bad night (written in February)

I've been doing pretty well for a while now. I have bouts of depression, bouts of hypomania, nothing that can't be managed with some careful observation and steely resolve and support from friends.

I haven't cut myself in over two years. The urge comes back here and there, but is mitigated by my stubbornness. I refuse to relapse. The shame would be unbearable. So my streak continues.

Tonight, I feel repulsive.

The whole thing kind of pisses me off. Damaged and defective thoughts are stupid and wasteful, and the worst of it is they can't be fought with reason and evidence.

I can't stand the sight of me. My face is a nightmarish monstrosity of asymmetry and ill-proportion. My body I can't even begin on.

And normally this is not the case! I am not so unfortunate of countenance; I am not misshapen nor disfigured; I am not grotesque and I am not wholly unattractive.

I am bright, and funny, and smart, and on some days I am even pretty.

Not today. I am repugnant.

I have this urge that is so strong and disturbing that it actually frightens me to feel it. I don't just want to cut myself-- I want to cut my face.

When I was cutting, I never understood why but the urge was always somewhere specific. It was always my left arm or my right leg, and sometimes my lower ribs, but never have I felt an urge to cut my face.

I'm not going to do it. I'm not.

I'm not looking for pity or sympathy. I'm not.

I have to write this out to get it out of me. I need someone else to take this burden, if only for as long as it takes to read and not longer; it will be enough.

I'm not going to do it, and I hate that I want to.