Sometimes, I miss being sick.
I miss the way I didn’t fight the bad thoughts.
I miss the way anything that made me feel better, was a go.
Cutting, burning, starving, eating,
It was all fine with me, so long as no one else was doing it.
I miss the way being a hypocrite didn’t bother me.
I miss the way I was proud of my scars.
I miss the way I hated myself
Because it is so much work to not hate yourself, it's exhausting, infuriating, and overall terrifying.
If you have been sick for a long time you begin to become used to it, I know, it sounds horrible, and yes it is horrible, but I became used to being sick, in fact, I became so used to it that I didn’t remember being healthy, my sickness took over my reality, and I just stood there, quietly accepting it.
I used to count the things i could use to **** myself that were in a room, now I count the reasons to live,
I used to hide razors in my bedroom, Now I gear up the courage to shave my legs without cutting them
I used to hurt myself when I felt anything, Now I try so hard not to snap the rubber band around my wrist because I know even though the doctor said it is ok, it’s still a form of self harm.
I finally accepted that when I hurt myself. I hurt other people, and even though I am getting better for others, at least I am trying to get better
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 2:40 PM UTC
Sometimes, I miss being sick.
I miss the way I didn’t fight the bad thoughts.
I miss the way anything that made me feel better, was a go.
Cutting, burning, starving, eating,
It was all fine with me, so long as no one else was doing it.
I miss the way being a hypocrite didn’t bother me.
I miss the way I was proud of my scars.
I miss the way I hated myself
Because it is so much work to not hate yourself, it's exhausting, infuriating, and overall terrifying.
If you have been sick for a long time you begin to become used to it, I know, it sounds horrible, and yes it is horrible, but I became used to being sick, in fact, I became so used to it that I didn’t remember being healthy, my sickness took over my reality, and I just stood there, quietly accepting it.
I used to count the things i could use to **** myself that were in a room, now I count the reasons to live,
I used to hide razors in my bedroom, Now I gear up the courage to shave my legs without cutting them
I used to hurt myself when I felt anything, Now I try so hard not to snap the rubber band around my wrist because I know even though the doctor said it is ok, it’s still a form of self harm.
I finally accepted that when I hurt myself. I hurt other people, and even though I am getting better for others, at least I am trying to get better