truth behind cutting?

I've been deliberately blogging this for quite some time now. I'll admit, I'm a coward and I actually care about what people think. I don't usually base my self-image on others' opinions but friends and family matter a lot to me. I have an awkward way of showing it but I really love them and that includes every single one of you reading my blog now.

I've not been okay lately. I don't think I've ever truly been okay. Happiness seems like a faraway goal you know? Everyday will just be another day with the fake smiles and hidden tears. I'll cry but the tears don't take anything away. The pain's still fresh. It's there and I don't know how to deal with it.

To say that I do not know what affects my decisions would be a lie. I know why I'm like this. I just don't think I know how to go about solving it anymore. I've tried volunteer work. I've tried picking up physical exercise but it just doesn't feel right. I don't feel comfortable in my own skin. I hate it so much I'll barf. 

I know I have to deal with the issues that are plaguing my mind but I'm scared. I'm deathly afraid. I've come out to my sisters about the cutting but I'm too scared to tell my parents. I know I need to tell them but I'm afraid. What will they think of me? Will they still love me as much as they do now? Or will they be ashamed of me?

I can't deal with the thought of them being sad because of me. I don't want to be the catalyst that breaks my family apart. We're a Christian family. We pride ourselves on God's love and the grace He has shown us. Cutting, however, is a heinous sin. In Christianity, we believe that Jesus was crucified for our sins and saved us all through His sacrifice. By cutting myself, I'm undermining the sacrifice He had made and destroying the body that was given to me. Essentially, I'm a horrible Christian.

It's not that I don't know about it. I just never really confronted that issue before. I don't want to face it. I'm afraid of what I'll see if I do some deep soul-searching within. I don't want to be labelled as a girl who's afraid of making friends. I don't want to know that I'm hurt. I wish I wasn't hurt. I wish I've let it all go but I haven't. I feel stupid waiting for an apology that will never come but I'm still that stupid fool who's waiting, waiting to give a forgiveness I'll never be able to give.

It's stupid isn't it? It's something from the past, just the little things that you never think will matter but it just sticks to me like paper to glue. I can't forget it. I'll tell myself I've let go but I haven't. I'm pathetic like that.

Before I continue this entry though, I have a confession to make. I cut myself last friday. After 3 years of stopping, I've relapsed. I'm ashamed to admit this but as I was watching the blade slice through my skin and the blood pouring out from the wound, I actually felt happier than I've ever been before. I've felt calmer, like the pain I felt all this while is finally lifted.

I thought it was bloodlust I was high on but thanks to Google, I've found the scientific reason behind it.

“When a person cuts, it calms them down, and that registers in the brain as a calming mechanism,” says Hokemeyer. “Once that happens, it's a behavior that they will always be drawn to for the rest of their lives." 

Cutting is calming, according to Hokemeyer, because “the body releases endorphins, which are the body’s narcotic: they minimize pain by providing a sense of well being.” When our bodies experience pain, Hokemeyer explains, our brains release endorphins to soothe and energize us so we can take action to get out of harm’s way. 

“The pain switches from being emotional to physical,” he says. “The person sees blood coming out and thinks, ‘How great and absolute.’ And that’s satisfying on a certain level because physical pain eventually goes away while emotional pain feels as though it won’t—and it’s that uncertainty which is so unsettling. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.”

It explains everything. Really. It's all that I feel and it's really the reason why I cut. I was chatting with BC the other day and I told him this:

"And now that I've did it again I've got to admit it's really way better, like omg better, like wtf have I been doing better. If someone uses tennis to vent their anger, it's okay (to others) but somehow cutting isn't, cause cutting hurts you, but on the other hand, so does hiking and skydiving."

Okay, I'll admit, whatever I was saying doesn't make any sense. It was late at night in my defense. I was partially insane. In any case, my drunken self was trying to say this: Cutting makes me calm, diverts my negative emotions away so why can't I continue to do it?

I know it sounds impulsively dumb and childish. I feel stupid all the time so this doesn't change anything. I guess I'm just tired of fighting temptation. I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore. For myself? But I've never really liked myself to begin with. I won't care if I die if not for the fact that my death will bring devastation to my family and friends. Despite it all, I care. I still do. I just don't care about myself. Caring means loving and I've stopped loving myself ages ago.

I don't like my reflection in mirrors, did I tell you that? Every morning when I brush my teeth, I don't look at the mirror. I'll stare at the sink instead. Clearly, my spit is more attractive than my face. I don't like to take photos for the same reason either. I don't like looking at the girl who smiles in those photographs and wonder how to smile like that again. Sometimes I wish I can return to the past, just so that I can tell that girl that smiles to keep smiling. I miss her more than anything else.

I used to have big dreams but now, I don't have any. Friends say I'm better in my languages. My family thinks I should have gone into humanities because well, veterinary technology ain't exactly my niche huh? *laughs* Who am I kidding? I'm horrible in it. I know that I am. I just don't think I can even find something I'm good in anymore. 

Here's what it feels like okay: 

You wake up in the morning, avoiding your reflection in the mirror, brushing your teeth and wondering how the hell have you managed to get so many tooth decays. You look around your surroundings in blurred vision and curse your overreliance on spectacles. You knock into chairs before you but you're unfazed. It doesn't matter to you cause the bigger the bruise is, the better. You take a deep breath in then force yourself to stare at your reflection. Count down the seconds. Count down your imperfections in that timespan. You'll wrench your eyes away from the mirror, tell yourself you look pretty and absolutely gorgeous but know that you're lying so horribly to yourself you can't even stop the tears from falling. You'll clench your fists and let the fingernails dig deep into your skin to leave the mark of your existence; the mark that proves you're human. You'll leave the house, pretend you're all bubbly for school, sit on the bus, watch the scenery roll by and wonder if you'll ever find the happy girl in you again. Then you'll resist the urge to cry again and distract yourself with fanfictions on your mobile. School will pass by in a blur cause you'll annoy your partner with so much noise it'll cover the thoughts that are screaming inside your head. Then the night comes and the pain demands to be felt. You're left exhausted as the waves course through you again and again, beating at your already crumbling heart. You'll finally give into the despair, cry as you cuddle with one of the stray cats and sing your heart's desire out. You'll stare at the moon, wonder if God's up there thinking about you but you'll see nothing cause the stars won't even come. No one wants to be there with you. The stray cat walks away with disdain. Your heart breaks as the world crumbles around you. Your vision is no longer in colour but in black and white. You want to cry but all that comes out is a weak bitter laugh. Then, like the past moments haven't occurred, you'll pick yourself up off the ground, school your mask on and walk home, pretending to laugh as you try to think of reasons to do so. And the cycle completes the moment you reach home and let the darkness swallow you whole.

That's just how I feel on a daily basis. Okay, maybe not daily. I certainly don't get bad days like that all the time. I'll say it's just about three days a week. It's enough to make my day suck though. I hate breaking down in tears but it seems like there's all I'm capable of these days. The thing is this, I don't even know what I'm sad about anymore. It just accumulates so much in me I don't know what's the trigger in this huge gigantic mess now.

I'm scared. I've always been but now, more so than ever. Maybe it's cause I've sort of 'relapsed'. Maybe it's cause I've lost the motivation to fight. I just feel so tired all the time and my hands are tired of reaching out for help. It's not like I can ask someone to save me from my thoughts. So who's going to save me now? If I can't even fight for myself, who can save me now?

And I guess the most sucky thing about this whole thing is that this entry is going to upset a lot of my friends reading this and just thinking about that already upsets me because I can totally imagine the look of disappointment on your faces but I guess what's another scar more to an already wounded heart?