Why Do I Cut?

Part 2

Why?  Why is this happening?  A person can only take so much you know?  Sure I can handle the little things if that’s all that comes up, but after having years of bad luck and circumstances that have been totally out of my control, the little things add up and become bigger things.  For instance, I am constantly being reminded of how horrible a mother I am and today was no different.  Only today it came from my own mother’s mouth.  She was only trying to point out some things that I needed to do; how I should pay more attention to my children’s needs, she didn’t come right out and say I was horrible.  She would never say that.   It was what I needed to hear but it was such a slap in the face, and it just added to my already awful day.  I could just feel the guilt, the sorrow, the anger fill my soul to the point of not being able to breathe.  It was suffocating me.  I can’t seem to fill my lungs with enough air to live.  My blood feels as if it is boiling, I feel it rising to my brain and at any moment my head will explode. I wait until I am home and my children are all tucked in for the night before I give in to the feelings.   I know what you are thinking because I have thought the same thing myself…I’m crazy and I’m about to lose it.

  I hide this from my beautiful children.  How would I ever live if they knew just how unstable I really am?  My biggest fear is that someone will find out and force me to get some help.  I can’t lose my kids love and respect.  I need to be here for them because they have no one else.  How would they feel knowing that they had lost both parents?  I couldn’t live with that.

I sit there with the blade right at my wrist.  Do I really want to do this?   I picture my husband’s face and I know he is going to be disappointed.  I promised after all that I wouldn’t do it again.  Of course that was a long time and so many cuts ago.  I’m sure he will never understand just how badly I need to do this.  I am not trying to hurt him.  But he isn’t here and I am desperate!  He lives 860 miles away.  Away from me, the kids, our home and our life that was together…not by choice I should add.  He works in a different state.  It’s just how things have to be for now.

My inner debate continues and I think of all the friends I have lost because of this very thing.  Funny how when you finally break down and let your friends in on your biggest secret they abandon you.  I really thought they could handle it.  Man was I wrong.  They acted like it didn’t bother them.   I remember his exact words…”It’s not crazy, if this is what you need to do, if it helps then I understand.” Ha!  Liar liar!!  And she was no different, hugging me and telling me that she would always be there for me.  At this thought the need to cut is even greater.

The blade is mocking me now.  I know it’s going to happen and I just take a deep breath and push it against my skin.  The sting is immediate.   The anxiety is already beginning to disappear as the pain starts.  I am too focused on what I am doing to really think anymore.  I make sure that it is deep enough to bleed and scar, but not deep enough to cause any real damage…I am not trying to kill myself!  I just need the depression and angst to ease.  I watch my skin open and continue going over it until I am satisfied that it is deep enough.  I pull at the skin so that it can’t close too soon.  I need the scar.  Days after such an attack I need to feel the scar with my fingertips.  It calms me somehow.  Sometimes when the scar heals too soon I will run the blade over it again, making sure the scar will last longer.

 Another quirk I guess you could call it is that for me, I always cut in the same places.  I have two.  The first is by my ankle in the shape of an L. It reminds me of what a loser I am.  I haven’t used this one in a while.  When I do it’s usually because of something stupid that I have done that causes others pain.  The second is on my wrist.  This one is the one I have used the most lately. 

You know, I have never had anyone ask about the scar on my wrist. Well technically that’s not true.  My daughter saw it once.  I lied and said it was dry skin that had split.  I could tell she didn’t believe me but she didn’t press it.  She is too young to understand and I would never tell her anyway.   But it’s right there in plain sight, ugly and red.  I always wonder why my parents or my brothers and sisters have never said anything.  Maybe they just don’t want to know the truth.  I don’t blame them.  Who wants to deal with an unstable sister or daughter?  Who wants to be the one that has that conversation?  I have found a way to help me deal with emotional pain and it is working for me.  I don’t want to hear them telling me how crazy I am or how I need to stop.  My husband would try and stop me I’m sure of it.  But like I said he is not here.  He can only hope that I won’t need to cut while he is gone.  I know he checks every time he comes home.  He always glances at my ankle and runs his fingers over the scar to see if it is smooth.  He hasn’t ever said anything about my wrist.  I’m not sure if he has noticed that one yet.

All these thoughts rush through my head as I stare at the new cut.  It bleeds just a little and I get a small satisfaction that I was able to do it again.   Relief fills my mind.  I have done it.  I have survived another brutal anxiety attack.  I am not any better of a mother than I was an hour ago.  I know that this isn’t going to fix that.  But it gets rid of the guilt and sadness I feel in my shortcomings as a mother.   I also know that it isn’t going to last.  I know I should find another way to deal with my emotions, however right now this is it.   Finally after one lousy, long, horrible day, I might get enough peace to sleep.  If only I could shut down my thoughts…..