Today I woke up and felt like I couldn't move my legs. There was intense shooting pains through them and my biceps, as well as along the outline of my chest and my waistline, and downward. My forearms burned. I'm sure this pain would've come sooner, interrupted my sleep, except that I took twice the amount of my anxiety meds I was supposed to in order to sleep in the first place, not at all concerned about the result of that. It took a minute, to realize, why this was happening. and that I did it to myself. but reality set in as grogginess went away. and I knew.
I was immediately able to "turn off" the pain - which really means just suffer through it, as soon as I remembered, I caused it. so I went back to sleep.
My sister-in-law woke me up later to ask if it would be helpful for her and my brother to drop me in a central location to job hunt today since they were headed out. "When?" "In an hour." "Let me think on it." Translation: let me find out if I can get out of bed, not have a panic attack, and be ready in an hour.
The answer was no.
I felt all the physical pain again but remembered this time so I sat up. Once I sat up, I saw. The blood all over the wood floor. Where I laid last night. Blood on the floor, bloody handprints on the the white boxes that were next to me that I've been working on unpacking. (That need to be repacked. I need to go home.)
I put on my "wake up monologue"...
After I saw that movie, I used to listen to that every morning. It might be dark but it helped. Sometimes other darkness can help your own. It just depends on how it's channeled. "Just get through the goddamn day." It was written on my mirror. I would look at myself in that mirror and (straighten my tie) and read it, then say it to myself, and then head to high school.... some days.
My relapses get worse and worse, I've never woken up to blood all over the floor. I've never woke up without having cleaned up my wounds the night before. My arms are scorched from the space heater I pressed myself against and ever other place is slashed open. Thirty-six new wounds if you count the burns. I have spent so much effort to /not/ hurt myself anywhere near my genatalia in fear it would somehow interfere with future transition surgeries (that I will never be able to afford). But, last night I failed.
And my relapses are being triggered by something very specific. Something I realized today after my brother and sister-in-law left without me, frustrated I wasn't coming but holding it in. It's not their /fault/ but it's /them/. Well, it's /me/. I am the problem. But they trigger /me/. Every time we "talk", any time they sit me down to discuss what I'm doing and why I'm doing it and end up not understanding any of my side of it, I want to destroy myself.
I've been doing this since I was a kid. And other people and things have been the triggers of my own self destruction and self sabotaging. But I realized today, the only time I wasn't doing this, was living with my oldest brother. I need to go home. That's home. I'm safe there. I thought I wasn't, I thought he'd never accept who I really was... turns out he's my biggest fan. And he worries about me all the time, I feel it. And can tell from a text message. Because his texts are like hearing his voice. I don't know why that is. It doesn't happen with anyone else. But when he texts and says "hey, what's up" I know it's "I'm so worried about you, I feel like something is wrong, are you okay, do I need to come rescue you, I will I will /I will/"
he will.
I was emotionally manipulated last night. I know this as well because I can't get out of my head how certain things were phrased over and over and /over/ again. Like one of those tests, where they repeat the questions in slightly different ways to try to trick you and see if you're answering honestly, or if your brain even can. Maybe I needed it. Maybe they did it as a kick in the ass. They insisted they didn't do it at all. Maybe that's also part of it. I don't know. I don't know how to think outside of myself or as someone even near emotional stability. All I know is it happened, whether they acknowledge it or not. But apparently I'm doing it to them, too. And not aware of it even though they won't believe that either. So maybe none of us are aware but I was "called out" on my emotional manipulation last night so I believe that they are aware of theirs, if they are aware enough to call out mine.
I am wearing my binder and each breath would normally be a little rough because of the compression but today each breath pushes the binder into the wounds and I hold back a scream. every. time. Yet if I don't wear the binder... the number of wounds will increase. They will continue. They will not stop. I have broken the seal. The dysphoria I feel while not having it on will corrupt me. Will destroy me. But I can feel the blood seeping through as I breathe.
My "plan" for the day was partially mine. I have to get up, I have to clean my wounds, and wash my hair (because showering is too much to do daily for the dysphoria), and my face, and brush my teeth, and eat something, anything, to take my meds for the day. Then it was "their" plan. Do the apps. Do them even though you will have a panic attack every time you have to type out your legal name ("copy and paste"), see* your legal name. And then back to me, do some laundry to break up your time and breathe and have clean clothes and bedding because that makes you happy. So I stripped my bed.
I have black bedding. and a white mattress. I took off the sheet. and there was blood. all over it. Cue a panic attack, that I got through by /tearing/ everything off my bed to wash. And then it's me standing there with the blood stained mattress, frozen by not only being reminded (not like I forgot with the searing pain) what I did to myself, and want to do to myself again but also...... by "being" a girl. sometimes. when you have your period, overnight you'll have accidents. a blood spot here or there on the sheet, soaked through to the mattress. A whole new trigger to start off my day. looking at the blood spots, the reminder of when this used to happen. the dysphoria.
Not something I want to get into though. I did my laundry. I put a new sheet on my bed. I stitched up my two deepest wounds that needed it. I wrote this post and I listened to a song on repeat for hours and continued to deal with the rest of my wounds continually reopening as I moved throughout my day....still have not cleaned the floor. should get rid of that box. have to do job apps. it's already 5pm. have group in the morning. can't be late. /won't/ be late. have to do job apps. have to type my legal name over and over and over until I relapse again. but I'm stronger than this. in the wise words or Josie, "dysphoria can be beat".
My bright is too slight to hold back all my dark...but I have people helping. So I'm going to put the past twelve hours behind me, get some apps done, go for a walk, and relax so I get sleep and get up in the morning.
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