Just when you think you've got it all under control; you've put it all in past; you've got people convinced that the scars came from your cats or your job or just plain clumsiness, something happens and you lose your breath.
Your hands are shaking. You can't even cry because your chest feels hollow and cold, but there's a tightness that can't be described unless you've felt it. You need to release the pain that is stuck inside you, flooding you, screaming for release in the one way you know how.
Even though you know you shouldn't.
Even though you know better coping mechanisms by now.
Even though you know that your loved ones would be ashamed or embarrassed or angry if they found out.
None of the common sense or rationality you try to pull out works and your hands search for something to use - anything, it doesn't matter, just so you can get rid of the pain.
For me, the only thing that helps is knowing I'm not the only one. We self-harm because we think no one can understand our pain or help us release it any other way, but it's not true.
There's always someone who can help, even if it's just by talking, taking away the penknife or keys, or crying together. The more I keep it inside, the more likely I am to relapse into my old ways and that is terrifying to me.
I keep hoping that one day I won't have these feelings anymore, but I know that's unrealistic. Instead, I'll keep a list nearby of the people who I know can help me. That way I not only know who to turn to, I also know that I'm not alone.
And that makes all the difference in the world.
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