Loopy, Lonely and Lost

Posts Tagged ‘self-harm


Posted on: January 31, 2014

Sorry I haven’t written for a while. I’ve been…coping. Just about, by the skin of my teeth, getting from one day to the next.

These past few days I’ve been feeling ill. Nothing serious, just a bug, but I feel all stuffed up and it’s stopping me from sleeping because every time I lie down I cough up a lung, so I know I’m being ratty and over-emotional.

I’m struggling at work. My performance has dipped. I’m alright at the simple, invisible, day-to-day things, but when it comes to anything involving confidence or chutzpah I just can’t do it any more. My boss keeps looking at me with his serious face and I feel like he’s gearing up to have a serious conversation with me and I am completely not in the right frame of mind for that. I can’t talk about myself at the best of times but lately I can hardly look myself in the face in the mirror without wanting to run away.

Today I came home from a busy, stressful, unproductive day at work. Feeling exhausted and vulnerable, wearing the dead-eyed, open-mouthed, nose-dripping stare of the cold-inflicted. Feeling sick. Feeling sorry for myself. Wanting to hide away. Told my parents I didn’t feel up to eating anything and was just going to bed.

Everything kicked off. I mean, World War 3 (only in my house alone we’re probably on World War 3 Million). My mum calling me an ungrateful bitch and threatening to force feed me. Calling me evil for upsetting her (is this what mothers do? I thought if your child was ill you would at least enquire what was wrong before making it all about you).

I really couldn’t cope. Couldn’t make my brain work properly. Couldn’t stop the horrible snivelling crying. Cut my arm with scissors for the first time in years. Hit myself on the head with my phone, which was probably a really bad idea as I now have a huge lump in the middle of my forehead and I don’t know how I’ll explain it (my phone still works though, it’s indestructible, although I’m not sure how that will help as I have no-one to contact).

All I can think about is running away. Got to leave, got to get away somehow, got to stop everything. I don’t know what to do.

My mum calls me these things, and I don’t know what to do.

Read the rest of this entry »

Here it goes, I lose control.

I felt pretty good for a couple of days, and I didn’t question it, didn’t worry, couldn’t see anything unusual in it. Didn’t even think about it, really. Just enjoyed the breath of fresh air, the lifting of a weight.

Then all of a sudden things are too bright and loud and upbeat. I say stuff I wouldn’t normally, see eyebrows raising as I seem arrogant and presumptuous and overly-friendly and just generally weird. I go to work and try harder than everyone, get everything just so, becoming obsessive about it, never stopping.

Then I come home and talk, talk, talk and laugh until my throat hurts. Then my thoughts are racing, really racing, to the point where they get so fast they just become white noise, I can’t make anything out, like when things travel quickly in cartoons and all you see is a blur. Sweeping lines of motion but no discernible outline.

I can’t think anymore, my mind moving so fast that I can’t get purchase on any particular thought, they’re all whizzing past just beyond my reach, and there is simultaneously so much and nothing at all going on in my mind and I start to get afraid.

It’s 2am. I can’t sleep. I’m actually seriously considering hurting myself, just to shut my brain up. I know it’s stupid and self-destructive but it’s fucking tempting, the idea of harming myself just enough to induce that blank state in which I can collapse in to bed, mind silent, actually no thoughts at all, and sleep until morning.

What am I supposed to do? I can’t stop moving or thinking, everything going round in circles. Earlier at work my friends and I were looking at a puzzle and I couldn’t see the answer but now it’s come to me and it’s yelling in my ear, I’m fidgety and I’m mouthing it to myself and it won’t get out of my head, just a stupid meaningless phrase that repeats over and over again and keeps me awake.

I hurt myself last night. It’s been a while.

Read the rest of this entry »

I went out with some people from work last night, had a few drinks and a bit of a laugh. It was an okay night – nothing special, but it’s nice to get out and do something, isn’t it? I wasn’t really drunk, just a bit tipsy, and I got home at a reasonable hour and went straight to bed. Read the rest of this entry »

Last night, things got quite bad. I spent several hours pacing my room and silently crying, then quite some time stood next to my bed, holding a pair of scissors, on some sort of precipice. It was so hard to make a decision, every fibre of me was pulling in different directions.

In the end, I gave in. I feel a bit bad about it now. But it was small. Just a few small scratches, hardly any blood, only just about visible now.

I feel like I have to be careful, writing this here. I don’t want anyone to think I’m encouraging people to hurt themselves. I hope anyone who reads this knows I’m not any kind of a role model.

But it did help. It took the edge off the panic. It made me blank for a few hours. It weakened my racing thoughts and my shaking hands and my head and stomach and back ache.

I don’t want to need this. I don’t want to have to take a maintenance dose of sharp things just to function. I hate dependency, on anything. It’s like, when my insomnia was really bad, and I realised that alcohol was the only thing that’d give me a decent night’s sleep. So I stopped drinking. I was too scared of needing it. If I think about it really hard, I resent air and food and water, because they’re things I rely on, things I need, and by extension things that might be used to hold me to ransom.

I don’t want to have to hurt myself to get through the day. But empirically, that’s another day over with and yesterday I thought my heart was going to explode or I was going to jump off a bridge before the end of today. I’m trying to find the hole in my logic. I’m trying to find the reason not to do it. But what works works and I am still alive.

I’m having big, horrible, unavoidable thoughts of self-harm. It’s actually really bad. I can almost see it. I can almost feel it even, my skin is crawling with the need to be ripped apart.

I’m not particularly suicidal. I’m not really thinking about life and death. I feel like my brain is trying to destroy me and I’m trying to keep myself safe, distracting myself when I can and, when there’s no room in my head for anything but blood and gore and destruction, I’ve been sitting on my bed, out of reach of anything that can do me harm, pretending I’m on some sort of island, and not moving until I’ve gathered the strength to carry on without tearing myself to pieces.

I don’t even really know why it’s got so bad.

I haven’t been overly depressed. I’ve been okay. I just can’t shut these thoughts out.

Every time something goes even slightly wrong – every time I even think about things going wrong – it happens. My mind gets so full of thoughts and images of hurting myself that I can’t think of anything else. It doesn’t really help that I’ve moved departments at work now and really don’t know what I’m doing, so I’m spending all my time asking for help or trying to rectify my mistakes…maybe the stress of that is having some sort of effect on me, but if I can’t even handle that level of stress, what the fuck am I supposed to do with my life? I suppose I’d got too comfortable in my old department, and I think being uncomfortable now and then is probably good for me, but either it’s an unfortunate coincidence or it’s making things worse.

I’m desperate, aching, itching to hurt myself, and I’m making do with tiny things now, trying to stem the tide by pinching loose skin so hard it stings, and scratching at myself with my fingernails, but I can’t shut my brain off, I can’t stop thinking of doing something worse, and I don’t know how to make it stop.

It’s been so long since I’ve hurt myself. I know it would be weak to give in now. But the temptation is almost overwhelming.



My name is Laura. I was once told that I have cyclothymia. This blog is mostly where I write about living as a person with extremes and instability of mood, and the history of a life that led to the development of those symptoms.

I complain a lot, I'm very repetitive, unreliable, and I tend to contradict myself.

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