Outside the Lines (lashton)

(40)

Things have not gotten easier.

My coping mechanisms work for a few minutes, but then they stop. I end up exercising instead, going for a run around the gated neighbourhood we've been placed in for the time being. It doesn't make my thoughts stop, but it helps calm them down. Probably because I'm actually doing something about my body, getting in control of it again.

And I do like it, being in control of my body again. Being able to do what I want again, it's making me happy.

Sort of.

Before, no one knew and I could do what I want as long as I was careful. Now, everyone knows what I'm doing when I say "I'm not hungry" or go out for my runs. And it makes it a thousand times worse knowing I'm disappointing them all.

If no one knew, I'd be truly happy right now. But they do, and I can't change that.

Ashton's stopped begging me to eat now. I think he's accepted that no matter what, I won't. Instead, he'll ask before every meal if I'll eat even a little something. Sometimes, rarely, the answer is yes, but the proportion is 1/8th the size of the boys. And I'll only do that after two days or so of not eating.

I'm just glad he's stopped begging me. It was putting a strain on us. I didn't want to talk to him before because I knew he'd trying to ask me to eat. But now I can be around him and have comfort from him. We've mostly been cuddling up, me wrapped in blankets so he doesn't feel my body, as he watches Grey's Anatomy and I try to sleep.

Which... probably isn't the smartest idea on his end. I mean, there's only been two occasions where he's been aware of my cutting. Once, back in Mexico City after the tour ended, and the other time when he read my hospital journal. I had written on multiple occasions about how I wish I was able to cut while in the center because I felt like I was losing all control and needed to feel something else.

But this show has a lot of scenes with open wounds, and it's only reminding me of how great cutting made me feel. I try to ignore the feeling, but it grows inside of me each time I see a wound resembling one of my old self harm cuts.

Which is probably why I started cutting again. Nothing too bad, I broke the clip part of a metal pen off and use the sharp edge to cut with that. The cuts are very small, but they do bead up immediately with blood. It's surprisingly sharp, which makes me happy. I was afraid it would be too dull of an edge.

It's strange though, in the past it was either I'd restrict or cut, never two at the same time. But now I'm restricting and cutting. Like one isn't enough anymore. Because before, restricting made me feel accomplished, made me feel important. But now, all I can think about is how I'm disappointing everyone, and it makes me feel worse. The cutting helps with that, it numbs my mind because the only thing I can focus on is the pain.

It makes me feel less anxious about everything going on, everything happening in my head. It's like a drug that makes you feel at peace. I usually cut at night and then that's enough to stop my racing thoughts, letting me finally fall asleep.

And tonight is one of those nights.

I'm snuggled up with Ashton, blanket around me, in his bed. We've been sleeping together sometimes at night on particularly hard nights for me. It's usually whenever I don't eat that day, as I try to get my body as far away from his when I do eat. It makes me feel disgusting and bloated, and I don't want him to see me like that. I'm pretty sure he's noticed this, and leaves me alone on those nights. It doesn't stop him from lingering around the bathroom after I eat though. He can't stop me from not eating, but he sure as hell can prevent me from purging anything. The only reason I appreciate that he does this is because I don't have an urge to purge, as I don't eat that much when I actually decide to eat.

I carefully untangle myself from Ashton, and continue to untangle myself from the covers wrapped around my body. It's difficult, as we are under his sheets and the sheets stick to the blanket, but I'm able to get out without waking Ashton. At one moment I think he's going to wake up, but he merely stirs in his sleep and then goes back to looking blissfully knocked out.

It's 3:32am as his clock says, and I make my way out to my own room, reaching into my pillow case to grab the sharp piece of metal wrapped up in toilet paper. My feet pad their way into the bathroom attached to my room. I bring my sweatpants down and raise my boxers up a little to reveal my thighs. They both have old scars, but only my right thigh has new cuts.

I take a deep breath, unwrapping the sharp edge from its toilet paper, and get right down to business. The cuts aren't deep, but they do bead up with blood immediately. They're shallow and small, but I make about 20 slashes into my skin. And for now, that's enough.

I dry off the cuts with some new toilet paper, waiting for them to stop bleeding. When they do, I pull my sweatpants up again and flush the toilet paper down the toilet. Then I wrap up the sharp object in some toilet paper and make my way back to my pillow case.

On the way back to Ashton's room, I can already feel the difference. The dull pain throbbing on my thigh kicks out the awful thoughts plaguing my mind. Slowly and softly, I wrap myself back up in the blanket and get under the covers. Ashton's spread out on the bed, not giving me much space, so I shove him softly to make more space for myself. He rolls over so his back is facing me.

I snuggle my face in his back, focusing on the pain, and slowly fall asleep.