Trigger warning! This post contains sensitive content relating to the feelings that arise when I self-harm.

Sometimes I feel hopeless. I pick at scabs on my body relentlessly, making myself feel worse and worse about myself. I look in the mirror and all I see are spots and blemishes and scabs. All I see are things to scan over and pick and scratch and dig at.

I wish I did not feel this way. I wish I could look at my face and see what others  see. I wish the blemishes were not there. I wish, when I start touching my face, I could feel only smooth skin. And any little bumps or imperfections were just that…I wish I did not feel the need to fix them.

I wish that eveytime I started scanning my face, I could tell myself that it’s OK, that I’m OK. I’m safe and I can relax. That I don’t need to get so tense, so tight chested. That my shoulders can slump, that my lungs can relax. That I don’t need to do this.

But I feel hopeless. And that is the feeling that keeps coming up, over, and over, and over. That there’s no point in tying because I’ll just go back to it later, I’ll never fully stop. If I don’t go back to it tomorrow then I will next week, or next month. So it’s hopeless. That my skin is already so damaged and scarred that I’ll never have that beautiful, fine, blemish-free feel. So it’s hopeless. That I’m never going to get rid of the need for the release that picking gives me, so it’s hopeless. That I’m not strong enough to stop myself, so it’s hopeless. That “just one scab” feeling, that I know will lead into more and more. So it’s hopeless. That there’s no point I  trying, because it’s hopeless.

I wish it was easy, I wish there was no work involved, I wish I could just…stop. But I will try, I am trying. I will stop battling myself. I will stop the tightness in my chest. I will stop my tense shoulders. I won’t allow it to take over my life. I won’t allow it to rule my emotions. I won’t allow it to overcome my thoughts.

I CAN do this, and I will. I will not be ruled by my compulsions and impulses.