i'm fairly annoyed at mom at the moment. grr on her. and her whole... you're baptized so lose everyone you ever thought you loved and tell them nothing. grr...
thank you very much mom for noticing i had a bad attitude for months now and not saying anything. and me throwing out the film... not gonna happen. because she knows nothing about how much i actually do cut. or come close to it. or that i did that long before i knew anything about cutting. or SI. i mean... if they knew how close i come... came...to hurting myself terribly... to taking something a bit deeper... taking a knife...
she doesn't know that it's taking every bit of strength of will i have not to do it now. can you imagine a pain in the middle of your shoulderblades, twisting tighter. and tighter. tight enough where you can't just disregard it. you try to work it out somehow, massaging it if it will help. popping your neck, because that could almost always relieve the stress of your spine staying connected.
sometimes, just to release a bit, you could dig your nails into your hand, arm... skin. and for a while, it worked. you didn't know why it worked, but it did. and, eventually, the stress was a little worse. the pain in your shoulderblades wouldn't go away with that bit of nail digging, even if it broke the skin. your nails are only so strong, and you only have so much skin to damage before they see it. so you move on to something a bit more painful. a bit deeper. you carefully choose your place and you do it. fast and painful. but the pain is gone. you're uplifted.
maybe you only do that once. but soon you'll have to do it more. you'll know when you're calm by when the scrapes become more uniform. the straighter they are, the shallower they are, the calmer you feel. and you may even laugh when you see how little control you have over the muscles in one arm rather than the other.
can you imagine that? can you?
now imagine that you aren't allowed to have any form of stress. you aren't supposed to feel like the only way to release it is through SI. you really shouldn't scratch at the incessant itch in your scalp until you bleed. you can't have "an attitude" or be annoyed at anyone who is really trying your last nerve. so what if all your patience and fake politeness is gone by the time you get home from work? so what if all you ever really wanted was to die in your sleep so you won't have to face anyone ever again? you have to be nice to your family. they're all you've got... right? they're the only ones who really love you... right?
and only one person notices enough to say... uh... those scars aren't from moving boxes... are they? and you lie and say that they were... the first time. it's not a complete lie. you did, at one point a week before, have one scar from carrying boxes. and that's one of the scars still on your arm today.
but, no one knows... do they??
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