I building a life where I am breaking my habits of self-harming. It is damned hard, for I have lived a lifetime of damaging myself.
Now I need live and feel. I need to not run away from myself.
When I nine, I wanted to throw myself out of my bedroom.
What saddened me remembering that time, I remember the calmness of knowing there was no hope. I was so young, and I was nihilist.
For much of my life I thought my only friend was death.
I did not want to die. I wanted everything to stop.
Stop knowing my mother refuses to see me.
Stop the groping my stepdad whilst I was near him.
Stop images of porn entering my nightmares.
Stop the headaches and stomach aches that follow me everywhere.
I wanted to end my pain I could not understand.
I wanted peace.
I wanted to be left alone.
Self- harm was the only thing that was private to me.
I would cut myself in silence in my bedroom. I cut to see blood, seeing blood reminded me that I was still alive.
I was alive, but I felt nothing.
As the male violence increased, my self-destruction increased.
Coming from an upper-middle it was easy to be an alcoholic. We had wine and spirits in easy supply.
I found drink made me not care. I found spirits would deadened pain.
I like to be drunk, for my stepdad drink very little. I thought my drunkenness would disgust him. It would make him stop.
He fuck me anyway.
I started drinking when was about 12. It soon became a habit.
When I was prostituted, I would drink most of the time.
I would drink to stop the pain. I would drink trying to make it appear to a date. I would drink to stop me sleeping.
In the reality, I would drink because I hated the world I was trapped in.
Men did not care I was a drunk, they would rape and torture me anyhow.
I turn to overdosing. I wanted to destroy myself.
All I did was to wreck my liver.
My self-harming was a screaming that there must be more to life than being living porn to men.
My self-harming was an anger. My self-harming was the tears I could not cry.
My self-harming was my fighting for life.
Now, I don’t live with male violence, now I want and need to break my habits of self-harming.
I drink rarely now, and I will drink slowly. I do not want to be teetotal, instead I want to drink to enjoy it, not to run away.
I stopped overdosing many years ago.
But there are other habits that harder to stop.
I still want to cut myself. I feel it when I feel my emotions going numb. I want to cut when I see too much of the sexual violence I was forced to live.
I never want to cause too much damage or to die.
I just want let go of my frustrations. I want to learn how to cry. I want to feel that I am alive.
Cutting myself is letting out a silent scream.
I cannot stop my old habits of wanting paid sex as my way to self-harm.
When my PTSD is very bad, this habit festers in my mind. It is a huge battle to not go back towards using sex to kill myself.
I feel I am winning the fight to not do paid sex, but it is very hard.
I am proud that I am winning that battle.
All I need to say is very scary.