I feel like I know how those people feel who want to go back to their boyfriend or girlfriend after their girlfriend or boyfriend beats them. This is the story in several parts of my life.
One part is the part where I am friends with Amanda. She treated me like crap, told me she hated me, and yet I still care about her. Why do I still care about her? Amanda was in no way my boyfriend or girlfriend. She was a mere friend. Or at least someone I thought was my friend. She treated me like crap. She told me she hated me. She has given me no reason to care anymore. But yet I do still care. I wish that there was something I could do to make things better. But there just isn’t. Part of me wants to call her and say something to make everything better, do something, and beg her forgiveness for whatever wrong I have done. Another part of me just doesn’t care. At all. It wants to forget that our relationship ever happened. It wants to go on with my life and forget. These two parts of me are fighting and fighting. It is an internal fight, only erupting when I am most frustrated and begin to cry. Part of me wants to tell myself that this isn’t worth crying over. This relationship is not worth it. Another part misses what we had and feels sorrow for the loss. I know in my head that all she has caused me is pain in the recent past but for some reason all my heart remembers is the good memories. I go back and forth and back and forth and I have no one to talk to about it. I might talk to my sister, if only we could talk face to face. I might talk to my best friend, Laura, but she is all the way in Israel and again I cannot talk to her face to face. No one I really want to talk to, who is not involved in the direct situation is available to talk to. The only other option is to maybe go to the counseling center at school. The only problem is that I do not want to talk to some stranger right now. I want to talk to someone who kind of knows me, at least a little bit. Maybe I could talk to my RD from last year. I feel like he knows me a bit because he knows about my cutting. Maybe he can understand where my mind goes. I do not know. We will have to see.
Another part is me and cutting. I turn to it and it hurts me. I never end up better from my interactions with it. I have never had something completely positive come out of it. Yet I want it. I want to go back to it. I long to be held in its arms, to have its blade caress my arm. I long, I long, I long. But I know all it does it hurt me. In the end all I end up with is regret and shame and cuts that need caring for, and after that scars. This whole week I have been worrying about my scars. They show a brighter pink when I get cold and they keep being obvious. I am so freaked out that someone will see and it will lead to an awkward conversation that I am just not ready for. In general if the normal public see I do not care. I just care if my friends see, or someone else who I care what they think. I spent my dorm banquet in a sweater over my dress. I keep hiding my arms under sweatshirts.
But I need to go study. Perhaps I will write more another day.