damik's Diaryland Diary

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Somebody help me understand...

Ah, Trish. I repeat myself for but a few. I understand that my diary has gotten to the point where it's unrealistic for new readers to start at the beginning and read it through. So I will repeat.
Trish, I envy your sheltered life, I'm glad for people who don't understand, and hope they never truly understand.
I cut myself because sometimes I don't feel like I can handle strong emotions I'm feeling. I cut myself because I've done something wrong, hurt some one, or otherwise felt the need to be punished and there was no one else but myself. I cut myself because sometimes I feel so alone and so unreal I have too see the blood flow freely to know I'm really alive. I cut because I'm hysterical and there is no one to slap me back to reality. I cut myself because one time some one hurt me so deeply I never let go. And because I hate myself so much, there is something deep inside myself I want to destroy.
You ask what it means exactly...
I take the straight razor in my hands, sometimes I'm calm, I hold it in my hands feeling the cold metal. I ask myself if it's really what I want to do, what result I expect to achieve. Sometimes I put the razor away, but, usually if I've gone as far as taking it out I cut. I drag the razor a crossed my arm in a calm controlled manor. One right after the other not deep enough for stitches, but so the blood flows freely, but in control. Always, always in groups of five. After the fifth cut I pause to see if I've achieved the result I wanted, if I haven't I cut again. Five more, untill I'm satisfied.
Other times I'll tear the house apart searching for a razor, franticly pull the one out of my purse, or search for an alternative. I won't pause to think, I won't pause for anything. I just cut deeply, where ever the razor happens to land. No order, no groups, nothing but the desire to destroy. And I'm scared because I wonder if the blood is going to stop, I wonder if I did go to deep.
I calm down and get a hold of myself. And I'm left with angry red gashes on my arm. Shame, guilt, and hollow explanations. Scars that take forever to fade. And a desire to be strong enough to resist.
I've gone longer then thirty days. Since I started in Jr. High the longest I've gone is two years. Not too long ago I went three months with out celebration. But I cheered yesterday because I can't just let go. I can't stop without knowing each day, each moment it's a struggle. Without being aware of where I am. Tonight is thirty-one days tomorrow is thirty-two. I have to hold on to that.
My ultimate goal is to one day be able to say "I understand I used to cut myself, too."
But my goal right now is to get through my next desire. To be strong enough.

3:59 p.m. - 06-17-02
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