Protected: I don’t even know what I don’t know.

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So fucking fed up..!!!

First they want something, then they don’t, simply because something is spicy! Jesus Fucking CHRIST!

I’m not allowed to eat. They’re pressing on my stubbornness. I’m hungry, but they won’t let me eat. So fucking fed up!

What am I supposed to do about this? Eat they say. Don’t eat they say. All for the sake of attention. His attention. Which they’re not getting. Why? Simply because he doesn’t understand. This is their, and partly also my, cry for help. The only way they know of is by trying to get his attention, good and or bad.

I hate it so fucking much.  My life shouldn’t depend on him. What I can and cannot do should not depend on him.

Their definition of other people caring is to get as much attention as possible.  They want me to hurt, because then people will notice, and then care.  Even though they’d prefer me ending up at the hospital with some kind of physical injury, because then people would care even more.

I’m just so tired of everything. It’s all just too much. I want out, but I want in. What do I actually want?

Oh, and another thing I realized yesterday, I don’t have any friends, none which I can talk to properly anyways. My family only cares when they want something.

I don’t even know what’s going on any more. I’m just done.

All I’m hearing is just overwhelming desperation from them ” We did something bad, why does he not give us attention, WHY DOESN’T HE CARE?!?!”

I’m just numb, don’t know what to think or feel any more. I want out.

I’m hungry but not allowed to eat.

I just want this to be over. Please.

Parents. What NOT to do.

As most of you out there know, my parents aka my mum and step dad, and me have had some issues when it comes to handle my illness. They kept saying that they wanted more information, someone who’d tell them what to do and what not to do. And that is fair enough.

But, when I tried reaching out, and told them what NOT to do, they bluntly refused to listen. Saying that what I was saying, didnt make any sense. This was more than a year ago, and it still angers me.

When I was harming myself, they would punish me by taking away the internet for a month or more(!), which really upset me because it took away the opportunity to talk to the one person who had helped me the most. Who helped me get through every day. Someone I desperately needed to talk to. And they knew this, but still did it.

I tried telling them, my therapist tried telling them that it was not the right way to deal with things by punishing me, because I already was punishing myself enough as it was, I did not need more stuff to bring me down.

Another thing which truly and utterly angered me was that when I was hospitalized, both of the times, my mother would call everyone in my family to tell them about it. I felt so ashamed. She never asked me if that was okay, she just went out and did it, without my consent. And when I confronted her about it, she just slammed “They have a right to know, and I have the right to tell them.” In my face. 

If I ever wanted that to come out, I would’ve liked to do it myself. And only tell the people whom I trusted. But that right was stripped from me.

The reason I’m writing about all of this is because I had a discussion with mum about some of this today, she didn’t know, and still doesn’t know that I was and am hurt by her words.

We were talking about a woman from work, simple small chat, and then we talked about her daughter, which is younger than me and struggles with the same issues as me, fair enough, but then my mum said that she’s been really struggling since she was about eight years old, and that her problems were the same as mine, times ten!

Way to go mum. Making me feel soooo much better. Smearing it into my face and making me feel like I’m not struggling enough, that I’m not ill enough or messed up enough.

She doesnt know that a part of me wants to get worse, and worse and worse. 

And she makes me feel like I’m not messed up enough. That I cant even do that right. Even though I’m not trying to get worse, that Im aware of anyways.

It’s a sick and twisted mind set i know.

Another part of me sees that she was maybe trying to make me see how strong I am, and how far I’ve gotten. But I just cannot accept that.

Its like, when my self harming was still going strong, I was happy with the damage I’d done, until I saw someone or a picture of someone with worse damage done than me. It made me feel like I wasnt even doing that well enough. Like a competition of some sort, but with myself.

My wounds had to be wide, and bleed a lot for me to be somewhat happy with the damage, and if they weren’t, I’d be upset and ashamed.

I seem to have gotten somewhat off the topic, but I hope you’ll forgive me.

Another thing I would like to say to all of you out there reading my blog, if you have a child, or have one in the future, that has problems with self injury, don’t punish them, ask them what not to do. They may not know what they want you to do, but I bet that most of them have a pretty good idea of what you shouldn’t do.

Get as much information as you can about what to do from health professionals, most of them might have a good idea about what to do, and tell worried parents.

I for one, did not have a health professional who gave the info that my parents needed. And see where that got me? Misunderstandings times ten!

Confusing post, but in a confused mood. Please bear with me.




Yeah, It’s me again.

I haven’t written in ages, because honestly, I’m not sure what to write about. I’m always worried that my mind will get messed up again, and again, and yet again. Just like it always does when I try to write, at least when it’s sort of personal that is.

