So a while back, I talked about self harm. About how I used to do it. About how it was my one and only coping method with anything stressful. About how my life was stressful and I wanted so badly to self harm again.
Well, to whom is may concern, please don't hate me. But I relapse. My stepdad has a way of really making me feel like shit when he's drunk. I know I shouldn't take it personally at all because he's drunk. But I already felt bad because my mom had just given me over $1000 to pay for my college tuition. I kept saying thank you and I was so grateful that she helped me. He was drunk and started bitching about me how I did nothing around the house and how I was ungrateful for all that they did for me and he wouldn't even let me say anything and my mom didn't say anything about it either. Which, I know this isn't true either, but when she doesn't say anything when he's on a drunk tyrant, I always think that she agrees with him.
So because of that, I relapsed. I cut myself for the first time in almost two years. Just one cut on my left thigh. If you can't handle self harm, please go read something else. I am about to get descriptive.
So I cut myself with pair of scissors, the only thing I kept when I sent all my blades to Elijah K, aka, justaskinnyboy from youtube and tumblr. I kept the scissors as a twisted comfort blanket. I cut myself for so long and became so dependent on it, I couldn't get rid of all of my blades.
Here's the stupidest thing, other than the fact that I did it. When did it, I didn't feel a thing. I cut deep enough to bleed, and almost a week and a half later have a pretty substantial cut still. Although it itches like a mother fucker.
It solved nothing. nothing at all. I didn't feel any better. If anything I felt worse when I did it. I can't believe I thought it would help.
