I started. I'm telling. I'm talking.
I knew it would be hard. I didn't think it would be this hard. It's as hard as my first day of therapy several years ago. And it hurts as much as anything I've ever done.
I'm scared. I'm violating the rules. If I am caught I'll be in trouble. It will get so ugly. I will be punished.
And I'm so sad. It hurts so much.
I scratched today for the first time in a very long time. Not much, and it only left a few tiny lines, but I did it. I wish I'd been better prepared for that temptation.
Why did I do it? It wasn't to punish myself, as it has sometimes been in the past. It wasn't to feel because I was numb. It was to change what I was feeling.
It was my lifesaver. I was drowning in an ocean of emotions, so many that I couldn't name them all. Choking on them. Scratching kept my head above water.
I can't seem to turn it off. I was okay during the day while I was busy, while I was with my family. Then everyone went to bed and the house got quiet.
That's always when the ghosts rattle their chains, isn't it?
Memories. Emotions. Images. Monsters. Skeletons. And lots of dark water. All threatening to devour me. Chasing me. Breathing down my neck like fire.
A little girl. Lost and alone. Trying to force herself out from behind the safety of the shield. Trying to lift that big, heavy sword. Knowing that she, alone, can slay the dragon.
