It’s been a rough day, so I may blog about it in a little while. That usually helps me more than anything, especially since I haven’t been to the therapist in a while. Everyone needs an outlet, a way to release the tension that is self-expressive without being harmful. I honestly think writing is what has kept me from engaging in more self-harm. It’s a figurative slicing of the veins, as opposed to the more dangerous, literal form. I recall a brief time years ago when I did engage in self-harm, mainly cutting, and it was because I was such a wreck I couldn’t even get words out on paper (or on the computer screen). I was stuffed to the brim with emotion and terror, and there seemed no way to get it out. So I cut. And it helped somehow. Obviously, it was not a good solution, and it’s not something I would recommend to anyone. When I didn’t cut I drank. And sometimes I did both. Later, I found other ways to help release the pain when I am unable to focus enough for writing. Like painting (which I am horrendous at, but it’s relaxing). I still occasional have an urge to hurt myself when I am extremely upset about something, but I think it’s been about three years since I actually did it. I am very proud of that. I am also very aware that those three years could go down the drain in a matter of seconds if my need for relief becomes too strong. As much as I normally hate pain, it has such an appeal when my emotional turmoil is so high. It’s the ultimate distraction from what is going on inside my head, and add in the release of endorphins: voila! A messy bliss, though for me it was always accompanied by a horrible shame for what I had done, and then disgust (I have an aversion to the sight of blood). For anyone who has never had the urge to self-harm it may sound like the weirdest thing ever, but for those who do struggle with it, it feels like the only way to get that monster out.