It’s 10.38pm. I’m sat in front of my mirror sat in my pyjamas crying, hating my reflection. Hating it so much, I want to smash the mirror. I won’t. Good girls don’t do things like that.
Today I got up and went to work. I had a relatively productive day and despite working 8 1/4 hours as opposed to the 6 I am meant to, I managed to leave the office by 4.30 and head home to see a friend whose back from travelling after 3 months.
I had a lovely evening. I’ve had a few drinks and am perhaps a bit tipsy. I am not wasted however. I know I can trust my feelings. How? Because even though I’ve had a “better” day, it has still included self harm. The day is not yet over and there is more self harm to come.
My wrists ache and my scars itch. I need to hurt myself. Why? Because I feel disgusting on the inside. Because what I see in the mirror is disgusting. I need to mark my body so that it matches.
I have taken a bag from my bedside drawer. In it is a tupperware box full of pill packets and bottles. All different colours, they remind me of a bag of sweets.
I know what the trigger is – apart from the crap that I deal with everyday – I just can’t write it down. I am too ashamed. It’s not something I have ever admitted to anyone and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.
So, I’lll sit here, cry some more. Hate me a bit more and hurt myself a whole lot more.
It’s the only thing I am good it. It’s all I am worth.
apparentlyfunctioning 