almost two weeks ago, I took an overdose and tried to kill myself.
I am just so done with feeling like absolute shit all the fucking time. I have an amazing boyfriend and best friend, but sadly I just don’t feel like that is enough.
I’ve been seeing the mental health advisor at my university, and she thinks I suffer from anxiety, depression, distress intolerance, and post-traumatic stress disorder. I just… I am so fucking done.
I have been treated like shit since I was eight years old, and all these years in between have ruined me. all those people took everything away from me. my personality, my happiness… they destroyed me, and they’ll never know.
the person who’s left the biggest impression on my life is my ex-boyfriend. I put him on a pedestal and worshipped him almost. in return, he ignored me, called me names when I honestly opened up and told him about my feelings and my fears. forget the people who’ve bullied me for years, just forget them. the person I trusted enough with my virginity, my heart, and my soul, called me stupid after I told him I self harm. he ignored me when I tried to talk to him about how truly miserable I was. he ignored me when I didn’t deserve it, but made it feel like it was my fault. he turned my friends against me, making them think I was annoying when I tried to turn to them for comfort after he’d either completely ignored me, or treated me like shit.
let’s also not forget that one time when he was drunk and I told him no and he tried to tear my clothes off me.
he’s not a bad person, but he was the worst person for me. I have finally come to the realisation that instead of helping me, he made me so much worse. still though, I don’t regret our relationship. I probably should. he made me feel so utterly unworthy sometimes. but there were the occasional good times. but not enough. not nearly enough.
I hate him. but at the same time I love him. the kind of love you have for a first boyfriend which just never leaves you.
you tell me you love me, but I’m not sure you do. how could someone like you love someone like me? I’m twisted and ugly and fat and worthless, and you’re anything but. it’s impossible. how can we exist together? how can I be sure you won’t some day realise that I’m not good enough for you and leave me?
why am I never good enough for you? why do you insist on telling me this all the time. it hurts. it hurts more and more every time you say it. I’m sorry you think I’m worthless, that what I’m doing with my life is worthless, and that the person I’m going to become can never amount to anything good. I don’t know what more you want from me. I did well in school - I did amazingly in school actually. I never got into trouble. I’m studying at a good university and I’m finally happy. you know why I think I’m so happy? a large part of it is because I don’t have to spend all my time with you. I don’t have to listen to you complain about how I never turned out the way you wanted me to. I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry enough to change.
I can never forgive you for all the things you’ve said to me. all the self-loathing you’ve inspired within me. I have people who actually care about me in the world; I don’t need you.
you know what’s worse though? you make me want to die. you make me feel so horrendously awful that I wish I was never born. if only I had the courage to tell you that. I also want to hurt you. hurt you more than you’ve hurt me, although I don’t think that’s even possible.
is it possible to feel this happy? do I even deserve it? I just feel that, for once in my life, everything is going exactly how it should. I’m at a fantastic uni, studying a subject I’m genuinely interested in, living in a beautiful city, and I have the most amazing boyfriend. seriously, I’m so happy I could explode, or burst into tears, or bash my head against the wall.
ugh, what have I become. some very mushy, sappy person.
but even though I’m so happy, there’s always that feeling hiding in the corner of my mind. the one that always wants to drag me back down, under the water. last friday I cut myself again. it was a panicked mess - I was feeling so many things at once: stressed, afraid, disappointed in myself, hurt… just, wow. so many things.
then I had to tell my boyfriend. it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I knew it would upset him, and I knew he’d blame himself. I wish he didn’t. I wish he’d only see just how amazingly happy he’s made me. these things just can’t be helped. it’s an addiction and I’m powerless against it.
nevertheless though, I am so happy. so so so so so happy I’m almost disgusted by myself.
long time since I last posted something, but that’s because my life has been pretty damn amazing lately. I have a boyfriend, who also happens to be my flatmate, and yeah. things are going well and he’s so incredibly sweet and caring. fast, huh? yeah, but I have absolutely no regrets.
first night sleeping in my new uni accommodation tonight! moving in today was stressful, and absolutely terrifying at first. but then I had tea and a nice 1 1/2 hour chat with two of my new flatmates. then came dinner with my mom, and another 1 1/2 hour chat with one of the guys (who, by the way, is perhaps the sweetest guy I’ve ever known ;~; his name’s ryan). he opened my window for me as well, because I had been struggling with it for over 15 minutes, haha.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m feeling a lot more relaxed and okay about this than I had expected! hopefully this optimism will continue!