I always feel like I’m not good enough, just when I was self harming, the cuts got deep and wide, but yet, I had this idea inside my head that it wasn’t good enough, they weren’t good enough. They were OK if I could see the flesh and if they were wide. But still they were not even close to good enough. Insane, I know, but that’s how my mind worked, and still does.

I am today three months and eight days harm free. And honestly, it haven’t really been that difficult to not do it, but these last days, even this last week, have been somewhat difficult. I’m swinging between anger and sadness, followed by numbness. And I, who does not handle feeling emotions very well, find it very difficult.

I feel like my mind has control, but that I am not in control of it, if that makes any sense? Like if I step on the scales, and I have gained weight, I am devastated, and my mind goes on and on about losing weight, even starving, and when people try to help by giving me advice on how to lose weight, all I hear is protests, because they mention food, eating more often, eating more. I know that they are trying to help because they are worried, but it’s difficult when my mind does not seem to cooperate.

One part of my mind goes on about losing weight (not all the time), and the other one goes on about how I can’t do it, there’s no point because I won’t make it anyways, and things like that.

I know I should stay away from the scales, but I can’t. I want to feel good about myself, and the only time I do, is simply when I’ve lost weight.

My head is always a mess, I know the difference between the “sick” thoughts, and the healthy ones, the “normal” ones, but yet, why do I believe the “sick” ones over the healthy ones? Why do they make more sense to me? For now, I do not know why, but I hope it will be the other way around some day.

I find it very strange, and a little worrying that my own mind is working against my “recovery”, even though I do not really have anything to recover from, do I?

I know I have issues with things, others would call it problems, but I cannot see it as problems. Why? Because they are not serious enough to be considered as problems to me. I simply cannot accept that I have a problem, if I do.

There’s probably a lot more to say about this, but it’s all I got a hold of for the time being.


A peek inside my head?

Long time no see, but I guess i’m back again, at least for this post.



I haven’t written in ages because i felt, or feel(?) that it only makes things worse, like ripping up old scars, and to be honest it sort of sends me on a roller coaster ride to the past. I keep reminding myself of all my mistakes, and things i could’ve done, but didn’t do.

Quick update sort of.

Erm.. last monday, i guess its almost two weeks ago, i had to go to the hospital to get some stitches, i went by myself and when I told my parents they freaked. It wasn’t even that deep, i mean, i could’ve easily just lived on without getting stitched up. I really don’t get why it would shake them up like this, I mean, come on its only stitches.

What bothers me is that its not the first time i’ve harmed myself, so why should it cause so much trouble for everyone else this time? My mum said because it made it all more real, and when i told her for the first time that i was self harming, one or two years ago she thought it was just a phase i was going through, just like my sister and some others. They all got over it, but i didn’t.

My sis did it ages ago, years ago, no one said anything, nobody got affected. I do it and it affects everyone all of a sudden? Where’s the sense in that?

A few days later my mum told me that i had to get punished for what i had done, since i had done such a bad thing. I got angry, frustrated, even scared cause i didn’t undertand it, i still don’t.  i wan’t allowed on the computer for a week, and they told me that the next time I did it it would be for a month.

( My immediate reaction to this picture is that it’s not bad enough, and it probably is, but i can’t see it..Sick I know, but my monster’s in control and there’s nothing I can do about it.)

I haven’t done anything in six days, if you look past the picking on scabs until they bleed, but that hasn’t been intentional either, i think.

I gave up my blades Monday this week, it was hard, but it had to be done. I am no way ready to stop, to give it up, but what can I do when my mum’s saying that my step dad’s threatening to move out and take my little brother with him if i don’t sort this out.

I have so much on my shoulders.

What confuses me and sort of bothers me is that it isn’t as hard as it should be, not even close. And i don’t even get why it’s not more difficult to handle, because it used to be.

I’ve been talking a lot more with my mum though, trying to open up more to her, let her in, and i discovered that my “monster”(yes we named it) is the one convincing me that my mum will make things worse, she always does, she can’t be trusted, she doesn’t care, etc , etc.  But maybe it’s not like that at all? Maybe she never was, or did she change? I don’t know.

These last few weeks I’ve had a lot of trouble falling to sleep, and staying there, I’m constantly tired, I have no energy to do anything and the pain never leaves. I don’t know what to do.

I know that my “monster” is my self destructive part, it literally wants me dead, and that’s a fact.

I’m trapped in it sort of, it refuses to let people help if they get too demanding, if they demand i do something about it, it just shuts them out. My mum even told me that when she’s been trying to give me some advice about what i should do instead of cutting, its like i see right through her, i don’t see her, she could as well just be talking to a wall.

