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13 February 2014 @ 11:33 pm

Every time I consider writing a blog, I stop myself because I know I will never update it. Things have changed recently - this is something that I need to do. For my own benefit rather than anyone else's.
A (not so) private ramble from my mind.
If you had told me last year that in a year, I would be sat on my bed, typing out a blog, listening to some very old feel good songs, being happier than I have been in a while. Where everything in my life is falling into place - I wouldn't believe you.
This time last year, I would have laughed in anyone's face if they said that I would be spending tomorrow - Valentine's day - with a boyfriend (A real, non-fictional character from a long list of TV shows or movies). A boyfriend, who, no matter what shit I go through - however self-destructive I have been over the past six months. No matter how many times I sit in his arms, crying because I'm not really sure... Every time he sits there and kisses every scar and imperfection that I have. Tells me that I am beautiful even if I don't feel it or can't see it. The man that has actually gotten me over a fear of touching... A fear of someone touching me and me touching them.
I always thought that I was incapable of love before meeting him.
Maybe a week or two before… I had started up cutting again… I was getting myself worked up about nothing. Was trying to think of any excuse to actually get alone, get my hands on my cutters and do it. I was collateral damage and I think people had started to notice what I was doing (not physically – that would have been something). People that for now, we can call ‘friends’ had me staying at theirs – would walk me to work and sometimes walk me home. Trying to give myself as little time alone as possible.
A close friend – someone I consider the closest thing to an older brother persistently checked up on me, asking how I was… Kept on inviting me out with him. Saturday after payday – something that had become a tradition to do… I didn’t want to go… That night I wanted to go home and cut myself… I had made the decision that I really didn’t want to be here anymore. I couldn’t cope. I was suffocating.
I went out and accepted drink after drink – shot after shot… Tried to get so drunk that nothing hurt – so it would be easier. Then I met him…
It wasn’t until we were going home that he and I had a proper conversation, and by this point, I had already agreed to go around to a friend’s because I was too scared to go home alone – I didn’t trust myself, frankly, I didn’t want to hurt myself.
He walked me to my friend’s (and when I say walk, the ten minute journey took nearly 40 minutes). We both agreed that we would go back to ignoring each other when we saw each other at work. Deep down, I think we both knew that wouldn’t happen, and it didn’t.
He never judges. He puts up with my episodes… Recently there have been so many…
But tonight, and probably, the reason that I started writing this blog… I decided that I wanted help… I wanted to get better. In 10 years, when I have a child, I don’t want them asking why mummy has lots of marks over her. I want to be in control of everything again.
People get to me, I have low self-esteem, I feel awkward and horrible in my own skin… No matter what I can do about that, I will still feel that way… Apart from when I am with him… Though the thoughts are still there, they are not as prominent in my mind.
Not only am I doing this for me… I don’t like seeing the look of sheer pain on his face whenever he finds a new scar… It makes me feel  so guilty… I don’t want to see that look anymore. For both of our sakes, I want to get better. I want to be clean… Not have to worry about covering any marks up – want to be able to walk around in a short-sleeved t-shirt and shorts. I want to feel healthier inside and out.
I want to be free.