I hate how much these gloves have become a part of me.
I go without my gloves for a few seconds and my heart nearly leaps out of my throat. Mini panic attacks are becoming more common when a few months ago ther had completely disappeared (there were a few when I just broke up with Rachel and then stress with Kate but after a few phone calls I never had these attacks.)
Now I sleep with my gloves on. When I don't, I begin to scratch myself in my sleep and in half sleep and then I wake up with new scars. Before when I slept with my gloves on it felt a bit like my hands were suffocating, but now I sometimes forget they're on, they feel so natural, and that scares me. And Amber sleeps with me so she can tell I wear them. That also scares me.
These gloves are strong. They're marching band gloves. They went with me through a whole year with me marching through parades, drills, shows, and a few chilly practices. They never wore down. there was not a string out of place. But a few months on my hands and they have rips, tears, and holes, and I hate it. I feel like every time I loos at those rips, those are rips that would have been in my skin. But every time I see those loose seams, I feel like my own seams are tearing.
The string coming from my pointer finger makes it difficult to do anything, and the large hole on my middle finger let's me cheat and hurt myself. But I dare not ruin any more of my precious gloves, so I'll wear them until both them and I are torn apart.
Which doesn't solve anything.
I'm realizing that most of what I do doesn't solve anything. I have all of these bad habits, and I try to get rid of them by giving myself new habits. I avoid the mirror a certain way, play with a tangle, or wear gloves. Well, it doesn't work. Most of the time the new practices fall through, since habits are made through being natural and comfortable, so things like avoiding the mirror and don't work, and I forget the tangle in my hands. Yesterday I broke down with the mirror with a good ten minutes. Today I also feel through. It isn't the four or two hour spurts of before, but I'm taking steps backward where I had previously covered ground. I hate that.
Bu then, the few strategies that work even a small but, like the gloves, just makes things worse. Now these panic attacks are happening, which is a huge, HUGE step backward in terms of my mental health, and the thing is, even with the glove habit now becoming a natural additive to myself and my habitations, they don't even work to serve the original purpose of stopping me from hurting myself. Sure, now I can hurt myself far less, which is good, but these holes are destroying that small degree of protection, and now I often just take them off for a few minutes when the cravings get really bad. Which is terrible. I argue with myself never to take them off, the original purpose, but that only works half the time.
The only thing I'm good at is teaching myself new bad habits to learn and never defeat. I can't beat habits. I've been trying for years. I feel like my whole life has been bad habit to bad habit, from the baby blanket I had for far too long, to the late nights that started innocent and turned deranged, to the new late nights when the old ones are in a different room, to just depression in general. And fixing bad habits with new habits is like trying to get rid of a smell by spraying perfume. It doesn't work. It dissipates after a time, or only makes it worse.
I hate how these gloves are becoming a part of me, I hate how they are becoming a metaphor for how I'm living and who I am, I hate how I'm realizing how truly broken I am. I hate how I've started needing to wear my gloves in public, I hate it when people asking me questions, I hate having to lie, I hate having people mock and dismiss my problems when I tell the truth. I hate how some of the closest people around me cannot comprehend how bad this is. I hate how I want them to know.
I hate how the only thing I ever seem to hate anymore are my hands and myself. I love absolutely, positively everything, except for my hands and myself. I hate my hands and myself.
And I hate that.
And I hate how I've said this all and know there's pretty much little to no way I can help myself out of this, and I promised mom I'd go to a doctor if I couldn't make it better, but I don't want to. Because how could they possibly help me? Medication? Therapy? That may make me feel better, but the depression is fine. What I need to break is the habits, and those things won't get the memories out of my fingers. I can't imagine anything less than a shock collar helping me.
How long will it take until the me covered with scars is just a memory? I still imagine leaving these childishly habits behind once I reach adulthood, but will I ever make it there? How?
Gotta have faith. Gotta have faith.
Life is good.
I go without my gloves for a few seconds and my heart nearly leaps out of my throat. Mini panic attacks are becoming more common when a few months ago ther had completely disappeared (there were a few when I just broke up with Rachel and then stress with Kate but after a few phone calls I never had these attacks.)
Now I sleep with my gloves on. When I don't, I begin to scratch myself in my sleep and in half sleep and then I wake up with new scars. Before when I slept with my gloves on it felt a bit like my hands were suffocating, but now I sometimes forget they're on, they feel so natural, and that scares me. And Amber sleeps with me so she can tell I wear them. That also scares me.
These gloves are strong. They're marching band gloves. They went with me through a whole year with me marching through parades, drills, shows, and a few chilly practices. They never wore down. there was not a string out of place. But a few months on my hands and they have rips, tears, and holes, and I hate it. I feel like every time I loos at those rips, those are rips that would have been in my skin. But every time I see those loose seams, I feel like my own seams are tearing.
The string coming from my pointer finger makes it difficult to do anything, and the large hole on my middle finger let's me cheat and hurt myself. But I dare not ruin any more of my precious gloves, so I'll wear them until both them and I are torn apart.
Which doesn't solve anything.
I'm realizing that most of what I do doesn't solve anything. I have all of these bad habits, and I try to get rid of them by giving myself new habits. I avoid the mirror a certain way, play with a tangle, or wear gloves. Well, it doesn't work. Most of the time the new practices fall through, since habits are made through being natural and comfortable, so things like avoiding the mirror and don't work, and I forget the tangle in my hands. Yesterday I broke down with the mirror with a good ten minutes. Today I also feel through. It isn't the four or two hour spurts of before, but I'm taking steps backward where I had previously covered ground. I hate that.
Bu then, the few strategies that work even a small but, like the gloves, just makes things worse. Now these panic attacks are happening, which is a huge, HUGE step backward in terms of my mental health, and the thing is, even with the glove habit now becoming a natural additive to myself and my habitations, they don't even work to serve the original purpose of stopping me from hurting myself. Sure, now I can hurt myself far less, which is good, but these holes are destroying that small degree of protection, and now I often just take them off for a few minutes when the cravings get really bad. Which is terrible. I argue with myself never to take them off, the original purpose, but that only works half the time.
The only thing I'm good at is teaching myself new bad habits to learn and never defeat. I can't beat habits. I've been trying for years. I feel like my whole life has been bad habit to bad habit, from the baby blanket I had for far too long, to the late nights that started innocent and turned deranged, to the new late nights when the old ones are in a different room, to just depression in general. And fixing bad habits with new habits is like trying to get rid of a smell by spraying perfume. It doesn't work. It dissipates after a time, or only makes it worse.
I hate how these gloves are becoming a part of me, I hate how they are becoming a metaphor for how I'm living and who I am, I hate how I'm realizing how truly broken I am. I hate how I've started needing to wear my gloves in public, I hate it when people asking me questions, I hate having to lie, I hate having people mock and dismiss my problems when I tell the truth. I hate how some of the closest people around me cannot comprehend how bad this is. I hate how I want them to know.
I hate how the only thing I ever seem to hate anymore are my hands and myself. I love absolutely, positively everything, except for my hands and myself. I hate my hands and myself.
And I hate that.
And I hate how I've said this all and know there's pretty much little to no way I can help myself out of this, and I promised mom I'd go to a doctor if I couldn't make it better, but I don't want to. Because how could they possibly help me? Medication? Therapy? That may make me feel better, but the depression is fine. What I need to break is the habits, and those things won't get the memories out of my fingers. I can't imagine anything less than a shock collar helping me.
How long will it take until the me covered with scars is just a memory? I still imagine leaving these childishly habits behind once I reach adulthood, but will I ever make it there? How?
Gotta have faith. Gotta have faith.
Life is good.
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