Unbridled Confession of a Cutter

As a teenager and a younger adult, I was a cutter.  I cut myself to control the anger and pain and other overwhelming desperately depressive negative thoughts.  The physical pain was much easier to understand and cope with than the emotional depths of sorrow.  It was release.  It was control.  It was safety.  It was visible.  It was tangible reality.  It was solace.  It was twisted meditation.

I am still a cutter.  Not that I take a blade to my body anymore, but I deal with the impulse to do it.  When sorrow racks my body with uncontrollable tears and sobs to the point of gasping for air, it is the first vice I want to use.  It works for me, even though it damages me.   It solves the immediate scenario and alleviates the emotional strain, but I know better. 

As a teenager, I didn't know better.  I didn't even understand why I did it. So I cut or shredded or sliced my skin.

As a younger adult, I did know better.  I understood it.  I used it for the purposes mentioned above.  I had no qualms about it, but I tried to hide it from others.

It was NEVER about getting attention, just to be clear about that, and I'm not making this confession for that purpose either. 

I tell you this to get it out of me, to share with you a painful reality, and perhaps to commiserate with those of you who know what it feels like to deal with such impulses.

In this current state of being, I resist the impulse.  I resist taking rash actions - like cutting my flesh, or shaving my head, or cutting out the dreads I already have (since I cannot get my full install before I leave town), or getting totally sloshed drunk to the point of no return, or whatever else I can find to take my focus off of the emotional black hole that feels like it is sucking me deeper down the spiral of negativity. 

I cry and cry and cry through it.  I confess it and do not allow it to control me.  I become even more transparent as a friend, even more emotionally vulnerable, even more authentic in my expression of self - not only the light and bright sunshine Self, but the dark and shadowed sorrowful Self.  

I acknowledge that I have other tools to deal with this pain.  I pray.  I meditate.  I can walk this beautiful dog that's a blessing and an inconvenience.  I can paint while I listen to chakra balancing music.  I can write in my journal and/or post on Facebook or my blog.  I can prepare healthy gourmet food.  I can read an uplifting book.  I can still hear the destructive internal voice that beckons me to wallow in the sadness and hide from it in a darker place of self-abuse.  I can still hear the voice, but I’m not listening to its call to arms anymore. 

And the note for why I'm so sad:
1.  Best friend moved away yesterday... sad.
2.  Taking care of her dog is wonderful, but it majorly disrupted my plans, and his being here reminds me she is gone... and he is sad and that's sad to see.
3.  I have pissed off a different friend, by taking on the responsibility of the dog... regretful.
4.  Not going to be able to get my dreads installed before going to SatNamFest and that was/is a HUGE deal to me.  A HUGE DEAL!  Huge... angry at myself for letting it happen.
5.  A job I loved is coming to an end, and I don't see myself working in that field again... sad about leaving what I love and angry it came down to that due to being invalidated by management. 
6.  Our house is a huge wreck and I don't have the physical ability to do much about it... frustrated and sad and angry and annoyed with the state of things.

These weights together create an overwhelming sadness and a sense that I have no control over my life, even though I know that's a self-lie.

Thank you for hearing me.