Im wondering why did you post the picture of you cutting up your thighs? I understand that its pain you can control and something oyu do to feel better BUT is it necessary to cut then proceed to take a picture of it for the world?
I could say the same thing about writing a comment like this!
but no, you can have a proper answer. basically this tumblr is something of an open journal, or diary, if you will. on here, I post everything and anything that’s going through my head without any sort of filter or censorship.
there are several reasons as to why I post pictures of my cuts on here. firstly, one I’ve uploaded the pictures onto tumblr, I delete them from everywhere else. this is the only place they ever stay for more than a few hours. also, it hurts for me to look at them, which helps me with my recovery (which right now perhaps doesn’t seem like it’s doing much for me). seeing them here, online, helps me see them from someone else’s perspective, and it’s so much clearer that what I’m doing to myself is hurting me, more than helping me.
and I won’t bore you with the other reasons, but yes. that’s why. and I try not to post many photos of them (to date, I think I’ve only uploaded 3?!).
allowed to choose & make dinner tonight, and although I wasn’t even planning on eating dinner today, I think I’ll make a simple salad. not the most exciting, but… my grandparents can make something to have with it if they feel like it.
it’s scary how easily one can slip back into destructive eating habbits.. and now it’s so easy to refuse food. I never had a problem with snapping and bingeing, but it’s not like I have strong willpower so I don’t know how I do this..
I’ve fallen into a routine when it comes to my eating now.. only one meal, and that’s lunch.. oh well, idk what to do anymore.
these past few days, ever since I returned to norway really, I’ve been eating way too much.
to the point where I constantly feel bloated and sick.
I’m really not used to so much food, so I’m going to cut down, because the amount I’ve been eating lately is absolutely ridiculous (and makes my tummy ache, ow). if I need to eat more, I will snack on healthier things like strawberries, fruits in general or vegetables.
so tell me the truth… was I nothing but a temporary fix to you? have the things that everyone’s been telling me all this time been completely true? do you even care about me at all, or how I’m feeling? or perhaps all your sweet words were lies too…
I had hoped it would be fun to see all my friends again after a month of practically no contact, and I mean… it was, definitely. but I just wasn’t in the mood for alcohol or partying or being social yesterday.
I was originally going to spend the night at a friend’s house, but by 1 or 2am ( I wasn’t paying attention to the time), I decided I couldn’t do it. I was miserable and it hurt more than usual to pretend I was fine. and because I’d had alcohol, it became so much harder to pretend, and I know I didn’t do a good job at hiding how I felt. so I felt I should be nice to the hosts and just leave.
I got home and I slept for 13 hours. woke up, felt even worse than yesterday, and spent the first hour awake just sobbing under my covers.
then I spent two hours in the bath tub cutting up my thighs and watching them bleed into the cold water.
pathetic, I know. but there’s another reason I’ve kept quiet about so many things - I can’t handle other people’s judgement. I’m not strong enough for it.
I don’t want to be accused of being attention-seeking. I have before, and it’s the worst insult I’ve ever received.
how can you expect me to tell you things about myself, and things that trouble me, if you’re going to then turn around and call my solution to these problems attention-seeking?
I wish that I lived in a perfect world where I could tell my closest friends and my boyfriend exactly what’s on my mind, and what I’m going through without a) fearing rejection, b) being accused of being over-dramatic, c) being annoying and attention-seeking, and d) judgement.
but we don’t live in a perfect world, so I have to just… bite my tongue and smile through the pain. I can do that. I’ve had years of practice.