I wish I could crawl deep inside myself so nothing could hurt me, because at times the pain is indescribable and unbearable. It hurts like running into a brick wall at full spead. SMACK! There’s a wall there? And then I fall so deep into myself that I feel sure I’ll never crawl back up to the surface. Like the Greek God, Sisyphus, condemned to eternal hard labor – punishment to roll a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down to the bottom every time he gets it to the top. Not only a difficult job, but frustratingly futile and frustrating and unrelenting!
I have no idea why this happens, or why it’s happening with increased frequency, for that matter. All I know is that I often wonder if I’m willing to continue to put forth the effort to get through it. I want to *feel* something else, I want to think of something other than how much I hurt. I need to transfer the pain somewhere else. But where?
At some point, I made the decision that I would transfer the pain to the outside of my body~ through self-inflicted cuts, scars; the angry red lines that spell out degradation and hate. Last night I cut so deep I felt dizzy and the room was spinning. I tried to steady my hands. Just one more cut, just one….. But, of course, I know it doesn’t work that way. I know that much like an alcoholic, the need, the urge, never goes away.
I see the cuts and scars on my boy, legs, stomach, arms; and I hate it. And that makes me hate myself even more, which makes me want to cut more, to vomit more, to starve more…. which makes me hate myself more.
It’s a never-ending cycle.
