Today I hit 14 months self-injury free – Can you believe it?! I’m thrilled.

The past 4 weeks have been a ride I’ll say that much.

I was working hard, enjoying it too & before I knew it I’d be freakin’ fired! Turns out my assistant manager didn’t like me getting on so well with everyone else & she turned my own boss against me. Long story short but, fact is my boss had no balls. Not only did he fire me, but minutes after doing so, he asked me out for a drink!

So it’s back to the drawing board, thankfully the job market has perked up a little, but it’s still going to be a pain in the arse trying to find work again.

Between then & now though, the Chinese boys I mentioned in my last post have been & gone. I spend a few days in the next city with some family, but for the most part I was here, sleeping on the floor with a 15 year old boy. The only privacy I got was when taking a shit – & even then there was a queue for the bathroom!

One of the boys is really pretty weird.. he’s like one of those kids who take a gun to school & go postal. He even brought the topic up a few months back.. saying he hated his school & could get away with shooting everyone if he wanted to – Good luck with that I thought. He’s 15, he thinks he’s a smart arse & well, he’s just a moody teenager.

His second last night here he finally pissed me off for the last time.

“What happened to your arm?” he said, pointing to the scars on my upper left arm. “Is that self harm?”…

And here comes the point where they lose the balls they had to ask me such a question.. why is it people can ask, but can’t handle the answer?…

As many times as I get asked over here (it seems to be a rude, inconsiderate British thing.. I’ve never been asked in America).. you’d think I wouldn’t be so surprised & taken aback anymore. But I was & soon my face felt like it was on fire.

After a futile attempt at  justification for something that held me prisoner for over 8 years – I didn’t realise that was what he was looking for me to do, justify it.. because he kept arguing with me & blatantly taking the piss.. until it was too late. What I should have said was;

“That’s personal, I don’t talk about it”. And let that be the end of it. But he just wouldn’t let it go. I won’t go into the whole conversation because it will get me fired up again & I’ve already wasted enough energy on this little bitch.. but he really did piss me off.

People are so callous. What the hell makes them think it’s okay to ask something so personal – & I mean, the kid had the audacity to ask, then to answer his own question – if he knew what it was, why fucking ask?!

The fact he kept pushing me to tell him my reasons for doing it.. Eurgh, fuck off already. Really, if I told him, he’d run a fucking mile! Again, those who have the balls to ask outright, never have ones big enough to stick around. How dare he argue with me about something he doesn’t understand – and I told him that, that he would never understand. Going by the look on his face, I’m assuming that didn’t go down too well. He’s 15 & he thinks he knows everything. He has a lot to learn. And how to have a  little cooth might just be one of them.

My own eyes haven’t so much as glanced at my blog, let alone my fingers attempted a post. It’s been what, a month, give or take.

Frankly, I just haven’t been interested, in anything. Things in Scotland are at the stage where everything is a bother & a struggle. Sometimes even breathing feels like a chore.

I’m depressed & I want to come home. But with nothing new from Immigration, it feels like it’s going to be a long, long way to Happy.

I saw 12 months Self-injury free go by & couldn’t bring myself to mention it anywhere nor to anyone. Guess I’m scared to celebrate the fact when I so, so, much want to do it. It’s been a tight two months. I nearly ended it all 2 days before I hit 12 months. I can only imagine the carnage I’d be surrounded by right now if I’d actually gone through with it.

Anyway, I’m not exactly in the mood for a long, detailed post today – maybe next time – I just wanted to let people know that I’m still around, safe & well (questionably).

Hope everyone else is alright too.

“You can’t relapse after 9 months, that’d be crazy, come on girl!”

And so, burying myself under the covers, I closed my eyes & with a hint of desperation, tried to remember how the blade felt running across my forearms. To say I was successful would be an understatement. I felt the blade tear my skin like I really was doing it, I felt the sting & the pain. But the best part was the release. Imagination is an amazing thing. I pulled myself into my own mind & threw away over 9 months, without actually throwing it all away.. it felt great & even better not to wake up the next morning with bloodstained sheets & a bucket load of guilt, self-pity & in turn, a launch pad back into the spiral.

It’s been a while since I fantasized about self-injury. But it’s been forever since it felt as real, let alone as good as that. I am however so glad I didn’t do it for real. Fantasizing about it isn’t the healthiest thing in the world either but actually doing it after all this time? That’s even worse. Thank Christ I didn’t lose it enough as to forget everything…

I realize I’ve barely touched on the topic of self-injury in the past few months, which makes it sort of strange to be writing about it now. But I guess it just goes to show that even after 9 months, 1 week & 5 days, the urge is still there. I’m pretty sure it will still rear it’s ugly head when I have more than a year under my belt. I sure as hell wish it wouldn’t, but after 9 years of this, we’re not exactly strangers anymore…

Some days I wish I had never started counting the days. It would be so much easier to fuck up if I didn’t know how long it had been. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to pick myself back up afterwards too.

