Yup, that’s basically what my life evolves around at the moment. Anxiety attack after anxiety attack.
And I don’t even know why or what could be causing them either. And its frustrating.
I can have up to five, at least, a day, without even leaving the house. Its mad.
That’s a kind of new experience to me, even though I’ve had a few over the years, but not as intense or even close to as often as now. But the weird thing is, whilst I’m at work, I’m completely fine, no anxiety at all. But the explanation that I’ve come up with for the absence of the anxiety at work is routines.
When I’m at home, I have no routines at all, and I am completely unable to stick to any sort of routine, no matter how insignificant or small. I just can’t stick to them.
Sure I can try to make a routine, and do so for ages, but I tend to fall out of them very easily.
On another matter, this sunday, october the 28th, will be my first year harm free. (read: almost) I had two minor slips, even though I did not cause any permanent damage. (read: sadly)
But the thing is, I cannot really tell if they really were slips at all, I mean, sure I meant to cause myself harm, once with a plastic band continuously slapped at my wrist until I swelled up and bruised, yet no blood had been spilt. The second time was with a beer cap, I kept digging it into my skin, hoping to bleed, yet all I achieved was disappointment and red marks. So my question is, does it count as slips?
With my anxiety levels being so high lately, the urges to harm myself has returned, and the intensity a little as well. It bothers me that I cannot give in to the urges, and It makes me wish that I never came forward about it to anyone. It was my dirty little secret. (See the reference?)
I don’t understand why I so badly want to see myself destroyed, and even gone, but I do.
I want to feel relief again, like I did when I harmed myself. Even though it was just for a little while.
I want that euphoric feeling of happiness and complete peace with myself back, like when I gave up on life that one time, it was the best feeling I’ve ever had. Though it didn’t last as long as I’d hoped it would. It was replaced by fear and worry over what I had just done, my survival instincts kicking in, only to tell me that my body was not yet ready to die, even if my mind was. (Read: still is)
I don’t know why I want to die, or why I want to make myself suffer, I really don’t.
So I guess you could say that there are a lot of things that I do not know about myself, and I even wonder if I really even want to know.
I am not a rational person, I do all my thinking and acting based on feelings, not thoughts or facts. Even though I used to be able to think rationally, but for some reason, that’s impossible for me at this point.
My emotions and thoughts are just one big hole of confusion and indecisiveness.
The only thing that I do know is that I want to die, or have the second best, my self injury back.