Painting

I‘m an artist, a creative soul, or thats what I tell people. When it comes to my painting though I doubt I fit the typical mould, you see my brush is a blade and my canvas is my skin.

I’ve tried many different types of self harm over the years, but nothing is quite the same as cutting into my skin with a sharp edge.

They say it isnt an acceptable coping mechanism, that I must find another way to deal with my emotions. That any form of self harm is forbidden. Follow your safety plan PhoenixXx they say. Distract yourself, talk to someone, try urge surfing, you know if you just ignore it the longest the feeling will hang around is half an hour!

It’s all laughable. It makes me want to scream. When was the last time you had to ignore the urge to slice up your own body with a sharp blade? Do you want to try and ignore that urge? Don’t you think I want an alternative? Do they honestly believe this is what I want?

Its true that once you pick up that blade you never really, honestly heal all the way to the soul. Its always an option, always a fall back.

I remember my first time just like my last time, 10 years old, with a nail file. The feeling of the metal against my skin, the blood when my skin finally split. The calm, quiet. My head felt like my own again. I don‘t know why I felt like I needed to cut myself, only that I did it and it helped. Sometimes I regret ever picking up that file other days, I think it was the best idea I ever had.

Ive gone months and years even without cutting, Ive gotten clean. But slicing myself up is always my fall back, its always my go to when things get hard, when I hate myself, when I need to hurt. Its still the best thing to clear my head, to push everything else out, to stop the noise and give me back my own head.

Self harm is an addiction, a life long battle. The calm and the peace it brings is my heroin, and every day I fight against myself, trying to do what the world considers to be “appropriate“ to cope rather than what I know will work best.

You know, actually, I tell a lie, I have managed to ignore the urge for quite a while. I manage to keep it at bay, to take the pills, to just sleep until it passes a little. But it never works, it never lasts and usually it ends up being worse than it would have been had I just cut myself in the first place and given myself the relief my mind needed. These are the times that land me in the hospital, in A&E, usually barely conscious after trying to kill my self when it gets worse, too much, too hard. When I can‘t see a way forward.

And they ask why? They tell me that I can’t leave, that I must see some mental health worker and be bullied and verbally abused yet again by the people who are supposed to hurt me. Another report, another assessment, another referral, more appointments with psychiatrists and mental health nurses who don’t know me and rarely actually give a shit about me. Just more drugs, sedate me again, put me on a waiting list maybe.

The bottom line is, well I don’t know, I dont have a clue what the bottom line is really. I have no coping mechanisms that are “acceptable” apparently, and even though things are ok-ish for now, I mean, how long is that going to last? I dont want to be drugged up to my eyeballs again, ever again really, but is it inevitable? Am I that broken? That fucked up? Who knows, I hope not.