I’ve stayed away from my  old self-injury blogs & forums. I’ve stayed away from anything remotely triggering. I stopped reading the biographies & even stopped speaking to a select few who share my problem.

It’s not my first resort to the simple problems anymore, even the bigger ones… but throw something seriously nasty at me & damn.

What set me off that night?

It’s the same thing that derailed me back in April. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. Other than leave, but I don’t want to leave. So I guess I’m screwed. So far I haven’t been able to nip it in the bud, mainly because I’m too scared of the repercussions that conversation/night will hold. Besides, has my unhappiness about it made any difference so far?  No, it hasn’t & I’m not sure it ever will.

I don’t know yet if the police have taken my “uncle” in for questioning yet but wouldn’t today be so apropos & perfect? I think so.

Over 8 years it’s taken me to even get close to 8 months. I remember hitting 8 weeks & thinking, how in the hell did I manage this?!, never mind 8 incredibly long & hard months, the worst of which I spent in Scotland, 5,000 miles away from my support system that is Bear & his family & honestly, just the freedom of being here & being myself…..

Now that my sun tan is very much gone, I feel my scars stand out more than they have done the past few months, even if it’s just me that fact has me taking a little more care of them – The best remedy is time but there’s still some decent lotions & potions out there that I feel make a difference too. Right now all I need is for the last raised one to go down & stop looking so purple & angry at me all the time! When that happens, like it has with the rest, I’ll be content & happy with that. I’ll be good to you, you be good to me right?!

Anyway, we’re off to the Animal shelter today – Actually since we’re here, did you know they recieve an average of 41 animals per day? That’s 15,000 per annum.

- Looks like I’m going to need a bigger crate….

With the recent passing of my 6 months self-injury free, I was looking at some photos from the last time I was in Scotland, of the scars on my lower inner left arm.

Comparing them to now – Wow! They’ve healed so much. I’m sure they fade more each day & I cannot wait to see how they are in another 6 months time. It’s true, all they need is time. There is no magic potion, lotion or quick fix that we endlessly search for. It just takes time, love & care.

I know they could have been a whole lot worse. I’m glad that for the majority of eight years, most cuts were mere chicken scratches or simply bruises from other forms of SI than cutting. However, it wasn’t until 2005 that things got really out of control.

I’ve long contemplated sharing these images & for the purpose of this

one post, I will attach them. So there’s your trigger warning. Photos are below the cut-off.

04-29-2008

It took years to get my lower arm anywhere near as close to the photo above. They had changed a lot, in shape, size & texture. There’s so many elements, even temperature contributes to how they look, i.e. When it’s cold they turn a deep purple, not to mention they’d throb. They still do & hell, do they itch.

Ah, one of the rare times I actually lost the long sleeves…

That red, raised & hard one on the far left is yet to sink down but it will happen. Again, it just takes time.

Hell, I had an even bigger one than that that, actually right in the middle there. It took nearly 2 years to calm the hell down. In-fact, that was the one that started it all off. My first taste of a proper gaping wound & I swear, I was hooked.

Anyway, having three months of sun has helped them more than anything, especially the scarring on my upper arm as they were most exposed. Yay for sun-tans! (Nae for skin cancer, but you win some, you lose some.)

I took this photo this morning.

10-12-2008

I can see & feel a massive difference.

I’m far more confident in short sleeves now, depending on the people I’m with of course but the point is, I’m not afraid anymore. I’m at work every day with short sleeves & no-one has said a word so far.

The best bit? I no longer have to suffer in a sweater & long sleeves on a summers day.

Even though I was a bit miffed & unsure at first, it has helped that Bear has been open with his family about it. Not all of it of course, but explaining why I have scars up & down my arms before giving anyone the chance to put me on the spot has made me feel able to dress comfortably & even to be able to do the little things like not having to reaching across the table at dinner for the salt awkwardly.

Being open & talking about things has been the best decision I’ve ever made. I went through three & a half years of family secrets with my ex-boyfriend. 4 summers of sweaters because he thought it would be best. So the way Bear has handled things has given me a complete turn around you know? I’m no longer ashamed or worried.

I just get on with it & sometimes….I actually enjoy life again

I had an incredibly vivid dream about cutting myself up last night & after today’s events & through holding back the tears this evening, I find myself fantasizing about it so intensely I swear I can almost feel the sting & warmth of the blade slicing through my skin like a slab of butter.

It feels fucking orgasmic.

& hell, that’s more than I’ve felt in too long now.

My mother, step father & his mother leave at 3am tomorrow morning for Portugal. I hope they have a wonderful time. Heaven forbid the house will burn down while they’re sat on their arses on some beach somewhere, wishing they were in Spain.

