So much has happened over the past few weeks. Celebrating my birthday has occupied a huge amount of my time, as well as seriously stressing over Sixth Form and relapsing into depression.
Confiding in teachers about my issues, clearly got me nowhere, as because of this my Mum supposedly knows about my recent self-injuring - although hasn't confronted me about it, even after a week of knowing. Visited the doctors today, who gave me a card they wanted me to call in regard to getting more help for me, seeing a counseller outside of the NHS. Hopefully I am going to give this number a call on Monday, as it is mostly a self-referral process.
I haven't been self-harming as much recently, due to my birthday, and being away from home an awful lot, have stayed at Nathans for the third night in a row now. But the urges are still there, and there are a wide variety of triggers surrounding me. I look at three protruding scars right now, look how everything else besides those are healing, yet part of me feels compelled to add to that. It's a terrible thing to say, but I actually am rather looking forward to the cold weather, giving me a chance to perhaps use my arms as a self-harming spot and finding somewhere new to harm myself, with being able to cover it up in the process.
It's very difficult to explain a 'trigger' - I find. The doctor asked me that today and I looked at him blankly, stating I didn't know. But I actually genuinly didn't know how to describe what causes it. Realistically, I have everything going for me, it seems. But nothing seems good enough for me, and in my eyes, it never will be good enough. Someone, somewhere, is always going to put me down, I am always going to fail at some parts of my life, and people are going to enter and leave my life and let me down, my methods of dealing with that however, need to be addressed and sorted.
I feel like I need a reason for my illness. And that only sends me down spiralling more when I realise I don't have one. I just hate myself. And that is my only reason.
The future seems so bleak and distant with this illness. I can't imagine myself sitting in a university lecture hall, being taught English Literature. I can't imagine a career, a life, without this dragging me consistantly back down. In fact, I can't imagine life that far ahead, let alone with or without the illness.
And I just say to myself, 'well why bother then?' - contemplate taking overdoses, self harming and all of that sort. One day I am so scared that I won't be able to stop myself. Or am I scared?
I can't bring myself to concentrate on other aspects of my life that I know are too painful. My family, for one. Relationships. I keep working, working and working. Because that, and sleeping, are the only thing getting me through.
I love you all, and I hope you are well.