More on why I'm so freaked out.
I'm still so fucking triggered.
I want to cut more. Right now, it's just a cut on my arm (which I'm almost positive I can claim is a cat scratch, because it's only one mark, and it's too hot to wear the wrist cuffs I usually wear to cover my arm when I slip-up) and three cuts on my right leg. (I just hope my longest pair of shorts are long enough to cover them, because it's getting warm, and I have a summer class.) I really want to do more. I know that's bad, but when you slip-up after 27 days, you want to do more...make up for lost time, sort of, for all the times I wanted to cut, but didn't... But I know that I need to stop, that I need to make sure I don't go overboard. It's hard. Right now, all I want to do is cover myself in cuts.
Mom hasn't seen my arm yet, and hasn't noticed that I'm wearing pajama pants. (And red ones, not the ones that match the top I'm wearing, because my leg is still bleeding.) I'm hoping she won't notice. I don't feel like explaining to her why I did it, especially since it's likely to piss her off even more.
Why has this set me off so badly? Read on.
First of all, here's a summary of the Stu Saga... Between June and October of 1999, my mother swore she was leaving my father for her best friend at the time (Stu), who was also married, and she told me, in detail, all about this... She also told me how horrible she thought my dad was, and blah, blah, blah... And I got to play her therapist, listening to everything she said and having to sit there and agree with everything, because God forbid I disagree.
She made my father cry. She fucking made him CRY. My dad doesn't cry. Ever. She would go bar-hopping at night and not come home until five or six in the morning.
She disappeared in the Roosevelt Field Mall once, turned up getting drunk in a restaurant in the food court, and when my father tried to get her to leave, she had a very loud, very public fight with him telling him how awful he was and how much she hated him and how she was going to leave him for someone a million times better. Going home in the car that night, she kept yelling at my father. I sat in the backseat of the car, blasting Leah Andreone's "It's Alright, It's Okay" and scratching my arms up with my keys. My parents didn't notice. My father almost got into an accident because he was listening to her scream at him. And that was just one of the times that things got bad. In the end, she and Stu didn't work out, and everything was supposed to be fixed. Riiight.
My scratching was out of control (I wasn't a cutter yet). One morning, I woke up, and she wasn't home. By 7am, when I left for school, she was still out. Because I was losing it, I went to a guidance counselor, who sent me to the school psychologist, who called my parents and told them I needed to be in treatment, and a month later, I started seeing my first therapist, Selena. (My current one, Jane, is much better.) So, in a way, the Stu Saga made me get treatment for my depression, but it's also what pushed me to the point where, if I didn't get help, I'd have killed myself.
I hope that made you all understand a little bit better why I was so triggered by what happened tonight. It just took me back to the Stu Saga. I know some people might think I'm overreacting, but that's why I tried explaining what it was like back then... I am still not okay. And she's still drunk and bitching at me.
I want to cut more. Right now, it's just a cut on my arm (which I'm almost positive I can claim is a cat scratch, because it's only one mark, and it's too hot to wear the wrist cuffs I usually wear to cover my arm when I slip-up) and three cuts on my right leg. (I just hope my longest pair of shorts are long enough to cover them, because it's getting warm, and I have a summer class.) I really want to do more. I know that's bad, but when you slip-up after 27 days, you want to do more...make up for lost time, sort of, for all the times I wanted to cut, but didn't... But I know that I need to stop, that I need to make sure I don't go overboard. It's hard. Right now, all I want to do is cover myself in cuts.
Mom hasn't seen my arm yet, and hasn't noticed that I'm wearing pajama pants. (And red ones, not the ones that match the top I'm wearing, because my leg is still bleeding.) I'm hoping she won't notice. I don't feel like explaining to her why I did it, especially since it's likely to piss her off even more.
Why has this set me off so badly? Read on.
First of all, here's a summary of the Stu Saga... Between June and October of 1999, my mother swore she was leaving my father for her best friend at the time (Stu), who was also married, and she told me, in detail, all about this... She also told me how horrible she thought my dad was, and blah, blah, blah... And I got to play her therapist, listening to everything she said and having to sit there and agree with everything, because God forbid I disagree.
She made my father cry. She fucking made him CRY. My dad doesn't cry. Ever. She would go bar-hopping at night and not come home until five or six in the morning.
She disappeared in the Roosevelt Field Mall once, turned up getting drunk in a restaurant in the food court, and when my father tried to get her to leave, she had a very loud, very public fight with him telling him how awful he was and how much she hated him and how she was going to leave him for someone a million times better. Going home in the car that night, she kept yelling at my father. I sat in the backseat of the car, blasting Leah Andreone's "It's Alright, It's Okay" and scratching my arms up with my keys. My parents didn't notice. My father almost got into an accident because he was listening to her scream at him. And that was just one of the times that things got bad. In the end, she and Stu didn't work out, and everything was supposed to be fixed. Riiight.
My scratching was out of control (I wasn't a cutter yet). One morning, I woke up, and she wasn't home. By 7am, when I left for school, she was still out. Because I was losing it, I went to a guidance counselor, who sent me to the school psychologist, who called my parents and told them I needed to be in treatment, and a month later, I started seeing my first therapist, Selena. (My current one, Jane, is much better.) So, in a way, the Stu Saga made me get treatment for my depression, but it's also what pushed me to the point where, if I didn't get help, I'd have killed myself.
I hope that made you all understand a little bit better why I was so triggered by what happened tonight. It just took me back to the Stu Saga. I know some people might think I'm overreacting, but that's why I tried explaining what it was like back then... I am still not okay. And she's still drunk and bitching at me.