I’m back home in my uni city, and the people I live with won’t return until Thursday so I have the space I’ve been craving over Christmas. It’s a relief not to be acting anymore, but I know for sure now that pretending to be fine was saving me from dealing with the emotional daggers that are jabbing me at the moment.
I feel like crying. I want to scream at passersby who irritate me in one way or another. I want to overeat and I want to starve myself. I really want to get the knives back out, but the scar across the back of my hand from last time is purple and ugly, reminding me of the longevity of the consequences. As an alternative to cutting I’ve smoked a couple of cigarettes, but it’s not the same.
I also failed on the gambling addiction front – I have two laptops and only blocked the instant win site on one of them. Boom, bye bye £30. I’ve now banned myself from using that laptop altogether until I can trust myself to use it without throwing money away.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.