I am beginning to understand Rachel and her previous need for abusive relationships. This strange fixation with pain has taught me many things, one of which being that there is more than one way to look at hurting yourself. I still fantasize of burning, biting, and tearing, but I am learning that when one doesn't like themselves, they may very well wish for someone else to burning, biting, and tearing. This is especially true if you are trying incredibly hard not to hurt yourself anymore, but need some form of release.
Still, self-harm fantasies are a far more common occurrence for me, but occasionally I will imagine having someone else pull my hair, bite my legs, and call me disgusting. And, strangely enough, there is some sort of satisfaction in the scenario. Just like there is a sick satisfaction in taking a deep breath full of cigarette smoke in the city--No, I might not be the one smoking, yet I can find ways to do myself in. Everything in life is capable of hurting you, if you can manipulate it right.
My mental health has improved dramatically since last year---I know longer interact with the world in the same way I did then. I no longer have the need to 'baby-proof my air'; I can live comfortably and safely in my own skin again. I can breathe easy around most sharp objects, be left alone with only occasional repercussions, and look at the world through the eyes of a healthy and mentally stable person, albeit with a few exceptions. That being said, I still have my ups and downs--a panic attack I had six days ago had me seeing things again that I hadn't seen since I wore gloves, and even now nearly a week later I am unsteady on my feet and with my eyes. It takes a while to forget that mindset--it worms its way into your head. But I'll be okay. I'm in a fun, exciting environment, living with someone that keeps me taking care of myself, and I have my partner or even Rachel for whenever it gets too overwhelming.
I made the mistake last week of getting cocky, believing I had already fully recovered and that I was perfectly healthy. Recovery doesn't happen in less than a year. It may never fully heal me--I can never forget the things I've seen and thought. I still wear gloves to sleep, and I still have fantasies in various forms. But I'm improving. I just need to remember that I am a bit more fragile and a bit more sensitive than others, and keep myself at this slow and steady pace. I'll do my best to keep myself safe and not take risks. I don't want to break anymore--by my hand, nor anyone else's.
Life is good.
Still, self-harm fantasies are a far more common occurrence for me, but occasionally I will imagine having someone else pull my hair, bite my legs, and call me disgusting. And, strangely enough, there is some sort of satisfaction in the scenario. Just like there is a sick satisfaction in taking a deep breath full of cigarette smoke in the city--No, I might not be the one smoking, yet I can find ways to do myself in. Everything in life is capable of hurting you, if you can manipulate it right.
My mental health has improved dramatically since last year---I know longer interact with the world in the same way I did then. I no longer have the need to 'baby-proof my air'; I can live comfortably and safely in my own skin again. I can breathe easy around most sharp objects, be left alone with only occasional repercussions, and look at the world through the eyes of a healthy and mentally stable person, albeit with a few exceptions. That being said, I still have my ups and downs--a panic attack I had six days ago had me seeing things again that I hadn't seen since I wore gloves, and even now nearly a week later I am unsteady on my feet and with my eyes. It takes a while to forget that mindset--it worms its way into your head. But I'll be okay. I'm in a fun, exciting environment, living with someone that keeps me taking care of myself, and I have my partner or even Rachel for whenever it gets too overwhelming.
I made the mistake last week of getting cocky, believing I had already fully recovered and that I was perfectly healthy. Recovery doesn't happen in less than a year. It may never fully heal me--I can never forget the things I've seen and thought. I still wear gloves to sleep, and I still have fantasies in various forms. But I'm improving. I just need to remember that I am a bit more fragile and a bit more sensitive than others, and keep myself at this slow and steady pace. I'll do my best to keep myself safe and not take risks. I don't want to break anymore--by my hand, nor anyone else's.
Life is good.
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