It is 4:19 in the morning.
You guys, do I really have to say anything other than that?
I’m tired as shit.
This post is going to be shit.
Because I’m tired as shit.
And sick of shit.
It’s just all shit.
You see, I have 8 dollars left in one of my accounts because someone was a little too excited these last few weeks and went shopping, went out to eat, bought useless items online while she was up thinking about all the ways she was going to become a millionaire on YouTube and all the ways she was going to build her own PC and get a studio and how she was destined to do this for the world and . . . and . . .
Obviously, those ideas and that confidence and that euphoria was short lived. Last week was my transition week back down to earth. My emotions were spinning out of control as they usually do, I was sleeping 11-14 hours a day, and now that it’s all over with, now that I’m generally stable, I see the damage that was done. I’m broke as fuck, ya’ll.
But it’s okay. I can make it through this.
I’ve been lonely and frustrated with reoccurring thoughts of failure pressuring behind my eyes. I’m really good at fucking things up and not so good at repairing them.
But it’s okay. I can make it through this.
I’m a self-harming addict. Were you all aware of that? I don’t think I’ve spoken much on it. My scars on my wrists are really visible in the day light; I’ve had friends stare at them and say “what is that?” and I say “what are you talking about?” and they say “I can obviously see it” and I’m like “awesome. Let’s focus on something that isn’t my life, please”.
Remember, I’m the clown of the group. I’m not supposed to have problems, I’m too funny for that.
One just gave me a hug instead of opening her mouth any further, and I appreciated that.
But I’m not someone who falls to temptation easily. My brain battles with me to harm myself–yes, you read that right. It spends more time and energy trying to convince me to harm myself than I do telling it no. I’ve been doing this since I was eleven years old. About ten years. I’ve gotten used to ignoring and scolding that little voice in my head that tells me I need to feel the pain.
Then there are times when I let them take control.
I used to harm myself (burn, cut, e.t.c) when I felt depressed, when I was lonely, when I was homeless and essentially forced into public education every day.
Then there were a few good years I didn’t self harm. And those were the years I learned to accept the depression and the anxiety, those were the years I learned I wasn’t alone and that there were other people in the world who felt the same. Those were the years I was generally stable, when medication kinda-sorta helped, when I found a passion in life I wanted to pursue.
Then one day I woke up with slits across the old scars and a wrap around my arm my tired self must have used to control the bleeding. And I thought . . . hmm. This again, eh?
Because a new dilemma has stepped into my life and that dilemma is unidentified emotions. When I’m angry, happy, depressed, disgruntled, elated, confused, fiery, agitated, irritated, generally okay, and lonely all at once, I get frightened. I try and distract myself but I end up crying and planning my suicide . . .until a moment later I’m convinced I was put here on this earth to complete a specific task and influence people’s lives like a messiah . . . until a moment later I want to tackle the next person I see and pummel their face into a bloody pulp . . . until I’m suddenly okay. Until I’m not again, a few moments later.
It continues for hours and hours until I feel I’ve lost control of myself. Every sentence someone speaks to me ignites another bomb behind my eyes. These are the days I prefer to not be around anymore, not my boyfriend, not my parents, not a friend, no one.
So I find a way to physically hurt myself. It’s the only moment of control I have. And it’s often made me calmer, it’s made me present and in the moment.
There are a lot of misconceptions around self harm. That needy teenagers do it for attention. That only idiots do it. That it’s something stupid, it’s something that has no deeper meaning behind it besides how ignorant the human race can be.
First of all, what’s so wrong with wanting attention? Are you telling me the assholes in false advertising, the business moguls of this century, e.t.c aren’t attention seeking little whores? Give me a break.
Second of all, if a teenager is harming themselves it doesn’t become a matter of them being attention seeking or dramatic or stupid. It becomes a matter of you needing to give them attention. Because regardless of whether they are wanting it or not, it’s something they need. Something is not right, and something is hurting them deeply. Think of it this way: the scars on the outside represent the fight on the inside.
That being said, tonight I didn’t listen to the little voice. Tonight was successful because I’m in control of myself tonight.
Quick announcement before I flop my head on this fucking pillow and pass out. I’m a contributor for a fairly new little website called “My Trending Stories” and I want to split the mental health topic I have started here with that site. I figured I’d keep that one a little more informational and critique-y and this one a little less formal and more personal.
If you’d like to check out my profile, click here.
If you’d like to browse through My Trending Stories, click here.
After careful consideration I agreed to write for them because I see potential in this website. It reminds me of a young Thought Catalog. There’s a large variety of articles and writing styles, kind of like WordPress but more Thought Catalog-y. My vocabulary at 4:57 in the morning is fucking amazing.
Anyway, there are tons of categories to read under and stories that can keep you entertained for days.
No, I’m not paid to promote them, I figured I’d just put out a good word about them because they’re pretty cool.
Check it out.
I’m going to sleep because fuck everything.