razor from a pencil sharpener, and started all over again. It has started as a form of self punishment. But soon I was doing it as a distraction. It made me feel something when i was numb, it made me focus on something when I was feeling everything all at once.

I was sixteen when they finally found out again. And back in therapy I went.

Now, I'm no longer a teenager. And the habit is going strong unfortunately. Over the years I learned how to go deep, how to care for them, and how to hide it. I learned to love the color red and to find peace in it.

I don't know how to stop. It's been a constant in my life for years. It has stopped me from taking my life many times, and in some strange way, I think I'm addicted to the pain. The pain calms the storm of emotions when it is raging. The pain assures me I am real when I feel entirely numb. The pain punishes me when I'm angry. The physical pain is so much better then emotional pain.

Now I feel guilty when scars fade. I know that is stupid.

A lot have stayed though. The ones too deep to fade away, so they turn into a deep purple strip along my arms, wrists, and thighs. I like the ones that have stayed. And I know I shouldn't. They are like tattoos. A part of me. But I feel so damn venerable when people see them.

It's hard being so self aware.

I know what is happening. I know what's going on in my brain. And I know it's not normal. I know the terms and the definitions. But that doesn't make any difference. I know the toxic actions I'm doing. But I can't stop.

It's like being in a car crash. It happens all at once, and over an eternity. All you can do is watch and hold on and pray you make it out okay.

Others with borderline personality disorder can split and triangulate on people in their life. And don't get me wrong— I can too. But ninety precent of the time I do it to myself.

That's right I can literally gaslight, rage on and split on myself. Usually it is brought on by what I would want to do to others. Someone made me mad? Take it out on yourself. Someone made you anxious? Take it out on yourself. Someone spoke to you? They just did it out of pity. Take it out on yourself.

On the outside I look blank. Call it resting bitch face. But on the inside I'm always playing a losing game.