Distracted

I'm very distracted.

The mark on my wrist is a little twisted helix of pink and red. Not painful and not swollen. I remember it hurting much more in the past. I think that just means that I've finally hit a dead end with my emotional turmoil; that I finally have so much going on that I can't feel the physical pain either.

I want nothing more than for this feeling to subside. I keep forgetting to take my medicine which terrifies me. You'd think that feeling this way would push me more than ever to make sure I take it, but I still have managed to keep forgetting.

This three-inch wavy mess of a cut is just staring at me like I've done good and terrible things all at the same time.

It's probably the way it wraps around my wrist that is bothersome. Back and forth, front to back, up and down. Red, pink, skin, red, pink, skin. Light and dark red where it's deeper in the flesh than others. Little dried blots of blood where they tried to escape the opening in my skin.

The ointment I got from the office first-aid kit downstairs makes the bright red glisten. As it dries, it becomes faded and numb.

I remember when I was cutting a lot, that the second and third days were always the worst as far as how the cuts looked. Sure, they looked the most painful during those days, but they usually weren't.

It's amazing how much people just assume I'm ok. That I didn't do it to myself. That it was an accident, that it was my cat, that something foreign must have caused this break in my skin.

At times, I feel almost out-of-body during these moments. Yesterday I put the blade to my wrist then I thought about what if someone called me right in that moment, what would I say?
"How are you?" the imaginary person said in my hypothetical scenario.
"I'm good actually." I would have said.

I wasn't crying. I wasn't even upset anymore. I was just done with my deed and on to the next thing. It was sick how I could easily carry on a conversation if I wanted to yet hold a blade to my wrist as if it wasn't even there.

At some point I hope it scabs over enough that it doesn't appear so much that I had clearly went back and forth over it.

I hope I can read this in a month or two and see that I don't feel like this anymore.

It's frustrating but at the same time I'm not sure I even feel bad about it. I'm at a loss for caring about my relapsing. I gave up about a year of progress, and part of me just doesn't care.

Wednesday is the 10-year anniversary of my would've been death.

I'm sure that's part of the reason why I'm making myself crazy.

Honestly, the hardest part of cutting is wanting to be honest with people, but lying to them because you don't want them to think it's their fault.
I don't want Justin to think it's his fault. I love him too much.
But I've seen it first-hand how he blames himself for the emotional turmoil I have and the times that I have hurt myself.
I'm so sorry that I put you through that.

I'm not strong today.

Last year in May, I got my second tattoo. Now, given that we live in a society where 1 in 4 young people now have tattoos, I guess that's not really that exciting. But it was for me. And that tattoo was particularly important to me.

On May 3rd, 2007, I was 13 years old and made the conscious decision to end my life. I am a suicide survivor of going on 10 years this year. 10. years.

In my sickest twisted humor, after my suicide attempt I started celebrating my birthdays similar to the way the American Cancer Society is a "sponsor" of birthdays.

"I've made it to 16." I'd said.
"18."
"21."
and so on.

Last year was the 9th year of my attempt, and subconsciously it was getting to me. I knew it was the 'anniversary' but I couldn't bring myself to be overly thrilled about it; obviously I should be, I'm alive after all, right?
Since my days of self-injuring with my drug of choice (blades), I had always wanted tattoos. I wanted "strength"somewhere on me. I had contemplated putting it on my wrist because of the vicinity of where my cutting was mostly taking place, and almost again, in a twisted sense of irony, where I needed it most.
So, for years I contemplated it. I thought about it. I thought how if I got it tattooed I'd be so much stronger and I'd be able to swear off cutting for good. I thought this tattoo would be the end-all be-all to my self-injury woes. But I never quite had the "strength" to do it (see what I did there?).

In a major bout of depression in May of last year, I decided on a whim that I was finally going to do it. And as fate would have it, the day I went in to make an appointment, one of the artists I went to talk to had a no-show and offered to do it right then and there.

It was gorgeous. I loved, and still do love it so much.
And for a while it worked. I was still sad on occasion, but I was in therapy with a good therapist, and taking medication, and working really hard to get better. The days where I felt down, I'd often see "Strength" staring right back at me.

But I'm not strong today.

I'm not strong today because I relapsed and ruined the progress I made the moment that blade touched my wrist.
I'm not strong today because I don't want to tell anyone about it.
I'm not strong today because I am tired of reaching out.
I'm not strong today because I want to give up.
I'm not strong today because I feel like there's not enough time, medication or self-loathing pity to get me to feel any different.

And even though I'm not strong today, I'm still here.

I'm strong because I am typing this out instead of keeping myself awake in my thoughts.
I'm strong because I am still going to get up and go to work tomorrow even though I want to call in.
I'm strong because I know I'll feel better soon; even temporarily.
I'm strong because there are people that love me that are helping me get better.
I'm strong enough to admit I need help.
I'm strong because when people ask me about my tattoo, I can tell them exactly what it stands for.

I don't have to be weak, but I can say I'm not strong.
One of Strength's definitions is as follows:
the state or quality of being physically or mentally strong

I've looked at the synonyms for both the words strength and weak and I far more resemble the thesaurus' suggestions for strength than for weak.
So, I'm not strong today, but that's okay.
Because I can be so many other things instead, and weak is not one of them.