Thoughts and Broken Promises

I promised. I promised myself that I wouldn't... I promised myself I'd never.... || Accounts of my life. Updated randomly. Mostly thoughts. Or rants. Don't judge me, whatever I may say

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3. Perfectionism Part Two: What I've Done to Myself

I didn't do it with razors. Reading many a dark story/fanfiction has taught me how bad cutting yourself can get. I also knew that in my house, I would be found out almost immediately. So, I started with something that wouldn't draw blood, but would still give me a whole lot of pain.

Paper clips.

It didn't draw blood, but pulling it across my skin multiple times subjected me to just the pain I was looking for. 

Back and forth and back and forth. Leaving red marks on my skin. It never really drew blood, but several times it would come close to breaking skin

Near the beginning of the summer- and that would be this summer, of 2015- I wrote the words "I hate me" on my thigh, but after I found that my bathing suit showed the words, I quickly did whatever I could to get it away. My parents saw it, that one time at the pool, and since they couldn't quite read it, they asked me what it said. 

I immediately ran to the other side of the pool before they could question much else. 

But after that, I was more careful. Unbent paper clips became "good luck charms" and "bookmarks"

I'd scratch them on my leg sometime, and blame it on a nervous habit.

Sometime in the summer, people started to question the red marks on my leg, and the paper clips I was always carrying around. Friends, family. I was terrified of being found out. Like I said, I suffer from perfectionism around my family. I was still worried that they wouldn't love me if they found out that I was committing... self harm.

See, I still thought that self harm was only with razors, something that drew blood. Paper clips didn't draw blood. They weren't self harm.

They were only a way to punish myself, to remind myself to do better, be better, be perfect.

And I still suffer from this to this day, as I write this.

But, nevertheless, I dropped the paper clips, afraid of people finding out. I switched to an even more inconspicuous form of self harm, which again, I didn't think of as self harm. 

Now, this is actually quite different to express, since I still do it to this day. Okay.

I would, no, I do punch myself. 

Mainly in the legs, sometimes the arms. Slapping myself as hard as I can in my room, trying my hardest not to cry as once again, I'd messed up, done something stupid. I'd made someone in my family mad, they were annoyed at me for something, but I wasn't being good enough.

I'm still young, younger than a lot on people on here, so I'm not quite strong enough to leave visible bruises, yet. 

I'm working on it.

Someday.

Realizing that bruising was self harm only made me hate myself more. I didn't know what to do with myself. 

I had promised I'd never self harm. I had promised that I would never do something like that! When I was in the summer of sixth grade, I could hardly understand how someone could come to the conclusion that the only way to fix this was to hurt themselves.

It's only been a year and I half or so since I thought that.

 

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