SmokeGate 2015, never forget
(TW: Graphic talk of self-harm)
So I stopped smoking about six months ago (?) and I just picked it back up. Mainly due to stress from work, from home, literally every direction you can imagine. I'm basically getting gang banged from every angle in my life right now and nothing is helping me cope.
Well this new-found lust for destroying my lung tissue wouldn't be too much of an issue if my father hadn't caught me taking a drag outside on the porch. The idea was to smoke in secret and simply not tell my family. I'm also still not sleeping and that is just fucking ducky. Insomnia is a cunt and I can never sleep. I just toss and turn and when my mind wanders it instantly (and I do mean instantly) goes to self harm. The worst part is I can blame no one but myself for this. I have recently begun the arduous and rocky path known as "recovery" and I'm doing a pisspot job at it. I was caught by my family earlier in the month and of course they demanded my razors. The only problem with this is that I love my family very very much. I hate disappointing and worrying them. This guilt only leads to a stronger desire to self harm. I have named this the "ouroboros effect" since it is a god awful cycle that I have never been able to break. I have begun actively self harming every night for about two weeks. I was caught because of a bloody towel in my room which I was too fucking dumb to properly hide. I work early mornings and I was running late so I rushed out the door and when I remembered the towel I promptly proceeded to shit myself and beg my sister to hide it for me via text, using my recently purchased restock of razors as collateral. She acquiesced and proceeded to chuck the towel in the garbage for me. Well I go through my day feeling more or less like swallowing bleach and when I get home I find my mother crying and begging me to hand my razors over to her. Again I feel more or less like the scum of the earth for causing my family pain with my bullshit drama and comply.
Now you would think that any sane (ha) or non shitty person would take this as a sign from the universe that they need to turn their shit around. Not me though, no I literally the same night after my mother and sister expressed the upmost concern for me, telling me they would be more supportive and do their best to help me, the same night where I promised that I would do better and talk to my therapist (Dr. L, shes a beast and I love her) about this relapse, the same motherfucking night I hugged them and told them not to worry, what the hell do I do? I go to the bathroom, crack open a safety razor with my shoe and a lighter and proceed to go ripshit on my arms like they're a tough steak I'm trying to carve. I then the next day buy twenty dollars worth of razors from the drugstore and hide them. I have taken to hiding my bloody rags in my closet and so far no one is none the wiser. I feel proud of myself for getting away with this yet a fucking gain, and it is such a twisted feeling. On the one hand I want my family to breathe easier and not stay awake at night wondering if I'm going to be dead in a puddle of blood. But on the other hand I love hurting myself too much to give it up. The duality of the situation doesn't sit well in my head. I like things to be clear-cut (no pun intended) and simple. This isn't fucking simple. This is a bad situation that I am causing by being a selfish asshole and thinking only of myself. The self harm is what I want, and therefore despite my families concern and the many broken promises here I am in long sleeves with a bloody towel under me. And I don't ever want to stop.
I don't ever want to stop
So I stopped smoking about six months ago (?) and I just picked it back up. Mainly due to stress from work, from home, literally every direction you can imagine. I'm basically getting gang banged from every angle in my life right now and nothing is helping me cope.
Well this new-found lust for destroying my lung tissue wouldn't be too much of an issue if my father hadn't caught me taking a drag outside on the porch. The idea was to smoke in secret and simply not tell my family. I'm also still not sleeping and that is just fucking ducky. Insomnia is a cunt and I can never sleep. I just toss and turn and when my mind wanders it instantly (and I do mean instantly) goes to self harm. The worst part is I can blame no one but myself for this. I have recently begun the arduous and rocky path known as "recovery" and I'm doing a pisspot job at it. I was caught by my family earlier in the month and of course they demanded my razors. The only problem with this is that I love my family very very much. I hate disappointing and worrying them. This guilt only leads to a stronger desire to self harm. I have named this the "ouroboros effect" since it is a god awful cycle that I have never been able to break. I have begun actively self harming every night for about two weeks. I was caught because of a bloody towel in my room which I was too fucking dumb to properly hide. I work early mornings and I was running late so I rushed out the door and when I remembered the towel I promptly proceeded to shit myself and beg my sister to hide it for me via text, using my recently purchased restock of razors as collateral. She acquiesced and proceeded to chuck the towel in the garbage for me. Well I go through my day feeling more or less like swallowing bleach and when I get home I find my mother crying and begging me to hand my razors over to her. Again I feel more or less like the scum of the earth for causing my family pain with my bullshit drama and comply.
Now you would think that any sane (ha) or non shitty person would take this as a sign from the universe that they need to turn their shit around. Not me though, no I literally the same night after my mother and sister expressed the upmost concern for me, telling me they would be more supportive and do their best to help me, the same night where I promised that I would do better and talk to my therapist (Dr. L, shes a beast and I love her) about this relapse, the same motherfucking night I hugged them and told them not to worry, what the hell do I do? I go to the bathroom, crack open a safety razor with my shoe and a lighter and proceed to go ripshit on my arms like they're a tough steak I'm trying to carve. I then the next day buy twenty dollars worth of razors from the drugstore and hide them. I have taken to hiding my bloody rags in my closet and so far no one is none the wiser. I feel proud of myself for getting away with this yet a fucking gain, and it is such a twisted feeling. On the one hand I want my family to breathe easier and not stay awake at night wondering if I'm going to be dead in a puddle of blood. But on the other hand I love hurting myself too much to give it up. The duality of the situation doesn't sit well in my head. I like things to be clear-cut (no pun intended) and simple. This isn't fucking simple. This is a bad situation that I am causing by being a selfish asshole and thinking only of myself. The self harm is what I want, and therefore despite my families concern and the many broken promises here I am in long sleeves with a bloody towel under me. And I don't ever want to stop.
I don't ever want to stop
Replies
I started self harm 2 years ago and I only used to scratch my arms. I always wore long sleeves and it\'s only normal in my family because we\'re Muslims. After a year, I started cutting but unfortunately, while I was in mom\'s place, visiting, she saw the faded scars on my arm. She got very upset and I promised her I wouldn\'t do it again. After a while, dad also noticed them and gave me a lecture, even though I expected him to hit me.
I promised I wouldn\'t do it again but I couldn\'t stop. The need to see my blood flowing and feel the pain that I think I deserve to feel would never go away. I talked to my oldest brother about it. We\'ve never been close before but now after we fled my homeland because of the war and after he believed that I\'m depressed, he told me he\'d be here for me.
I promised him to stop cutting and that I\'d talk to him but he\'s never at home to begin with. Since I first fled my homeland and came to Sweden, I\'ve been meeting school counselors and looking for a way to get better.
But they were all useless.
The cutting intensified and I started cutting every day. I was even stupid enough to cut on my arms again. Dad saw some scars and my brother defended me and told him that I promised to stop.
My younger sister is 16 and she\'d cut a few times, but never told me about it. She knows that I still cut but I still make sure to hide the new scars from her.
I don\'t want to stop cutting either.. and I wish they\'d understand that it\'s just as addicting as the drugs that my brother takes.. but they refuse to understand or believe that I\'m doing this bad.
Reading your story, I wish I could meet you in real life. :) I\'d love to be your friend. Stay strong
I\'m so sorry you had to go through so much in your life. You are such an amazing person.
thank you :)