Today I self harmed. But in a promise to myself I kept it light and small. Yay me! The blade was a relief to me. At last a platform, an outlet, an old comfort. The fight of the urge finally lost. The bitter sweet release was a welcome.
When I look in the mirror it’s like using a circus mirror. My face is distorted. Uneven, twisted, ugly. Am I morphing into something? Do people wince when they look at me? My body is ageing and not well with time. My breasts sag from feeding four babies. My stomach looks like it was got at by a tiger, who also tried to pull my skin off and left it sagging. Buffalo Bill could have made some clothes and a handbag line out of my skin. And my legs aside from my tattoos, are boring and shapeless.
As for my private region, it never feels clean enough. It disgusts me. Every smear I imagine the dr or nurse thinking it’s the strangest looking one they’ve ever seen. I get waxed because it helps in my pursuit of cleanliness. I didn’t like men seeing it before I was married, ever. Even now I don’t like my husband seeing it. I hate it.
I hate my personality. I’m too assertive at times. I’m too quirky, too odd. I’m hard to get along with. But I can be far too trusting. I make wrong judgement calls all the time.
I hate taking all these medications.
I hate that my parents don’t try and love me and accept me.
Is it me? Did they just look at me and think, no, too much?
I feel like I don’t belong in this world. I’m just trying to find a niche part for me. But to date, I’m still looking. People close ranks and are keen to let me know when I don’t belong.
I feel like I’m always on the verge of being attacked again. Like I let off a silent beacon. Invade me, violate me, hurt me. I am after all destined to be pulled down. Into the mouths of hell.