Content Warning: Addiction & Self Harm
The hardest part of healing has always been trying to convince myself to want it.
I never really thought of it as an addiction. Not because of the age-old “I can stop at any time” delusions, but because addictions are supposed to be bad, and this had never felt bad. It was more like a comforting friend. Sometimes harsh, but always telling me exactly what I needed to hear.
The logic is ridiculous, I know. But it was the only thing I knew how to listen to.
I don’t always know how to express myself. My words get stuck in my throat or come out all wrong, and then I’m left with all these things to say but no way to say them.
It became my secret voice.
People often picture self-harm as something hidden away in the darkest moments, and sometimes it is, but I usually found myself stepping out to a deserted hallway or public bathroom on ordinary afternoons.
I don’t know exactly why I was drawn to it; all I know is that it helped me breathe when my chest got tight.
I have this obsessive fear that I am a horrible person, and somehow the ritual of it all settled me when nothing else could. I think I saw it as proof that I really feel things, that I know I’m not perfect.
I needed it like any bodily function; it fed a hungry part of me.
I wasn’t just doing it when I was mad at myself, but when I was pleased too. It became synonymous with goodness to me. I felt like it made me good, or at least less of a bad person. I relied on it. All the time, everywhere and anywhere.
The thing is, pain releases endorphins. It’s a rush, a hit of something good. That’s what makes it addictive.
A stubbed toe, scraped knee or accidental bruise isn’t the same by far, but they send the chemicals rushing back up to my brain, and I am reminded again about what I miss so much.
It wasn’t something I thought I needed to escape. I was used to it; it felt familiar and safe.
Deciding to stop wasn’t some huge decision; I just got tired of hiding it.
They say time heals, and that’s somewhat true. My physical scars fade fast and well, but time can’t always stop me from being slingshotted back to the cravings.
Escaping the spirals of addiction feels impossible until you start to do it.
I don’t think my friends realize how much they help, whether as a physical presence, an unintentional barrier or a quiet reminder. They remind me to eat and sleep and do the things I need to do to not fall apart.
And somewhere along the way, almost without noticing, I began reaching for different endorphins: shopping sprees, competitive wins, spicy food or just a good laugh.
I used to think tearing myself down made me a better person. Now I’m starting to think it’s easier to offer kindness to others when you’ve learned how to offer some to yourself first.
It doesn’t always work; I still fall back into old patterns, but you don’t just decide to quit bad habits one day and watch them disappear the next. You slowly replace them with something new.
It can be hard to want change, but I’ve learned that you don’t always have to want to heal. You just have to try, and the wanting will catch up.
