Better Feel Magical



I don’t understand why people cut. I truly don’t. I’ve read about release, I’ve read about control, I’ve read the articles that theoretically explain why a person would do this to their bodies. Leave all of that aside for the moment - why would they do this to their family? Why would my beloved daughter to this to me?

I know it’s not about me - BUT IT IS. It’s her story, and I’m just a supporting character in her narrative. But when you gut the supporting characters over and over, your reader notices. And this is gutting. 

Just when I thought we were past the danger mark... months had passed with no cutting... months with no suicide plans. We had just talked with her therapist about fully reintroducing sharps to the house, stepping up from the 3 small knives and single pair of scissors that had been reintroduced so far.  And then 36 hours of depression and she took a paring knife to her arm. They were shallow cuts, but still... new cuts on what was a completely healed arm. At first it felt like my world was destroyed.  But that wasn’t fair - as long as she lives my world has not imploded. But my sense of safety, built cautiously and sooooo slowly over those months of stability... completely shredded. And that felt pretty “destroyed” to me in the moment. 

And so... the questions on why. My brain says that pain equals torture, but clearly that’s not what she feels. And I want her to. I want her to shrink from the mere concept of hurting herself. So if she doesn’t shrink and I’m going to be tortured, then all I can think is it better have been fucking worth it. I mean those cuts better have felt like magic - like riding a unicorn over a rainbow mid-orgasm. Because if you’re going to gut your supporting cast, the payoff best be over-the-top amazing. 

Sigh... which is unfair. We were warned that cutting recurs. We were warned that it can recur even over long periods of time. I should have expected this. But honestly - I didn’t. I thought we were done. I thought we were safe. I’m working on learning to appreciate that this low wasn’t as low as the previous ones. That honesty about how we’re feeling... particularly honesty about how she’s feeling... made this low nowhere near the previous lows. I was able to be “wise mind” enough to tell her that too, as I was internally reeling and wanted to scream. To tell her that I knew the world looked dark, but it had looked dark before and we found the light. That she had found her way out of this pit before and we could do it again.

I do believe that having the chemical side of the equation in balance at this moment seriously helped. There’s still miles to go in therapy, but she’s alive to walk those miles, and that’s a win, regardless of my broken heart. I will heal. She will heal. We will both heal - from our individual hurts in our own ways and times, but together.

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