So I am really troubled if I should let my secret keeper have access to my blog, Because this is a really dark place for me to spill my dark thoughts and no one has ever had access to this, and I need to be sure that I am still writing honestly and not change what I write because someone I know might read this now.
My secret keeper thought that the cuts he saw was deep, I wondered if he really thought that because it felt like it wasn't deep, and it was really easy to slit that two lines on my wrist. I guess the problem is that I knew how bad my last attempt was, but no one else knows. That the cuts eventually did stop bleeding, but when I stretched and turn my wrist the wounds were deep enough that tiny dots of blood would start seeping through again. It's really funny how I stopped my self harm after this. Didn't I want to die? I guess it was bad enough to make me stop, so the problem is that I started doing it again.
I guess I was in a turmoil, like I still wanted to die, but I was also trying not to harm myself. Then I just did it as if to tell myself that it's fine, I still know how to do it. So I cut myself again at home, without the intention to die because I would never want my parents to find my body.
I guess that lead me to find help and throwing my money around. The money wont matter if I'm dead. Which reminded me of Dr Koh who insisted on admitting me against my will in imh. I kept insisting that I did not want to be admitted as I had to work next day, and she kind of replied that if I kill myself and died than my work won't matter, and that I should prioritize myself, which was kind of funny.
Why did my counselor want me to write all my thoughts down though, to process them and to acknowledge them? Acknowledge what? what am I not acknowledging? why did he not start on cbt and started with a daily dairy? Did he feel that I was too alone, and had no one to confide to and thus has a lot of bottled emotions?
Before I was discharged from imh, they had my social worker worked with me on my safety plan. She kept asking me who I had, to confide with, and I kept talking about having my parents around, but I support them mostly, than about that one friend that I have and who sees me as someone whom supported her. So she asked again, who do I confide in or turn to for support? I guess no one? I have always needed to be independent since young and it never occurred to me that I needed support. Even when I was sick, I try be quiet about it because my mom would find it annoying, and I just hide in my room and took care of myself. I felt uncomfortable, because the social worker looked bewildered.
My mom would care of course, just that, she won't be happy about it I think. and I'd rather not bother her.
I think though, one time, I fractured my toe so badly, that it hurt so much that I was sure it was broken or something, my mom just smirk and shake her head, and say that I'm so clumsy, like I probably deserved it, so it was my own fault. I called a taxi and went to tan tock seng myself. I struggled a lot, to walk around. It was so painful that I felt like tearing, but I didn't want to cry. Luckily a kind soul helped me get to a wheelchair and I waited for my turn to see the doctor. I remembered that I was quite sad, this one time, because my toe really hurt. There were probably more times like this. I think I tried to change this paragraph many times, so that it didn't seem so bad. I initially wrote that my mom laughed sarcastically, but I removed that part, cause I think she didn't, just a sarcastic smirk probably.
I think my depression amplifies things and make everything seems worse than it really is. Why does all this matter, a lot of things happened in the past. Which already past anyway. I don't think all this really matters. Just let them stay buried. There was this one thing that happened though, that I sometimes think about. As usual, I told no one. Does it matter? no? what could be changed? nothing? so why would digging up buried bones help? What could be done to let me have closure? nothing? so the only thing that could happened is just forget about it. I guess I can only accept that it happened, and that's just it. It is something so bad though, that I can't even write about it or ever tell a single soul. I'm just being dramatic.
-insert laughter-
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