It's no secret that I've tried to kill myself a handful of times.
Before Shane left, we had a fight about his ridiculous family. I lost it. I grabbed a razor and cut myself. Slice after slice on my left forearm. Very superficial. No scars now. But it was a release for my anger and self loathing.
The morning he left, he said goodbye to me in bed. I didn't know then what his plan was. Before he left, he ran his hand over the cuts on my arm. This tells me he knew the consequences of his actions. He knew what he was doing.
Im usually not one for pain. All my attempts have been overdoses.
This time, after i overdosed, i grabbed the razor (this wasn't planned or part of the suicide) and slashed the fuck out of my arm. I was full of panadeine forte and valium and everything else, i didn't even feel it. I saw it. It was such a weird experience, i saw blood gush out of my arm. It covered me, my clothes and my couch. And i couldn't feel it. I could just see it.
It has scarred 'badly'. But i like it. It is a physical representation of the invisible pain that consumed me.
Last Thursday, when Mr mcdonalds left that pain of rejection and panic came back. The panic is indescribable. It is like needing that person to come back like you need air. That is not an over statement. The panic is all consuming.
I got my razor and cut into my right arm. Two of the cuts were deep. He knew. And didn't come back.
I guess it could be considered attention seeking but 'frantic efforts to avoid abandonment' is what i prefer.
He didn't come back. But it served another purpose. It distracted me from the panic. Two of the cuts will scar. Now i physical representation of how much it hurt when i lost him. The rush of blood was such a relief.
Later that night i chased the feeling. But there was no panic. I just wanted the same release. I could only do pathetic shallow cuts. It still fills me with disgust. Im so pathetic. I want to hurt myself and i can't. It's pathetic. It sickens me.
Tonight Im angry cos Im ridiculous and chasing the idea of love. Sitting on a train picking the scabs off my cuts on my arm from the other day. It hurts. But that satisfies me. Cos i deserve the pain. Im a pathetic desperate person. I hate me. Sometimes i just want to beat myself up.
Sorry for the morbid post. I just had to get this out.
I want the outside of my body to be as damaged, ruined and scarred as the inside.
The pain is just invisible to everyone else. My behaviour erratic and confronting.
I just want someone to love me and accept me for all that i am.
I know Im in love with love. I've lost track of how many time I've been rejected or hurt. But Im a sucker for punishment. Or maybe without that hope Im as good as dead.