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Sunday, 3 January 2010
I was going to self harm now. I kind of did, but it wasn't actual self harm. Actually it wasn't self harm at all. It was more playing with my skin and a blade. Seeing how far I could dig the blade into the fat on my thigh. Pushing it hard. But not slicing. There is definitely far too much fat on my thighs. Looking at them makes me feel physically sick. It hurt like slicing does, but it didn't really bleed. Skin is pretty tough really. I can push a sharp blade into my leg with all my strength and it only cuts through a few layers of skin. Quite impressive stuff when you think about it. I suppose this playing with a blade game should be win win really - the pain without the scar. But it isn't the same without the blood. I want to do it properly now, but I know there is no point really. It will only make me feel better for about 5 minutes. I want to overdose really. That would be infinitely more satisfying. Even if it doesn't work it is. Obviously it would be most satisfying if it did work. But even if it doesn't, it still calms me down a bit. I suppose because the discomfort lasts for longer. And because I get taken care of for a few days somewhere safe. Safety is reassuring. But even small overdoses that I haven't been to hospital for have been quite satisfying. Maybe because I know I am hurting myself inside.
I am a 24 year old female, currently embroiled in the Mental Health minefield. My diagnonsense is Borderline Personality Disorder, and I also have problems with Depression, Anxiety and disordered eating. Bippidee is my nickname for BPD, as stolen from the fantastic mentalnurse.
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