My Blade has Always been a Better Friend than most

My last few posts have been nothing short of self indulgent pity parties. But, that being said, I am still struggling to come to terms with the the gravity of what has happened. I had no way of knowing that this interesting turn in events would bring me to where I am. If I had of, I might have tried harder to leave things as they were.

Probably not though. Everything is constantly changing, and sometimes -- more often than not actually -- I am forced to adapt to that change, as best I can, whether I like it/want to or not. I think I simply sped up that process in this case. It seemed I was on a collision course with that friendship anyway. I'd spent time prolonging it, for no joy on the other side and it was time to cut my losses before it all went completely awry and out of my control. As I've expressed previously, it is pivotal that I be in as much control as possible. Without some kind of semblance of control, I have absolutely nothing. So yes, I engage in behaviours that mimic/offer me some kind of control -- however stupid.

But yes, things are constantly changing. Friendships change because people change. Sometimes people don't actually change, it seems to me that their true natures seem to become more apparent over time to the point where they are no longer the person you liked and knew. I too am changing, constantly. The thing that changes most is my perception of myself. This perception is constantly altered by what people say to me. Much like my speech. You may have noticed that my speech is easily influenced [that is so much better than the word I just invented, don't ask, it's late]. Someone said 'mate' to me one day, and now its all 'mate' this and 'mate' that. But that's a little off track. When people say things to me, they influence my pattern of thought.

For example: If you said to me, that I was an emo cutter then I would be terribly upset by this and spent a great deal of time internally processing this. Likewise, if someone suggested that my weight was increasing, well, I'm sure I'd go to extreme lengths to reverse that. And when doctors tell me all about how fucked up I am -- not in those words, they are medical professionals [though I'm not sure I could say that of all of them] -- I start believing that I'm just completely fucked up and with no hope of ever rectifying this.

And I do believe this.

And then of course, I find myself stuck down the "no one can help me" path, which is semi true as far as some of my physical problems go. So now that I believe to varying degrees that I am beyond help, I know not how to ask for it. Yes, even after all this time I still cannot bring myself to ask for help. There have been many, many nights where I could have and should have texted and rang someone, but I did not. I suffered silently and willed things to be better tomorrow. Sometimes they were, sometimes they weren't. It was more often the latter. And every time it ends up being the latter I ask myself why I didn't reach out and I've reached the following conclusions.

• Obviously there is a very strong element of fear. I am genuinely scared to ask my friends for help. I can be an absolute neurotic mess at my worst and I don't feel like I can impose myself or my issues on people like that. Friends or not. I certainly value what friendships I still have too much to jeopardise them like that. And I know you're thinking "you can always talk to me" and well, I've lost a few friends leaning on them. And it hurts, a lot. So yes, I am scared to be shunned for reaching out. I'm scared of appearing weak. And I'm absolutely terrified of having to say goodbye to the small group of good friends I have left [thank you inner psychotic Sky]
• There's certainly and element of pride. I value my ability to remain stoic in my resolve to face the day. If I can do it on my own, then I can do anything. I didn't just get this inner strength, I really worked at it. And if I appear weak now, who knows what can happen?!

Evidently the two intertwine a bit because I'm scared to appear weak. So all in all, fear, worry and concern seem to be the overriding factors that render me absolutely useless. I'm just so wrapped up in my worries I don't know how to reach out and paralyse myself to the point where I can't.

And as I pointed out with the lost friendships, who needs to be hurt again anyway?

So I cut.

And if I think I can cut away the pain, then by God I will try. It's also a control thing, I think, to a lesser degree. I can control that. For once, I can actually control the damage to my body. You cannot understand how important this is. Disgusting/feral/appalling yes, but oh so important. And unlike many of my friends, now and past, it's always there. My blade, my most reliable ally. Something to fall back on.

It's a sick, dirty habit that I don't know how to stop, and even now I'm actually starting to realise that I probably won't be able to. And why? Well, it seems to me that the need for it and the perceived benefits far outweigh whatever actual harm it may or may not be doing to me. I like the scars too [fuck that is sick], I feel real when I can see them and touch them and feel them. They make me unique. I'm not just another textbook depression case, nor am I something for the medical journals. I'm a person. I feel, think, hear and see. But sometimes I need a little reminding of that, and my good friend the blade will always be there to remind me in my times of need. 

Because people ultimately let you down and there's only so many times one can be let down before one just can't try it again. 

I may be getting to that point, if I'm not already there. But I just don't know. Because I want to trust my friends and have that outlet, but my better judgement is asking me not to. To hold a bit back every time. To say nothing incriminating so nothing can be used against me. To lie.

And I'm inherently good at that.

- Sky