Self Injury Awareness Day

Today is self-injury awareness day. It’s one of those things that has many sides. Many people do not understand it, it can be brushed off as an attention thing, yet in truth those that do it, do it alone, they hide it and they are ashamed, there is no attention in that. Most self harmers go to great lengths to hide what they have done. 370px-Orange_ribbon.svg

Last year I, self harmed to the point of needing it to be stitched, I had to go to the walk in centre for this, and it was probably one of the most shameful things I had to do last year. The staff knew what I had done, I didn’t tell them, but there’s nothing like them making you wait to see the on call psychiatrist to be assessed and the fear of being admitted to hospital. In a world that’s so silent in my head, how could I let my family know what I had done to myself? I would never be able to tell them why.

It’s been two hours since my last self harm. It is something I hide and were it not for the day today, something I wouldn’t say.

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Whatever

Whatever.

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(Sometimes I just write to get things out, this is one of those times.)

I want to hurt because it’s there. I want to scratch it out and make it go away. I want to make me go away. I want to turn it all off. I can’t cry it out enough, shout it, say it, or do anything to get it all out and gone.

It’s anger and aloneness, all at the same time. I want to curl up so it will go away and leave me alone. Then I don’t have to feel it any more.

I want him to take it away, say he was sorry, and know what it feels like. I want him to feel it so he really does feel sorry, not just words, but for him to understand. I want him to go back and fix it.

I want to be normal, go back, and make me be normal then. Why couldn’t I have proper things like food or clothes or just to feel safe? I do not know whose fault it is. It’s a mess.

I can’t think. It makes me want to put my head through a wall. There doesn’t seem to be a point. I can’t undo any of this. I just hide. It’s all a secret. People think I am one thing and really, I am something else inside.

My brother said when he moved out of my father’s house that it would be the end between them, but instead, he gets a normal relationship. His father coming to his house to help with DIY projects. My brother pops to our dad’s for things, he has a key, and he just walks in like a normal son. He gets everything and I have nothing.

I keep my dad away and I feel bad for it, but if I don’t, then it doesn’t change. He touches me, he hurts me, he leers at me and reminds me it’s all my fault because I was a ‘nice’ child. It was me. I turned him on. I flirted. I was the one with the smile and the face that promised more.

That is how I get everything.

That is all anyone ever wants.

It was me who climbed into his bed and I never said stop, not when he started to remove my clothes. I could have. I wasn’t afraid. I could have got out of the bed but I didn’t because I wanted that and he knew it. He knew it all the time. When I would come home from school and get changed; the way I got changed and that he could see me, made him want me. When I took a shower or a bath and walked passed him in just a towel.

It was all me, not him. Not him, because he didn’t make me. I got him to do those things. Not him. Me. It was me.

That’s why I don’t get things, because I’m the bad one and my brother is innocent. I am hard faced and I don’t feel anything and I don’t care. I am bad.

 

The End Perhaps.

Maybe now it is time for the end.Image

Maybe now I have to say, it’s done.

Too many times I have tried. I have waited but it’s always the same. I get crushed.

I realise I am waiting for something that won’t come. It would be far easier to touch the stars than it would to reach out to you and for you to understand what it is you have done.

I have never harmed you; I have never hit you or beat you. I have done everything you ever wanted me to do and always you deny me the one thing I wanted. A family and a father that would love and not hate me.

But you don’t. You beat me down every chance you get. You call me names and let me know my place in your family.

I ask you why? Why am I still here? Why did you keep me? What was the point? You deny it and tell me I’m imagining things; that if you didn’t want me, I would have been put up for adoption. I wonder what it is that you thought you gave me in life.

I’m done now. It’s over. I hurt too bad. It breaks my heart to walk away, but what else can I do? There isn’t anything like I hoped. You are cold and there is nothing. I will always be an enemy in your eyes. I realise this.

I could call you names and give you my anger, but what would be the point? You wouldn’t listen. You would turn it back on me and tell me how it was my fault.

I feel sorry for you. Your life is sad and you miss out on so much because of your hatred. Your grandchildren, your family, and children that would love you and be there when you needed. But that isn’t enough for you. I’m sorry your life is so poor that you have to bring me down.

You may look at me walking away as nothing. You may call me names, swear at me, even try and hit me for it. I have no doubt all you will feel is anger. But I can’t stay. Not with you. I can’t be here.

I feel so bad to walk away. It hurts so much. But it hurts more to stay with hope, and listen to you. I can’t do it any more, I’m sorry.

I feel guilty to leave you alone when you don’t have anyone. I wish you could see why it is that you are alone, but you are too blind to notice that you got rid of everyone.

Maybe I’ll be back, I don’t know.

Maybe I’ll pick up the phone the next time you call. Maybe you won’t even care that I’m not here any more.

But, I have to do this for me. I hope I have the strength. I hope I can stand alone and do what is right for me. I hope I will be better than you. I hope one day you’ll be able to live your life without all this hatred.

I am your flesh and blood. Your son. You tore me apart once more. I am broken.

I’m sorry you’re my father.

Goodbye.