On a More Serious Note

Well, I texted my father today. I had to ask my sister for the number since I blocked and deleted it two years ago. Just like I said in one of my earlier posts, this is the next big thing I have to deal with in my life: having a conversation with him.

I honestly don't know what to expect from this. Not much to be honest. Given that I sent that text about four hours ago and he hasn't even responded. And I know for a fact that man is always on his phone, at least, used to be. It hurts knowing that he can't bother to send something back, anything. All I said was "Hi, it's Lauren. Are you in town today so we can chat?". Nothing too serious, just an opening, which I thought he would pounce on.

It seems he's been trying to find a way back into my life behind the scenes. Co-signing for my sister so we could get our current apartment, sending her money each month to help us out with rent, always relaying from her to me that he says hi. So yes, I expected that we would answer within minutes, not hours. Unless his goal is to make me feel the way he does, in which case he's succeeding.

Right before I sent the message I thought to myself, "Is it really worth it?". And I don't have a clear answer for that, which scares me. I already had nigglings of doubt scouring my mind and this just adds to it. It's effectively put me back into the headspace of uncertainty and unease, a place I made home in my time spent with him. I feel reduced to a fool, reaching out only to be slighted and unheard. It's making me question a lot about myself.

Why do I feel the need to talk to him, if I already think it's not going to go the way I want?

Am I only contacting him over some guilt I feel for ending our relationship?

When I come face to face with him, will I actually be able to forgive him?

But this is exactly how he used to manipulate me. He would get in my head and cause me to double back on my truth, at every turn. I can't allow him to do it once more, not after how far I've come.

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I don't like thinking like this. Negativity poisoning my mind and making me want to relapse in more ways than one. I have to find some way to rid myself of it, I just can't find it.

I'm not of a sound mind today. Something happened earlier that kind of upset me and I haven't been able to find balance since. I'm shrinking myself again so I'm not seen. It's my longest-standing defense mechanism when something doesn't go to plan. I cower due to my guilt and start to fantasize about how horrible I am. It only goes downhill from there.

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I haven't outright talked about it on here because I don't want to trigger anyone, but I feel like it's high time. So if you can't listen to my story about self-harm, please don't stay. It's a hard thing to talk about and I understand that it's not for everybody to hear.

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It all started when I was ten years old. I had been feeling a lot of shame about my body, the way I looked, the way other people perceived me. I was also going through a lot of difficult emotions surrounding my family life, which bled into all socializations.

I got the idea when I learned my sister did it. Instead of being repulsed, I was intrigued. I figured, if she was doing it, then it must work, it must do something. It was ultimately a morbid curiosity. And so one day, when there was a piece of broken glass from some trinket in our shared room, I decided to try it for myself. I don't know how she didn't notice, but my sister was in the room when I left my first scar. I was shielding my body away from her, but it was out enough in the open she could've seen.

I don't know what made me so brave. I don't think I quite grasped at the time what I was really doing in that moment. I didn't realize that this wasn't something people just casually did. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't understand why. I thought, "It's my body and I can do whatever I want to it". I don't want to go too much into detail how it made me feel because I do not want to be encouraging or glamourizing this experience. All I'll say is that it provided me the ability to release my emotions, and that aspect felt euphoric. To be able to take away my mental pain and make it something real that would eventually heal on its own. To not have to battle those emotions and try to work through them.

Self-harm is like any other vice out there. It makes you become all consumed by what you're doing, allowing for you to escape reality, if only for the briefest moments. At least, that's what it started as. Over the years, it soon morphed into something far more harrowing: it became a punishment.

I stopped for a while soon after my first few times.

There was this one day in the summer that my sister and I were playing in the sprinkler in our backyard. We were, obviously, wearing bathing suits and mine rode up so she could see my scars.

She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

I knew that she blamed herself for my actions and I wished more than anything to take away that guilt. Sure, she may have unknowingly introduced me to it, but I was the one who decided to pursue it. It was my twisted mind that decided this was something to latch onto and form into a habit.

After she found out, she told me if I didn't stop she would tell our mother. Of course I didn't want to worry her, so I said I'd stop. Meanwhile, I had no intention of doing so; I just didn't want the attention of my mom. Because then I knew I would actually have to stop and be put on antidepressants, just like my sister. I didn't want to go to hospital-scheduled visits to talk to a doctor who couldn't give two shits about me. I was scared. So, out of that same fear, I stopped, at least for a few months.

