Last night I was triggered as all hell and managed not to cut, but as a result I had sad dreams all night. I’m just worn out by this. I want nothing more than a break- one day where I can finally just be calm or a little happy without having to fight myself and without the dread and emptiness that is my constant bedfellow.
Yesterday I thought I was finally doing better. I felt happy, for fucking once in a blue moon, a spontaneous happiness that lasted all day. And now here I am again- irritated, triggered, and so sad that even the deepest of cuts might not anaesthetise it. I want to slice everything: I wrote in my journal that I wanted to cut my chest, my arms, my legs… Anywhere I can. I just need my anaesthetic so much. I don’t want to keep working through my emotions and breaking them down properly, analysing and then filing them away. My rollercoaster ride is full of broken tracks and loose screws. It is dangerous as fuck.
At sixteen I was taught how to deal with my emotions. Now I just can’t be bothered any more. That process absorbs more of my energy than dancing. It drains me; some sort of parasite leeching on my life force; a ghoul clinging on my back and pulling me into the ground. My early grave yawns: a plot dug by my own scarred hand.
I warned you that here would be dragons.