Posts Tagged ‘scars’


trying to write through the really big and the really little.

August 17, 2014

When i was younger there was a bread factory in town that you could take tours at. We went for school and for Girl Scouts. My favorite part of that tour was at the end when they gave each of us our very own miniature loaf of bread. i would take mine to my grandma and she would slice it up and make miniature sandwiches for me.


i like miniature things. They feel so easy to conquer. i could put a whole sandwich in my mouth like a giant and think nothing of it. They don’t seem so scary or make me feel so vulnerable. 


But right now i keep looking around inside my head and everything seems humongous. The darkness does a great job of covering all of it. And the anxiety likes to form paths. But i just want to stop. Not move. Not talk. Not think. Not be. 


My voice feels pointless when everything towers over me. A tiny squeak even i can barely hear. My brain, which is me, but doesn’t feel connected right now keeps rattling off all the things i should have said and done and worn and read and not said and not done. It compiles a list of each imperfection and an explanation of how that will cause failure at some point. 


i don’t know if it is a success to look at pictures of scars rather than to create more of my own. Nothing is right right now. 


i want to feel like a giant in my head again. i want to eat miniature sandwiches and find words that make noises. i want to just sleep.


If i say it out loud then it becomes real. . . here’s me trying not to hide

April 18, 2013

i don’t think i ever thought i would write a post like this.


But i’m already out of my comfort zone writing every day here, trying to take some of the jumble of thoughts and emotions that are tangled in my head and make enough sense of them to post for the world to see. And some of the things that have been the hardest to write have been the things i feel the best about posting later on down the road. So i’m going to try to take another tiny step out of my bubble and do this. One of the best things i’ve ever done in my life is working with my CITs. They were some of the most amazing young women i’ve ever met in my life and i loved them like they were my little ducklings. i am so proud of everything they have become and i am honored that i got to play a tiny tiny role in their lives. If anything i say in any of these posts has a fraction of the effect on someone that my CITs had on me (and i guess me on them) i will be happy with that and stepping outside my comfort zone will have been well worth it.


My struggle with cutting has not been one i have been winning lately. i have relapsed in a bigger way than i have in a very very long time. i asked for help a couple of times. And i got it and it was kind of amazing. But somehow everything starts up again and i need the anxiety and the pain and the emotion to stop so badly that i have blinders on to the phone. i can’t get the words, “i need help right now,” out. i can’t even breathe at that point.


i don’t want to get too graphic for anyone but it feels like i can’t breathe until i see the blood. i have something so physical to focus on that my breathing becomes normal, almost relaxed. i start to smile. And i just keep going because i need to get rid of it all. All the negative thoughts in my head, all the memories, all the things that hurt so much that i can’t point to. i can’t look at my heart and see the results of being called worthless repeatedly. But i can take that and turn it into something physical that i can see and make sense of.


It’s never enough though. i don’t stop because i want to. i stop because i run out of room in places that won’t be seen. i stop because i start to feel guilty for slipping. i start to think about all the people i’m disappointing. i think about the lies i will tell. i think about if i ever find someone to date what their face will look like when they see the scars. When i run my fingers over them, and i do a lot, i have a conflicted feeling of deep comfort and repulsion.


i don’t want to be that person. i want to find a productive way of getting those feelings out. i don’t want to long for a blade. i don’t want to feel even a little bit better just by holding one. i don’t want to get rid of blades just to go get more. And i really don’t want to feel like i am closer with those blades than i am with the people in my life.


i’m trying really hard to remind myself that i’m not a failure because of this. This is a obstacle on the road i am on and i can get over it or around it or through it. It’s not going to be easy. i’m going to have to work my ass off for it. And at some point in the future i might run into it again and i’ll have to deal with it all over again. That’s the way addictions work. That’s the way life works.


i want to fight. And i need to remind myself that my ability to fight right now at this moment is going to vary drastically from my ability to fight when the chemicals in my brain are working properly and i am in a different place mentally and emotionally and that is okay. Fighting is fighting.