Endorphines mixed with adrenaline? Release? Possible spike in serotonin/dopamine levels? Or just because it’s a habit and it’s comforting… I guess only you know the answer. Take care x
Maybe because it takes your mind off whatever’s going on.
That’s how it works for me — when the noise in my head reaches a fever pitch and I literally can’t stand the idea that I exist anymore, I twist apart soda cans and go to work on my arms with the metal. It hurts, but the pain distracts me from my feelings about myself and the situation I’m in. And then when it’s over, the pain overrides my ability to dwell on my own shortcomings and failure until it subsides. So maybe for you (although only you know what it does for you), it’s the same way — a distraction.
Or maybe not. I don’t presume to know how anyone else other than myself works. -_-
I haven’t cut in ages, and even then I never cut really badly, like some of the people I’ve met who are now severely disfigured. But I did cut bad enough to leave quite a few faint, but obvious scars. When I cut it was about the blood, always about the blood. It’s like I would go into this zoned out headspace where I’d impulsively pick up a knife, or a piece of broken glass and do these quick cuts across my arm. And I’d just watch the blood flow down my arm in crimson rivulets, almost like the pain inside was draining away… if only for a little while. I even like tasting it. But of course I’d eventually come back to reality and then quietly have to go into the bathroom, hiding my bloodied arms, and get a towel to staunch the blood.
Basically, I don’t know if I felt good, but I liked it… if that makes sense!?
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Endorphines mixed with adrenaline? Release? Possible spike in serotonin/dopamine levels? Or just because it’s a habit and it’s comforting… I guess only you know the answer. Take care x
Maybe because it takes your mind off whatever’s going on.
That’s how it works for me — when the noise in my head reaches a fever pitch and I literally can’t stand the idea that I exist anymore, I twist apart soda cans and go to work on my arms with the metal. It hurts, but the pain distracts me from my feelings about myself and the situation I’m in. And then when it’s over, the pain overrides my ability to dwell on my own shortcomings and failure until it subsides. So maybe for you (although only you know what it does for you), it’s the same way — a distraction.
Or maybe not. I don’t presume to know how anyone else other than myself works. -_-
I haven’t cut in ages, and even then I never cut really badly, like some of the people I’ve met who are now severely disfigured. But I did cut bad enough to leave quite a few faint, but obvious scars. When I cut it was about the blood, always about the blood. It’s like I would go into this zoned out headspace where I’d impulsively pick up a knife, or a piece of broken glass and do these quick cuts across my arm. And I’d just watch the blood flow down my arm in crimson rivulets, almost like the pain inside was draining away… if only for a little while. I even like tasting it. But of course I’d eventually come back to reality and then quietly have to go into the bathroom, hiding my bloodied arms, and get a towel to staunch the blood.
Basically, I don’t know if I felt good, but I liked it… if that makes sense!?