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It picked up a bit towards the end of elementary school, but really got worse once I started high school. Once the stress of the ever-present popularity contest became overwhelming, I heavily sunk back into my trusted vice. I didn't tell a soul about it, ashamed and afraid of being caught; I didn't want to face the consequences. Yet still I believed that there was nothing truly wrong with it. I saw it as an outlet to soothe myself after stressful encounters, as well as a punishment for my weight and looks. Whenever I did something embarrassing or viewed myself in a way I didn't like, I was sure to pay repentance that very night. The more emotionally unstable I felt, the longer I would draw it out. Making sure that the punishment was fit for the crime.

Being that I went to the weight room everyday and also did rugby, it was quite a struggle to hide it in the locker room. I would either go to a stall to change my shorts or I would make sure I was able to hide my hips in a corner of the room. By this point I had migrated dangerously outside the underwear zone and was always on high alert when changing around other people. Even though I had friends and good grades, nothing could shake this bad habit. I just kept coming back to it. I often wondered if there was anyone else like me at school. Putting on a happy face for others but secretly living a life of lies. It was alienating.

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It always got worse after I'd see my father. I felt so powerless around him that it was the only way I could seek control. I didn't know another way since standing up for myself was out of the question. He made me feel so small and I felt like this was one way that I could build myself back up again. Battle scars to make me braver, give me the courage to get through the next day. I often contemplated going farther than accumulating scars. It was something I began to fantasize about at all times of day. It got so bad that for two years straight, I cried myself to sleep every night. The weight of my reality was crushing in on me on all sides, I didn't know what to do. I didn't feel like I could talk to anyone about it because a part of me felt like I was making it all up. It felt like I was just trying to get attention by doing this, so I wasn't allowed to reach out for help and make it true.

The first person I told about it was Crystal, who I've talked about on here before. I felt entirely safe with her and she went through the same exact thing as me. It was so nice to be open about it, and with someone who completely understood too. She also grew up in a tumultuous environment, which led her to the same conclusion I found. We promised to hold each other accountable and to always be there if either of us ever felt the urge. I remember one of the times I relapsed. I felt guilty about it when I told her. But of course, she didn't berate me or make me feel bad. Instead she thanked me for telling her, gave me a hug, and told me she's always there for me, no matter what. And it meant the world to me. Another reason why I felt the loss of our friendship so deeply.

The second person I told was my cousin. We've always been really close with each other and I figured it was time for me to tell them. After I did, we hugged for the longest time, and cried a lot. It was extremely therapeutic. They didn't judge me, but accepted me for who I am, probably saw me in a whole new light too. As open as I am with them, I still keep pieces to myself. I don't want to trouble them with my worries or past traumas, I'd much rather be a light-hearted presence they can confide in.

The third person I told was my sister. Though she already knew I did, she thought I stopped many years ago. She was sad when I told her, but she understood. She has been in that position and is still fighting chronic depression. I know that she'll be there for me should I ever need her support, which I appreciate immensely. I just hope that she doesn't still blame herself for my actions.

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This was all brought on by my recent emotions. I've been contemplating relapse for a long time now and am trying my hardest to fight it. Despite medication, these thoughts keep prevailing, whispering in my ear and goading me to give in. I need to talk to my doctor and possibly up my dosage. Either that or move onto my fourth attempt of finding the right medication. It's really not helpful that I haven't gone to therapy, not since I was forced to by my mom when I was a kid (we'll talk about this in another post). I need to process my emotions with another person, who's unbiased and will help guide me in the right direction.

I'll come back to you when I have more answers. I haven't quite figured them out for myself yet. Just know that you're not alone. The best thing, while terrifying, is to talk to someone you trust, someone you know will support you. If you don't have that there are so many wonderful resources and hotlines that you can reach out to. This website has a list of compiled resources you can reach out to. Please don't hesitate to contact somebody.

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Take care of yourself and make time for rest. You are so important and worthy, I hope that you can recognize this. I know how hard it is, riding the waves and letting those thoughts flow in and past you.

You are in control.

You have power.

You are enough.

Please, never forget this.