Raging Fits of Happiness

The things that light my soul on fire.

So I Cut…[Self-Harm Trigger Warning]

on December 14, 2014

…the cigarettes out of my life. I didn’t slice my skin. I didn’t get a tattoo, but I will when I want it because I want art on my skin, not an open wound. I decided to rise above the weird numb feeling I have been having. It’s all too easy to sink back down into the ways of old. I used to feed on darkness and depression. I’ve changed over the years to love the light. Realizing I have to help illuminate others’ paths is one of the most important epiphany I have ever had. I had it a while back, and I was the light for a while, and life happened. I got overwhelmed and screwed over and I was left in the dark with hardly an ember. Then I once again found my passion and the fire in my soul shined brightly. I don’t know if it was my mind trying to trick me into feeling like I had to cut, or if I thought things were going to well and I wanted to mess it up before anyone else- or at least grab the reigns and guide the way to our destruction.

I decided to say fuck that. 24 hours was enough time to wallow in an imaginary depression. I like being happy, and I want to be alive for a long time, and I want Matt to be with the Hailey that doesn’t need to be held up, but occasionally likes to be picked up and spun around.

Cigarettes were my last form of self-mutilation. I decided to be done with that. I knew that I was thinking about hurting myself more and more, and every time I picked up a cigarette I knew it was hurting me. By smoking cigarettes I was perpetuating the self-harm thought cycle. I was feeding my addiction, even though I wanted to believe that it wasn’t that bad, and it was. Last night I was in the dark space in my mind and we were leaving Low Tide when I dropped by glass bottle and it shattered at my feet. I was upset about the bottle breaking but my next thought was, “Oh god, all that glass,” as I drooled over the shards that I knew would slice my skin so beautifully. I was forced to make a decision. I went back over and grabbed a dustpan and a broom and Matt waited closer to the bar. He couldn’t see me. It was harder than it has been in a long time to not pick up a piece of glass and part my flesh. I even thought about taking a piece of glass home with me. Then I decided NO. I was tired of being ruled by this addiction. It’s an uphill battle, though because I think I see it as a little bit of a fetish too. I’m writing this post and pretty much everything I’m writing about slicing skin or opening flesh turns me on badly. Something about cutting is romanticized in my mind. I blame HIM and his album, Razorblade Romance. Oh, angsty teen years, thanks for letting me out alive.

I was clinging to cigarettes just like I was clinging to all of my material things. I didn’t care if I had them around but it was nice. If I think about it, the funk I was in might have even been caused by getting rid of all my stuff. A kind of shock to my system. Well, I’m shocking my system again. No cigarettes, I’m going to do yoga, meditate, and start drinking more water. I am going to sing more than I have ever sung before. I am going to write, I can’t stop now.

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