As soon as my mum or someone else opens their mouth to try to help, my “monster” immediately starts to protest, telling me they’re wrong, it won’t work, you can’t do it, etc. And the worst part is that I actually believe in it, because what else can I do, I mean, the “monster” is a part of me, therefore it is me, isn’t it?

Resisting self injury isn’t difficult, but it’s only the start. I don’t have any tools or razors left to do it anyways, but i’m expecting the urge to ambush me sometime along the way.

One more thing before I wrap it up is that the day I gave up my razors, my “monster” described my scars as a “masterpiece”, and yeah you could say I was shocked, but at the same time i thought/think the description were right, it suited them.

My scars will never be good enough, i know that, not even if it somehow caused my death it would’ve been good enough, I see that, but when I’m in the middle of it, I don’t see, hear or think anything but what my “monster”wants me to see.

I might’ve been forced to give up my self harming, but I will never give up my scars. Don’t ask me why, but I’m strongly resistant when it comes to that.

Bekka – InsideOut


Should I?

I haven’t really been in the mood to write lately, and it seems like I’m writing less and less, like I don’t want to, I don’t know.

Things haven’t really been going smooth lately, I’ve been feeling down a lot and I keep getting urges. But hey, they’ve been manageable, so far so good aye?

Every time my mum asks me wither I’ve harmed myself lately or not, I get angry, even if I have done it or not, I feel like I have to defend myself at the same time that I really don’t want her to ask or care, because it’s not helping, at all.

I’m becoming more and more resistant to help, and I think it might be because mum doesn’t understand, won’t accept what I’ve been trying to tell her. But I’ve given up, I’ve had enough, I can manage on my own, without her help.

At the same time as I’m angry, I’m feeling guilty, guilty because I see how hard I make it for them. They don’t know how to help, and they worry too much, and the more I resist to them, the more I hurt them.

I feel torn, like I don’t want their help, because I can make it on my own, but at the same time I’m hurting them, making them more desperate, confused(?)

I honestly can’t say what it makes them feel, but I know its not a good thing.

I’ve been wondering wither to start on anti depressives, maybe it will make it easier for them if I’m all smiley and happy rather than how I am now?

I’ve heard that people on them get “zombied” out, like they just go round smiling all the time, even if someone yells at them.  I don’t know, but if it will make it easier on them, I’m willing to try.

Sure it won’t solve any problems, but I don’t know. Maybe it’ll make the guilt feeling fade?

confused much? Mhm

Guilt is the price we pay willingly for doing what we are going to do anyway” – Isabelle Holland

Bekka – InsideOut



And the time has yet come to write again, it’s been far too long since the last time to be honest.

It’s been two crazy days (Friday, Saturday), it seems like my mum’s trying to make me as uncomfortable as possible.

She knows I slipped (Thursday) and is craving to see my arms, but I won’t let her, and I think it’s pretty frustrating for her, because I don’t say no often, but I figured that now was the time to set my foot down.

Yesterday I had had enough; I escaped out of the house, telling no one where I was going, the only answer they got was “Out”.

I put my phone on silent, so I wouldn’t hear if they called or texted me, which they did, a lot, but to be completely honest, I didn’t care, I didn’t give a rats arse about if I worried them or not, they deserved to be worried after what they put me through.

I was so angry, frustrated, I didn’t know what to say or do. I know they’re trying to help me, but it’s not helping, for me it feels like I’m being pushed to the edge of a breakdown, like they’re trying to break me sort of, I don’t know. But what I do know is that it’s not helping, whatever they think they’re doing, it’s not.

The anger I felt made me push almost everyone even further away, they didn’t understand because they didn’t want to, all they did was drawing their own conclusions.

Why does everyone have to say one thing, then mess everything up when they’re doing the complete opposite?

My mum made me really want to hurt myself, sort of to punish her, only that I would be the only one knowing, and the anger almost made me do it, but I got out and escaped for about five hours or so, nobody knowing where I was at, and it felt great. Nobody I had to worry about, because I honestly didn’t care, at all.

To be careless for a while is great, but then again, it’s not who I am, it’s not who I want to be, but at that exact moment, it felt relieving.

They don’t want me in my room, they think I’m isolating myself from the world, but I’m not, sure I might be hiding a little, but I feel safe in here, this  is my space. I want to be alone, to escape my family and their questions, because I can’t handle them.

I just hope they’ve given up their crazy ideas that they think are helping, because I don’t know if I can handle it, it makes me more resistant to people helping me, makes me push them even further away from me, close up inside.

And if this goes on with the same intensity as is has these last two days, then who knows what the outcome might be.




Bekka – InsideOut