My mother & I came to blows this afternoon after she just couldn’t stop pushing me about how I felt about them pissing off for two weeks. But that isn’t the point, I couldn’t care less if they went to the fucking moon for a month. The point is that they’ve handled it extremely badly & even though I gave them more than enough opportunities, they carried on lying about it to my face.

But alas, they lied & are now pissing off without a care in the world, let alone a care about me & what the hell I’ll do. But why am I hurt by this? It’s simply another nail in the coffin & only determines my will to cut them off once I am permanently living in America. After all, cutting them out of my life altogether has only been 5 years coming. Yeah. I’ve been considering this, or more like, I’ve been on the brink of doing this for five years now & it seems they only want to push me over that edge.

It’s been really tense tonight & well, there have been other influences that haven’t helped my situation. I want to write about them, I need to write about them but I don’t think I can.

All I know is that the noose is pulling tighter & I’m starting to choke. I look at the past six months & wonder, why things aren’t any easier….

Why are the urges to tear apart that Bic razor, drag the blade along & down through the layers of my skin until I collapse in an exhausted, blood stained heap stronger than ever?

I was this close to buying the pretty box of individual, wax paper wrapped Exacto blades in the store today.

My impulses are wild as ever & the only way I could stop myself was to reach for handfuls of chocolate bars instead. In-fact I found myself reaching for the alcohol tonight too & they haven’t even left yet.

So I don’t cut, but I do binge. I binge then I starve myself. Two weeks they’ll be gone. That’s two weeks where I won’t have to lie about haven eaten at work or bother to tuck most of what’s on my plate into a tissue when no-ones looking.

Because being 6 months self-injury free really has made me a much saner, happier woman hasn’t it?

Give me a fucking break. I’m still as fucked as ever. I simply can’t help myself.

Talking of urges, for the past few months my little piercing fanatic side has been niggling me to get another one, only I couldn’t decide what. Nothing like getting someone else to hold the blade for you. But maybe that’s not true, after all, self injury is incredibly personal & well, it isn’t the same thing. Mind you, the past few weeks that same voice has been telling me that a tattoo would be a good idea too.

I don’t even know anymore. I barely even feel like trying. I mean, what difference does any of this really make? If it doesn’t make a difference to anyone other than me, then only I can decide if what I choose to do is right for me. So in saying that, surely breaking my 6 month streak would be a terribly damaging thing, not only to my healed scars but to my psyche. If I let this go now, everything else will follow. If I push down on this blade now, my entire world will be pushed down with it. Won’t it? Or will I bounce back, as though from a respite?

2 weeks without my parents. I’ll be at work during the day, but it’s at night when my demons come out to play. It’s the isolation that will get me & well, that is surely a depressives best friend.

6 months of re-learning self-control, self-management & coping strategies.

6 months of manic highs & extreme lows, but never giving up on this goal.

6 months of taking greater care of myself than I have ever done before.

We all know it’s not been an easy road for me, nor am I through the woods yet. SI is a daily struggle & it always will be, the urges are still as strong as day one if not more powerful but in reaching this goal, bigger than any I thought I could make before, I know now that it is possible!

I never thought I’d see this day, the mere notion would send me into a tail spin of self doubt & depression, believing that I could never be so strong. Yet I found the strength somewhere…

It all began with my meeting Bear last year & his influence on me & my life. He introduced me to love again & with that, I began to see myself in a whole new light. He gave back to me the strength I thought I’d lost.

I have to give myself the utmost credit though, as I was the only one who could truly make this happen. In the good times & the bad times I continued to utilize my gift & here I am 6 months later, prouder than ever & still marching forward.

You know what feels just as good? The fact I can now say “I go home next month”.

I’m itching to blog, but every time I attempt I end up frustrated at myself because well, I can’t seem to put down in words how I’m feeling right now.

20th of September & I still haven’t heard dick about my statement. It’s been nearly three months since I gave the word. That’s rich for sure.

I was searching for my bus fare this morning in an old money box & I came across a shiny shard of glass – an old aid to my self-injury. I’ve been triggered pretty much all day. It’s been a long time since I came across a surprise like that – especially as the last of the ‘tools’ I thought I had I handed over to Bear to get rid of a month ago.

It’s been nearly 6 months since my last cut yet the small stuff still niggles at me….

I had chocolate for the first time in ages today, or should I say, I fucking binged for the first time in months. I can’t even clear half the dinner plate (when I actually have dinner that is) but give me a pack of 12 mini-rolls (kinda like Ho-Ho’s) & they’re gone before the sun sets.

Honestly, I feel like shit. I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling & work is just… work. I’m someone else there, but it doesn’t make me feel any better when I sign out.

I noted that this would be post number 200, but hell, I can hardly be arsed to make it memorable.

