The only part of my body I like is my feet.
They have not been a source of pain or betrayal.
My feet allowed me to get away, to run when I needed to.
I actually pamper my feet, they are treated like royalty.
Feel free to laugh or giggle or think I'm insane, because honestly, it is insane to pamper my feet, but it makes complete sense in the scheme of things.
I am very embarrassed and ashamed to admit this, but I have been focusing on self-injury because I practice self-injury.
I down play it quite a bit in sessions with my counsellor. But it's time to be serious about it. It is not a joke; it is a serious problem that needs to be addressed. I understand this now from reading "Cutting" and am ready to address the issue full on because it will only get worse if I continue to ignore it.
I normally burn myself. I chose my upper and inner arm because it is an easy place to conceal and it is a rather sensitive area. The reasoning behind choosing burning as opposed to cutting is revolting to me, but it goes back to what I know. My father used to burn me with his cigarettes, his destination of choice was my inner thighs.
He said he was branding me.
Now, here I am, burning myself with cigarettes.
Except... it's reached a new level.
I cut my foot on Sunday. Really, seriously, cut my foot.
I was very sad, in a lot of pain and felt like I wasn't in my body. I'm not sure how to explain it, my body felt like dead weight. I don't think I was consciously aware of my surroundings, yet on some level I was aware of what I was doing, that is the only way I can grasp why I cut my foot. I tried burning myself to bring me back, to take away the hurt, I wasn't successful. That is the first time burning myself failed. This is the first time I resorted to cutting myself.
Cutting my foot at that.
I think deep inside there is a very real hatred for myself. Actually, I know there is.
Good riddance resistance... See ya later fear...