I’m feeling fatter than normal and since I binge and binge and then eat my feelings and eat when bored and ache too much to excersize and terrified of throwing up… I started cutting on my stomach.
My stomach is hard to cut. It’s too flubbery. No satisfaction from cutting there just frustration. So I cut my thigh twice after my several attempts on my stomach and I felt better.
It’s still bleeding but I literally put down my box cutter blade and picked up my phone and started typing.
I want to just go to town on my arms.
I have this fucked up idea that I’m only certifiably mentally ill if I have various degrees of self harming wounds healing on my body.
Being on 6 psychiatric medications and seeing 2 to 3 therapists and 1 psychiatrist and having 5 hospital stays under my belt don’t make me sick.
It’s the cuts that matter. It’s the fingers sticky with blood and the itchy skin and the texture of lines…
Talking about it makes me want to cut
But I should attempt sleep since I have my first Adult Children meeting tomorrow.
Part of me wants to be very dramatic and show up with fresh self harm marks on my arms. Take off my jacket and bam. Look how not okay I am.
Is am not okay.