Sigh, sorry folks. There’s so much more to this but the point is; I’m feeling really insecure & I don’t know how to help it. It will pass, it always does, it’s just a shame it never lasts.

Next time.

I do warn you, writing this is my last resort to self-injuring, if I’m not feeling any better after this, it’s fucking over I swear down.

So I came home after a long night & began venting to Bear about how seeing my father again ended up in him trying to force things with me & his wife.

I told my dad straight up, look; there’s time for all that, I haven’t even been here 24 hours. You can’t force things – because evidently it makes things a hell of a lot worse.

Doesn’t it?!

Point is he basically told me that if I didn’t make up with his wife, he wouldn’t be at my wedding. I’ve heard this before, but as the wedding (if you can even call it such a thing on our budget) is 9 months away I knew we’d have time to sort things out. As much as I wanted them sorted out that is… more in the sense of my father coming alone.

So I come home & fill Bear in briefly on the goings on & then went through to the living room to join my mother & step-father to try & be sociable for an hour (after all this is their house remember..Sigh.)

I come back to find that it’s been all happy families between Bear, my father & his bitch ass whore of a wife.

So of course she was all smiles & giggles with him.

She was “really sweet“.

“I’m so pleased to hear of your engagement”

“I’m really looking forward to seeing Aria“

To which he completely bullshitted that the feeling was mutual.

“I’m sure Aria is looking forward to seeing you & showing you the ring”

Yeah, showing her the ring through her fucking throat maybe.

Why he played the bullshit card & returned the sentiments of which I know were pulled out of the same hat on her end, I dont’ know. I’m so pissed that he spoke for me like that. What happened to them all fucking themselves & going to hell he’d been shouting about not an hour ago?!

I’m so angry that she was like that with Bear too. We haven’t spoken since Christmas 2007 for fucks sake, even after two openings for her;

1) When she found out I’d been sexually abused – that bitch found out I had been fucking RAPED & she didn’t say a fucking word – but oh, get Bear on the phone & she’s all fucking over him like flies to shit.

2) When we announced our engagement. – a much smaller fucking window may I add, yet much, much easier to say something no?!

But no, nothing, not a fucking peep. Quite like the rest of this fucking bunch.

My dad’s most recent quote after my asking what exactly became of their cosy little conversation was;

“I’ve to give you time and you WILL make the effort with the wife”

Will? WILL?!

Fucking watch me.

I’m so upset & angry it’s completely overcome me, it’s been so long since I felt like this. So much has gone on today with the police too, not to mention my mother telling me there’s nothing I can do about my statement & the fact they will do what they want. Again, fucking WATCH ME!

FUCK.

I cannot cope with this bullshit. Now I can handle it from their side, I’ve tread through it a thousand times, but to see Bear leave my side & pull a stunt like this, fuck, it sucks.

I never saw it coming at all.

“I said I would encourage you to make amends, so I’m asking you, as your fiance, to take the opportunity”

And what happened when I bluntly & adamantly said “No”?

Oh, my mistake. You didn’t hang up on me, the computer crashed.

Right. You sure as hell hung up the next time though didn’t you.

I can’t believe he fucking turned on me like that.

I said no & I’ll say it again, with very good reason, reasons I believed he agreed with. He certainly agreed it was all too soon, or at least I thought he did. But hell, I don’t even know anymore. I wish I could say I didn’t care, but I do.

Fucking FUCK!

I want my father to walk me down the aisle but no, I can’t even have that can I – because it is not worth making up with that bitch for. Believe me, it’s not. If he’d really rather chose her over me – (which is nothing my mother didn’t do to me with her husband 5 years ago) if he’d rather chose her over that moment in my life, then fine. It’s not like he fucking walked out & abandoned me when I was 4 years old anyway. It’s not like he never fucking bothered. Tell me, how many times did he pick up the goddamn phone the last three months? Yet he can go texting young men in the fucking Philippines right? Right.

What I even have to make up for, I don’t even know. Why it’s always me who has to bow the fuck down, I’ll never understand. What the fuck do I have to say sorry for?! Please Christ, give me one good reason??

And yes, it is my family, very unlike his own which, goddamn it, I wish I was lucky enough to have had. And I will do whatever I please, to boot.

My dad goes on about how she’s stuck in her culture – she’s forty-fucking-seven & she’s lived in Scotland since she was nine. So lets burn that old trick shall we. Show me your fucking Visa bitch!

I will not be the first one, I have no reason to be anything toward her, I’m simply not interested. And this, this complete slap in the face has so royally fucked things. Thank you.And yes, it is my family, very unlike his own which, goddamn it, I wish I was lucky enough to have had.

But alone I go in saying fuck you & goodnight I guess.

Something of a diamond in the rough but;

Says all I ever could I think