i fucked up. im so carelessly stupid.
ive been cutting again. but i cut too deep and too crudely today. i didnt mean to, i was laying down in bed feeling like shit, so i reached over and grabbed the razor. i made small cuts in between my fingers. but then i decided to stretch my arm out and started to cut deeper into my inner bicep. and i got careless. the pain and blood was so cathartic. i felt like i could finally breathe, like my emotional pain was released with all the crimson stains on my pillow. physical pain is nothing compared to emotional pain.
i know being this honest is like begging to be judged. but the pain makes me feel better because i can take all of the painful feelings and instantly dissolve them. i do feel ashamed at the same time. it had been 5 years, more or less, since i last cut myself. i have no excuse.
but i have always had to fight off the black dog. the last time it bit me this hard was in 2013. and it got bitten so bad i eventually started to think that i should commit suicide because “in the end its all for nothing”. i saw no meaning in living. just a bunch of bullshit with no real value because i started to associate being self aware with nihilism. then it tore a hole in my head and all i saw was how i didnt want to fucking feel hatred and uselessness in myself anymore. what was the most painful was having to go around pretending like i was 100% normal and having fun and being a normal ‘stable’ girl. then i’d come home and lock myself in my room and cry for hours. and the nights were bad because i couldn’t sleep. so i eventually started to raid my parents liquor bar and i found that whiskey not only helped me sleep but it calmed my anxiety and soothed my desperation. this is where my fondness for whiskey developed. blue label.
and i can still remember how i prayed. i never believed in a god. but i prayed nonetheless that if there was a god to please let my heart stop beating. because i couldn’t bare having to pretend like i was having a lot of fun and being normal in the morning. but i didnt want anyone to know i was severely depressed because i didnt want them to pity me or think differently about me.
im so scared that its going to get me again. because that was the worst time in my life. i almost couldn’t shake it off. and i contemplated suicide every single day during that time. i kept thinking about blowing my brains out, we own a lot of guns. but i didnt want my parents to see me like that. and worst, if they never found my body, that would probably upset them more.
what scares me the most is that there is a long history of depression and suicide in my family. my paternal great-grandfather committed suicide. my extended family in russia, 3 cousins have commit suicide. and my uncle killed himself in the 90s, i never met him.