I thought I was done with self harm. Apparently I’m not.
I haven’t had the best week, or month for that matter. I have started a second blog that only a select set of close friends get to see because it’s where I write about daily stuff – and it’s very raw and open. Once it’s been digested a bit, or something has resolved, or whatever, then I feel I can reveal at least some of it on here.
I actually started this blog post before starting the other blog, but in light of the last month, it was relevant enough to mention it. And I had put this one off since starting it. So, now I’m finishing it. Some parts will necessarily be vague, but I think you’ll get the point.
I have punched several times since I last wrote that I thought I was a big girl and all done punching things. I could simply cry about stuff and make it all better, so no punchy punchy.
Well, I was having an extremely dysphoric Friday a few weeks ago, and found myself in a bathroom on the verge of bawling my eyes out – I was at work. Instead of just doing the smart thing and, you know, actually bawling my eyes out, I punched a concrete wall very hard to distract myself from emotional pain.
Physical pain is so much easier to deal with. It hurts. You know why. You take painkillers. Problem solved.
Emotional pain is not like that. It hurts. You usually don’t know exactly why, if you’re lucky enough to have a clue. You can take drugs, or alcohol, or something else. Problem is usually not solved. Repeat.
So, just to make sure I wasn’t going to start crying, I punched the wall again. My knuckle hurt for several weeks. So, it worked for the time being. Until I got home. It was all I could do to hold it together long enough to get upstairs to bed. I collapsed onto the bed, grabbed Charlie, and squeezed him so tight as the tears started. During this cry, I even developed a new self harm where I dug my fingernails into my shoulder to the point where I drew blood. Oh yay.
After this occurrence, I tried to pass it off as me being in James work mode. I wasn’t being myself fully. That’s a total cop out. Which I realized last week.
Last week, I had an episode with a very close friend, where I wound up feeling utterly rejected. It was probably the most powerful emotion to hit me in a VERY long time (decades). I instantly shut down. I told Teresa I had to go for a walk – it was 7pm. To her credit, she let me. She wouldn’t have been able to stop me, I was pretty much unreachable right then.
I started walking. I didn’t have a destination in mind. Every ten minutes or so, I’d stop and break down in sobs. I didn’t care if anyone saw me. And then I’d continue on. Two times during this walk the pain was too much inside. Two times I punched steel lampposts. Very hard.
Rejection and failure are two things I don’t handle well at all.
There’s no real point to this entry other than to confess to it. To be honest about it. To all of you, and to myself. This isn’t something that magically goes away because you finally realize your true self. It’s something that I will probably always have to deal with and always work on.
– Jess