I don't want to...
I don't want to NEVER cut again.
It hit me...
It hit me hard in the car the other day.
If I stop, I stop...
No more.
No more cutting.
No more blood beading fresh where I just sliced.
No more feeling quick relief.
It has been one and a half months.
I don't want to.
Don't want to set myself up for failure.
If I say it...
If I say I am quitting for good aloud, there's expectations.
I can't fail.
It's scary, ya know, it's scary to really quit, to lose your security blanket for good. Once that thought hits you it hits like a pile of bricks, it's rough.
I have quit, for good, forever. Ok, even I don't really believe that, but it does feel different this time. My meds are finally the most stable they have been and I feel that it may actually be possible. For real.
I still have my days where the anxiety drowns me and I can't get to the surface, but:
1. I believe I can hold out
2. It will end
3. It doesn't happen as often as it used to.
I'm just making it, day by day, even hour by h our, just making it through.
As always.
As always just "making it through".
It's like beating a dead horse (aka pointless) why do I write my blog still? Well, I am not too sure anymore. I want ti help, make a difference, byes does my dead horse make any difference at all?
My loop of broken to pieces and wanting to die by my own hand to thinking I can quit and back again.
I feel like I'm just full of shit. Forever struggling and preaching about getting better when I can't myself.
I'm hoping things change this time, hoping I can make it.
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