The Darkest Days Have the Darkest Shadows

Hello everyone. I decided to write in this font today, for whatever reason. I don't know. But, again. Disclaimer. No offense meant. No disrespect. Just me, venting to a computer that tells me a bunch of people have been looking at my page. So....yeah.

So, for those of who have been reading my previous posts, you will know that I cut (if you haven't read these previous posts, you might want to. They are informative of the situations I am talking about).

So, I take showers (obviously). And I cut on a regular basis; a pretty consistent cycle. Cut, let it bleed, come down off the high, freak out, cut again. A vicious cycle, really. And, this went on for a long time. Months and months and months. I told my friends that I had stopped, and they believed me. I hid the scars and the open cuts, and I still do hide the scars and the closing cuts.

Shame is an exclusively powerful emotion, yet extremely rare. Shame is also an emotion you don't ever really get rid of once you begin to feel it. It consumes you. Every look, every word, every tiny detail that would be otherwise meaningless, screams out to you. It screams about your flaws, your imperfections, your every mistake. And to you, it screams these things out to the world for everyone to hear. After it's out there, you can never take it back. That's when you either fall in deep (like me), or you run like the wind (like any sensible person).

When I started to see that this shame had begun to direct my life, and all of my actions, I found myself waiting for that next high. Waiting to see the blood, and feel the cold water rush over the broken skin and numb my whole body. I began to stash band-aids and gauze pads with medical tape in my night stand drawers. I knew in my head that I was sick. That I had become addicted to this cycle of constant highs and never ending anxiety. I became this adrenaline junkie. Just sitting around waiting to come down just so I could feel the rush of going back up. I knew in my mind that I was mentally sick, and that I wasn't going to get better.

I don't really want to go into much more detail, but the gist is, that once I had begun to settle into the "comfort" of this addiction, I started seeing how it effected the people around me. I lost my best friend. I lost my sister in God. I butchered a family relationship that is so gratefully willing to take me back out of love. And I became a miserable person to be around. And these people were leaving me to sit and be miserable by myself. Which they had every right to do.

And one night, this past Saturday night, I went up to talk to someone who I had never talked to more than just a "hey" or making fun of each other because we were all joking around. I had a serous conversation with this person. He is an amazing person, and I really like him. He's a great friend. And I think we are going to get really close this summer. Let's call this person C. So, me and C talked about how I had lost my best friend, and what I should do to go about mending this friendship. And we talked for a while...and as I was leaving, I felt this urge, this need to confess to him about my addiction and the high. And he saw them. He didn't freak out. He didn't ask why. He just told me that I needed to find a way to fix this friendship, and I needed to get help. From God. And do some serious praying. And...I just kind of sat there. Staring at him. He was right.

So, that is what I did. The friendship thing...still a work in progress, but that's not my "big news". My news is that, for the first time in 5 months, I have successfully taken a shower, and not cut myself. I have broken the cycle for the day. And, tomorrow, my goal is to do the same. but stronger. And with less difficulty. And the day after, and the day after that.

Habits are not broken in one day. They are dismantled piece by piece; one day at a time.

Sincerely,
Me.