@anita: Correct; your explanation is pretty spot-on.

It’s difficult to be aware of it early on (since I always feel like I’m always at mid to high tension, especially with school), and just as difficult to find efficient ways to really “relax”. I light a lot of incense and listen to purposefully soothing music (like binaural beats, or soft piano soundtracks). And painting, of course. I just feel like I’m growing more immune to the calming factor of these things, and it takes more and more of each to de-stress, over time.

As for the research, don’t stress yourself on it. It’s a rather dreary subject to be spending your time on. And everyone’s different with their reasoning, or how it works for them. I know someone who self-harms as a form of punishment. As in my case, I almost see it as the opposite. Not necessarily a reward, but a release. Like a cigarette, but not killing my lungs slowly.

@anita: Thanks.

I can only try to treat myself better, though it’s obviously rather tough. Seemingly impossible. I like that walk idea, though. If I’m ever tense and able to leave my room, maybe I’ll go for a walk.

There’s 2 school counselors, for the virtual academy. I’ve never talked to either, and the thought of it makes me a little uncomfortable. I’m not sure what the sessions would look like, or if they even have sessions. It might just all be through email, and all of the emails I send/receive are also forwarded to my mom, just school policy. Plus, I’m not really sure if I can get much of any benefit out of counseling anymore.

Group therapy sounds terrifying, to be completely frank with you. It might make me more uncomfortable, than anything. I’d possibly even start lying to avoid awkward moments or embarrassment.

I almost feel like self-harm is always there with open arms for me. The embrace is not really a feeling I can find anywhere else, nor the availability of it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want change though, just so we’re clear.

@anita: Exactly, the forwarding policy is ridiculous. I’m not sure if anyone uses the school counselors for any more than just an occasional pat on the back, anyways. Or y’know, less troublesome problems.

I wanna change for my own good, and my future. I don’t want to have double the scars I have now in just a few years. I don’t want them to be a distraction in my relationship, along with my torn hands. (Since people tend to learn the entire body of their partner like the back of their hand, after some time. Though the admiration is usually unconditional, it’d still be a little unsettling always be holding a somehow wounded hand, in my opinion. Maybe I’ve thought about this too often.)

And if I do have a kid, I don’t want them to see, ask and eventually do themselves. Most importantly, I don’t want to spend my time obsessing over my skin instead of being productive.

Really, if it weren’t for my relationship, I wouldn’t be bothering, because the future would be seemingly nonexistent to me. I would have no one to impress, or no reason to even bother going on. It’s unimaginable to go on with life on my own, and probably would only make me more miserable, since I’d be too eager to leave asap (like a bat out of hell, like some say), instead of leaving in a financially stable position.

@Anita: I don’t necessarily feel like I have to impress anyone. I don’t really intend to, most of the time.

Like with my relationship, I obviously want to be the best I can be, just for him. But I’m also not worrying about it too much, because well, everyone has flaws, and he’ll have to see mine eventually.

As for here, this is just naturally how I’ve grown to communicate. Even in my diary, I use thought-out sentences, and decently chunky vocabulary. I have a decent amount of fun with writing. To not use “lavish” words, makes me feel uncomfortable, in a sense. Like one of my few good attributes is stripped away from me. Or like I’m downgrading from 10 crayons to only 5. I’m not really trying to sound uppity, this is just what feels normal. Apologies if this comes off as defensive.

I’m assuming those questions were asked with the intent of receiving answers. What hurts me? Words. Better yet, selfish or harmful intentions, expressed by words. I’m scared of a few things, but there’s two main fears. The fear of wasting my life (either by being miserable for the entirety of it, or never experiencing much of anything), and the fear of seeing the few things I adore die.

What makes me sad? Again, two answers. One being people. People tend (not to generalize) to be selfish, ugly creatures, and I feel saddened at the reality of that, and sympathy for the other living things have to deal with us. The other answer is time. Everything passes by so fast, and every second that passes is lost into the oblivion. This saddens me because of all of the amazing knowledge and conversations that I was lucky enough to experience, but not enough to remember. This is partially why I keep a diary now, so I can always reminisce on old advice, conversations, stories, puns and thoughts.

What makes me hopeful? I don’t quite know how to answer this one; there’s not lot I draw hope from. I can only really think of my S.O. He reminds me that there’s still brilliant and creative people in the world, somewhere. And what I most desire – what I think most anyone desires – is success. Effortless success in anything I do would be wonderful, though unlikely. I crave a life filled with only experiences, stories and success. Another thing worth desiring, in my opinion, is a hug. Those aren’t something I receive often, but they put medicine to shame.

That’s as unshowy as I could write, and write comfortably. I feel like I knocked down every hurdle, though.

@Driftwood: Oh lord.. I just now noticed your previous post! I don’t know how I missed that. That’s embarrassing.

I’ve linked the digital piece above, I have a traditional acrylic paint piece in the works, and I can post that when it’s done, too. It’s fluorescent, which is unbelievably exciting. (I don’t know if I’ve previously mentioned that I bought florescent paints along with the canvases, but I did.)

I also don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I finally told mother about the charter school, which means my transfer might as well be written in stone. She’s excited and looking forward to it. I’m genuinely terrified. Like when you’re in the line for the scariest ride at the amusement park. Sorry, I’ve seemed to have amusement parks on the mind, these past few days.

Distance is a slow, slow process. I still blame myself for every inconvenience, and it’s going to take myself a while until I don’t.

Trying to see into my mother’s eyes is like looking into a murky pond. The reflection doesn’t help any. I have no idea what she thinks, and her actions don’t seem to say anything, when you put ignorance into the equation. I think she just thinks that I’m sad, but not sad enough to worry about. Respect isn’t something she’s heard of, really. Or maybe she respects me, in the way you’d respect a house cat. And that’s a bit distorted, since I’m not a house cat. “Approach” is a word I can’t really comprehend, for this situation. I’m not sure what all it would entail, if that makes any sense. It might be the simple fact that it’s 6am, and I’ve yet to rest.

Oh, it’s easily a small trait of an abuser. I’ve endured it so many times. I’m a bit upset that it was engraved into me at such a young age, and I can’t find a way out of it. Anything outside of a friendly jab feels unbearably awkward and unnatural.

Yeesh.. The election.. In the wise words of Obama, “No matter which candidate won, the sun will still come up tomorrow.” Or whatever he said. I don’t know. Again, it’s 6am. I’ve been typing since 3am. I should sleep, now. Also, my dearest apologies for not seeing that post the first time. I keep kicking myself for that. I really wasn’t ignoring you, y’know. How could I go on without a lil Drifty in my life? It’s 6am. I’ll stop harassing you now, for tonight.

–

Oh, my father. So, he’s kind of stopped bothering, for the season. My friend opened up the art kit he sent, and found a long, sloppy and awkwardly heartfelt letter. Stuff about how he loves me and such and such. I can’t really remember much of it, besides a few unfamiliar names. It also came with some little unsettling gifts. A pencil (I’m homeschooled) and halloween-themed earrings (my piercings closed up over a decade ago). Everything’s scattered on the floor, beneath other things. It’s comfortable to think about, or even look at. Not sure why I have such huge feelings of discomfort on the situation. I really wish I could just get myself to put up with this guy for a handful of hours per year, and then be done with it. No guilt eating away at me, afterwards. I’m still yet to bother log in to my main Facebook, even though he hasn’t bothered messaging since my birthday.

(God – my neck is killing me. I should really, really sleep now. G’night.)