TW: contains detailed descriptions of SH and suicidal ideations. If you are experiencing similar thoughts and emotions, please don’t put yourself at risk by reading this post.
Over time, I have become someone with absolutely no respect for my own body. I always seem to be pushing myself to the physical extreme, testing my endurance, exploring how much I can get away with:
I cut, but not superficially. I regularly injure myself badly enough to warrant stitches, or at the very least sterile dressings via the practice nurse.
I have messed about with both prescription and over-the-counter meds. For a while, my prescription meds were dispensed daily, so that I had to take my pills in the pharmacy, degraded, feeling untrusted, like a drug addict. As for over-the-counter painkillers, Medical Science says that I absolutely shouldn’t be here. This is something, at least, that I have managed to gain control of (my meds are now dispensed fortnightly, which is still a nuisance, but an improvement).
I eat, or I don’t. It doesn’t bother me either way. Despite this, I walk long distances most days. I find it surprising how much exercise I can do with little or no fuel. That being said, unlike this time last year, I am not of a dangerous weight so I am (for now) getting away with this.
So all the facts point to the conclusion that I am filled with a fair amount of self-loathing and that I am not afraid to dice with death. Most days, I take some kind of risk, but this doesn’t worry me. Should it? Or, at this point, would it be fair to say that I’m tired, nonchalant, apathetic and losing the will to keep fighting?
I live with my parents and spend a disproportionate amount of time worrying about a time when they are no longer here. I have an image of my siblings and their families arguing over who’s turn it is to have me for Christmas dinner…”we had her last year, its your turn…”
I don’t want to exist in that world.