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Little cuts show up one by one, and no one thinks to ask. Slow decent into depression, each mark makes me feel more alone.

Finally under 150!! Any tips for making it under 140 by the 29th???

(via goodbye-fatgirl)

I think I am slowly learning things about myself. Mostly about how messed up I am in the head, but that is a good thing to know.
Much like with my arthritis, no one really knows what is wrong with me. They just pick what seems like it fits. Then they wonder why all the medicine in the world won’t help me get better.
So, it started out with my first therapist telling my parents it was a phase. He would see me once a month, just to be sure. He assaulted me (I have never told anyone that before. I never want to say it again.) when I refused to see him (or get “better”) I saw another doctor. She said I was depressed, and put me on major antidepressants. That made things worse, and I almost killed myself. For a while, I just lived in happy self harm land, eating nothing but chicken broth until my family forced dinner upon us all. I was angry, I was sad, I was repulsed by my own existence. Then it happened. I went to a “friends” house to get some weed and he offered me coke. For the first time in a long time, I felt normal. No more voices in my head. No more hatred. Pain always felt good, but now pressing on my cuts felt… Sexual. Orgasmic. Like the release I always wanted. It got me through work. It got me through school. It got me. Unfortunately, you can only dance with the devil for so long, and it never feels like long enough. I got in trouble. They took my escape away from me. It wasn’t hard to quit-logic ensured that I knew what I had to do. But crash landing in reality was hard. I wanted my escape again. I turned to sex. I was somewhat cute, it wasn’t hard. But rough was never rough enough. I missed the days of sweet release, and a temporary orgasm was no better than living in reality. I was determined to be “normal”, so I turned to my mom. We never spoke of my past, but we started bonding again. I thought it was returning to normal… To the way I was before the first doctor. Then I woke up one day, married with a kid, and jumped on the scale. Everything came rushing back- the self hatred, the voices. I was almost 200 lbs. The sight alone made me throw up. My mom, the one who I looked up to, was almost 300. I wanted to die. When did this happen? When did… Oh god. I am medicating with food. It was like coming out of the matrix. That’s why my husband doesn’t have sex with me. That’s why I stay in bed all day. That’s why my knees crunch when I walk. That’s why I can’t keep up with my son. The number on the scale snuck up on me, in me, and I have to get it out. So, I threw out another addiction. But now I feel the voices again, feel the pressure again, want to release again. I never got rid of my kit. I want to get new blades. Green tea has replaced chicken broth. I am back to square one. My UGW is 110. Every time I say it, it goes down 5 lbs.
And now my husband wants me to see a doctor. I don’t know if I can. I wish I could believe he would help me. But it’s just going to be “let’s try this. Do you need pain pills too?” or “well, let’s talk about your feelings. Why do you feel this way?” and it will all just me more of a trigger than everything else.