As per usual, my moments of revelation didn't come until the tide of medicated sleep had nearly washed over me, and m sister was curled up in her bed, sound asleep.
I realized that most stories, in their own rights, have sad endings, and we need sadness far more than happiness, because sadness stars the chain of events that leads us to grow and expand our souls as individuals. If we were always happy, we would not go looking for change, we wouldn't change. Our hearts and our minds and our ways of thinking would never improve if something didn't go wrong.
We are the Phoenix of Greek mythology, and we die to rise again from the ashes.
Don't fear sadness, embrace it, because sadness means that happiness is not far behind.
3:46pm
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21. 21 Days without cutting. I feel like I can't get enough air in my lungs. Quitting cutting is as hard as quitting drinking, drugs and smoking, for those of you that are wondering what the big hairy deal is.
It's. Not. Easy.
I can't even begin to stress that enough. Most days are easy enough, I just push it to the back of my mind, use creative outlets to get the bad feelings out, and if worse comes to worse, I go for a walk. Get a snack. Read a book. Play with my cat. I have lists of activities that can make me feel better when I want to cut. But the want, the need, the urge is always there.
My brain is always going to jump to cutting whenever I have to cope with anything, I can accept that. But what I refuse to accept is this cycle of being clean, relapsing, starting the process all over again. I don't want to relapse again. But I have to be realistic, accept that I'm human, and if I do fall off the wagon, I can get back up and try again.
And you know that accidents can happen/ And it's okay, we all fall off the wagon sometimes/ It's not your whole life, it's only one day/ You haven't thrown everything away/ - Sixx A.M.
If I have to, I'll go back into in-treatment therapy, for as long as I need to. If I'm having a bad day, it's okay to call my Dad and cry to him over the phone. Tell him that I don't want to live like this anymore, and I need help. That everything seems like too much and I don't care about living today.
I can go sit with my sister so I'm not alone. She's not babysitting me, she's there for me to make sure I don't do something I'll regret later on, or not live to regret. It doesn't mean I'm weak, I don't have to deal with all of this on my own anymore.
It's getting easier for me to feel emotions, but some days, like today, everything is stuck in a box, and I know that cutting is a reliable way to release it.
But some things in life you must resist/
Honestly, I just want to cry, let it out. But I'm still learning how to feel on my own again, and without the aide of self-harm. Every few minutes, my throat closes up, my chest gets tight for a little bit. Then it all goes back into the box. Some days I can feel, I can smile, cry and laugh, some days I can't.
This is just how it is. I have to believe that this is all worth it, and that one day, 20-25 years from now - because that's how long it takes to really kick the habit, though the urge will always remain, the addiction will always remain - I'll be able to feel and cope with life without having to fight this need to open my skin and bleed myself like a stuffed pig.
One.
Day.
At a time.
- Jor