I want to preface by saying that I am okay right now, but last week I wasn't. Or I thought I was okay and then I spiraled.
Actually, I really thought I was happy, like truly happy. But I got too drunk last Friday night. I was sitting at a bar with this guy I have been seeing. Well... he has become more than just "this guy I have been seeing," especially since that night. So much more.
Anyways, I got too comfortable. One too many happy hour margaritas. Honestly, I do not remember how many I had. 4 maybe 5? within like not even 3 hours. It doesn't sound like a lot, but when you don't usually drink hard liquor, even in a cocktail, I think it hits a little harder.
I got upset with him. Really upset. Over the stupidest things. I let my insecurities come out, and I don't even remember everything I said. He was calm, of course, because he is amazing. He tried to talk to me but I don't think anything he said made me feel better. The only reason I wasn't completely freaking out was because we were in a restaurant... until we weren't.
So we leave and walk to our cars. He asked if I wanted to go back to his place with him, but I was too upset. I thought I wanted to be alone and I didn't want to continue fighting with him. I think I could feel myself slipping and I thought being alone I could gather myself. I was wrong.
He got in his car and left. I got in my car and sat there. I realized I was too drunk to drive, and, then, I realized I was all alone. Too alone. So I screamed. I screamed so loud I'm surprised no one came to see what was going on. Then I panicked. I really panicked. I felt like screaming wasn't enough to let go of this energy, this pain, to give me the release I felt that I needed.
TRIGGER WARNING - this is where it gets bad.
I keep a pocket knife in my car for like safety, and you never know when you need a knife. I got it out of my center console and flipped it open. It was sharp. My ex-bf had given it to me.
I don't actually remember doing it which might be a good thing. I just remember looking down at my legs, dress pulled up, and knife in my hands. Cuts across my right and left thighs. Blood. They weren't that deep, but there was a lot of them.
And then more panic. What have I done?
I like to think this isn't who I am. I don't self harm, but I did this night. And I'm not really sure why. I think the last time I tried to do something like this I was fifteen. So, why that night? After having days where I thought I was actually starting to feel real happiness? Are my insecurities that bad? Am I doing it for attention? A cry for help? Or maybe I am incapable of being happy and there is always going to be this dark demon deep inside me just waiting for me to let my guard down so it come crawling out and swallow me whole while trying to take those foolish enough to love me down too?
In that moment, looking down at my fresh scars, I knew I needed help. I texted my sister. I texted my brother. I texted him.
He called first. I don't remember what exactly I told him. I remember crying a lot and asking him to come back for me. When he found me, the knife was still in my hand. I cannot imagine the thoughts running through his head. He took the knife away and hid it somewhere. I still don't know where it is.
At some point my brother called and we both talked to him. And after I calmed down a little, we got into his car and went back to his place. I wish the night had ended there, but it only got worse.
I got angry with him on the ride home. I don't remember why. I just remember anger. The rest is blurry. I see bits and pieces. Not everything, but enough to know it was bad. And his face. I remember his face. Sad. Scared. Lost. Worried. But caring. He was so concerned, and I was awful.
At some point, I just stopped. I sat on the ground in his kitchen staring at my legs, at my loss, and I thought, "I need to warn people." I took a picture of my tattered legs and posted it on Snapchat, Tumblr, and Facebook story, only to be deleted a couple of hours later. If you saw the picture, I'm sorry for the gore.
He helped me to bed and I think I fell asleep fast, but I would wake up through out the night and stare at him sleeping. I would run my fingers across my legs and cry. I felt ugly now. I tried to prepare myself for the worst, for his rejection, and for him to tell me he could not handle this part of me. But he didn't say any of those things.
The days since have been about reflecting on that night and my actions, trying to mend and maintain my relationship with him, and hiding my self harm scars. I will make a follow up post about all these things. Until then, please, take care of yourselves. If you have ever self harmed or felt that way, it fucking sucks. I'm sorry you felt that low. I hope you get better and I hope you find support in your family and friends like I did.
