Second Nature

 There's a great deal of frustration I've had to deal with during the past couple of months. In a lot of ways, my situation is very stagnant: nothing is happening,  no matter how hard I try, how hard I work, everything's just standing still. Especially regarding my health – I can't get proper treatment before I've moved out of my current city, and that has proved to become such an enormous issue that I am considering contacting an actual lawyer. Currently, the only treatment that I have is medicating; I have several antidepressants, one antipsychotic, and one beta blocker. But no planned therapy or consultation. And that is why I've been getting worse and worse by the day, slowly drifting toward that deep slump of depression I was in last summer.  And all of this just because of one shitty city and their terrible mental health care that puts the blame for their mental suffering on the suicidal person themself. 

giving up.

Because I have no other means of helping myself feel at least a little bit better, I find myself choosing the one and only trusted method, the gift that was given to me so generously. And I don't think I feel bad for it, or guilty. I don't feel any way about it, more likely. 

Throughout the years I've tried to get help for my mental health problems, the doctors and nurses have been dead-set on getting rid of one thing and that one thing only: I need to stop cutting myself. It's dangerous, I could cut too deep in accident, the typical. "Nothing is worth hurting yourself over", I've been told over and over again. And to a certain extent, I understand what it means. But I don't think you can apply that principal to me just as it is. Because while I do know that nothing in this world is worth me inflicting more pain on myself, it doesn't change the fact that other people have been inflicting that Pain on me for years already, and the scars on my arms are nothing but a reflection of that Pain.

I am so tired of health care professionals being so hellbent on making me stop cutting myself because that is NOT the problem here. Honestly, I don't care either way; I can spend the rest of my life self-harming, I don't give a rat's ass. Because at least for now, the gift of the blade is the only thing helping me cope, helping me stay sane enough to keep fighting. So the next time a doctor or a nurse asks me about my scars, I'll just say "I don't care, frankly I don't even want to stop doing it, at least not necessarily". It is a habit I don't care enough to break.

But what I would love is for somebody to help me stop hurting like this every single fucking day.

Soaking tissues,

ichigonya

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

CHAPTER 2: BLADE – END

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How Long Can I Take This?

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My Soul Is An Infinite Pit Of Emptiness