Bittersweet Part 2

  October 24th, 2011 by Secretly Fading

(The series of posts I write on here I will call Bittersweet, since everyone on here is lovely enough to leave comments I’ll use them to sort of answer their questions more. So here’s the next part.)


I’ve been told MANY times that I treat myself harshly, in truth that is a habit I’ve been doing since I was very young (I’m talking about 4 or 5 years old).

Even then I showed a desire to give myself self-punishment. What am I punishing myself for is something I’ve been trying to figure out for several years now. Is it because something in me told me I wasn’t meant to live? The Old Soul in me forcing me to punish myself for crimes of a past life? <—This may be a little dramatic but you never know, plus it’s the fiction author in me.

One of my more awakening was a story my mom told me, about how she found out I was born. So I will share that. I won’t say where my family was or where I was born but it was after a major hurricane damaged many neighborhoods. My parents at the time were only sweethearts, so when my mom found out she was having me it was a shocker. She called my dad and of course he was stunned and hung up. To make it short, he came back to her several hours later drunker than an fool and his exact words were, “I guess we have to get married now huh?”

Romantic I know.

But hearing that, something clicked. I began to think Maybe if they didn’t have me, then none of this shit that’s happened in the last few years would have never happened. One story made a complete change of thoughts in my head. I knew somehow I was always punishing myself for something but what? That seemed to be my answer.

My cutting history started with using a sewing needle, I would just scrape the skin and let the pain battle against the pain in my chest. After a while it developed to using scissors on my knee, I still have old wounds form the first time. I started there so I could hide them easily. Somewhere along the way I went from scissors to an exacto knife; my knee to my left arm. White lines and weeks of healing lines, and the ones from last night on both my knees.

I honestly feel a sliver of regret in myself, for the promise I made to my best friend. I told him once and made him believe I would pull through on my own. Then when I was scared for my life at the time because that promise kept me going, I told him again. He made me give him my parents cell numbers and talked to them personally. They found out about the cutting (my fault of course) after my mom caught a glimpse at my arm when it was still red. I’m not sure what he would think of me now.

Personally I feel like a lousy friend, to him and many.

Maybe that’s that part of me talking that wants to live.

But there is more to the story of feeling worthless.

~Secretly Fading

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