CONTENT WARNING: Descriptions of self harm.

It’s been nearly 10 months since my massive breakdown. Every day I feel the residual effect of it. At some point in the day, I cry. At another point I’m fake smiling, while I talk to a coworker or another mom at a play center. Always, I have an underlying current of weight, its sadness, but it feels so heavy.

This is no longer a sadness of ” oh, poor me, I was abused and neglected,” this is just a sadness of life. Its constant, and almost has no meaning, it’s just me now, it’s just the way I am, it’s as a part of me as my fucking skin is.

I’m sure there is some string that could be snipped and the weight would lift, like a balloon tied to a cinder block, I could float free and weightless, join the ranks of all the happy people. I just have to find it.

The very worst parts of my days are confusing. I want to be alone, I want to just think, I want the quiet house, absent of my husband and children. And when I finally get a home free of noise, I freeze. I sink into total dispare and agony. Over what!? I can’t even tell you, it’s a hellish wave, it washes over me with no control. I feel antsy, I feel helpless, desperate for relief, oh God why? Why is this happening. I need relief. I need it to stop, my heart is racing and I go numb in a place in my brain. I run my hands over the butcher block…to sharp, we dont want real damage, just a little. My hands nimbly search the junk drawer for the 2 multipurpose tools my husband keeps in there… the razor blades of both have been removed. He’s been through this enough to know better. I circle my house in confusion, assessing every item for level of damage I could do to myself, tears streaming, heart pounding, I don’t want this life. I remember the box cutter I hid in my vanity drawer; never used.

There is no pain as I draw the blade against my upper thigh. Nor when I do it again and again. There is a sting and emense relief. I feel my eyes and mind go hazy, I feel my heart slow, I feel my body again. I feel MY body. I’m back in it. Then I feel the external pain on my leg, replacing the internal pain. “I can control you”, I whisper to myself. I’m fully present in my body, no longer confused and crying, no longer disassociated, no longer anything. Blood pours down my leg and I watch in fascination for a bit. Then I clean up.

For the next week, every time I pull my pants down to pee, change, shower….I feel my underwear and pants scraping my cuts. They hurt now. The shame and guilt creep in. This is only a semi recent thing. I used to cut my arms in my early 20s while I was wasted, when nothing mattered. But people notice and people talk. I didn’t cut or self harm for nearly 10 years. A few months ago, while sobbing as I exited the shower, I impulsively picked up a pair of hair cutting scissors and slashed my upper arm. Not deep, not hard, just enough. I sobbed with relief… I felt so good. I felt such a weight lifted. I felt high.

So the next time I felt overwhelmed, I cut my upper thigh with the scissors. Then twice now with the box cutter. Everything has healed and I have talked myself out of doing it when I want to the most.

Last Saturday, as my husband sat down next to me in the morning, with coffee and rambling about our upcoming vacation, I snapped. I had been up with the kids since 5am, I just sat down to write in my journal. I just can’t. I quietly walked to my room, shut the door, got under my covers shaking. Why am I like this? Big, fat tears leaked from my eyes as I imagined drawing that box cutter across my throat. And then I sobbed harder for being weak, and not in control.

I stayed in bed almost all day. I slept and silently cried, while my two children played on the bed next to me, watching TV and eating snacks. While the sun shown and the blue sky mocked me from the bedroom window.

Why am I like this?