5/15/18 (from February 17th)

I’ve never understood why I am more scared to be called a disappointment than worthless. Maybe because being worthless only impacts me, whereas being a disappointment can hurt others. After all, I care a lot more about others than I do myself, which is something I am still trying to balance out.

I have gone two months and two weeks without self harm. Being able to say that I have gone this far with no self harm makes me beyond proud of myself. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to though. The urge to self harm gets stronger and stronger each night and every night I have a anxiety attack because I’m scared one night I will cut and it will be the worst I have ever done. I’m not scared that I will do it to the point something bad could happen, but I do worry that someday I will cut and I will actually need stitches. I think i’m even more scared of feeling like a disappointment in my own eyes than cutting too deep on accident. I don’t want to disappoint myself and have to said that I didn’t make it three months. I just want to continue feeling proud.

I have felt like a disappointment my entire life, so I guess that’s probably why I am so scared to be seen as a disappointment now. I want to go as long as I possibly can without feeling like a disappointment, because it feels pretty dang good being proud of myself.

On a completely different topic, this memory keeps coming up and I don’t really know why. I don’t think it would bother me as much, except that it is the memory of the first time I attempted suicide. I’ve never really forgotten it but it usually doesn’t keep coming up. The memory sucks, but what its also making me remember is some of the things that happened when I was with my grandma. Both good and bad. I remember when I was younger and my grandma would get home from delivering news papers and she would sit on the front porch waiting for me to get there. We would usually sit outside for a few hours, and I actually enjoyed that most of the time. I had a iPod when I was in junior high and I remember getting to grandmas house and sitting on the front porch with her, and we were both listening to all of the birds that were in the tree in the front yard. Grandma got the idea that maybe if we played Lady Gaga as loud as we could, maybe the birds would chirp to it. It still makes me laugh remembering that, it was one of those times that I forgot everything that was bothering me and could just laugh. I wish it was always like that, but most of the time it wasn’t. Most of the time, there was screaming and fear. I wish I could go back and change it, because when she was nice, I loved spending time with her. I have moments where it still seems like it isn’t real that grandma passed three years ago. There are times when it feel like what happened when I was younger wasn’t real either. It feels like it wasn’t real and wasn’t that bad the majority of the time to be honest. I wish I could understand how bad things really were when I was younger, so the times when I feel like I can actually understand what happened clearly are somewhat nice to have.

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