I have before sought out pain, gone looking for it like a drug, gone searching for it. It’s not that hard to find. A long time ago when I was majorly triggered and felt unsafe looking like a girl I decided to best way to defeminize myself was to shave my head and look like a boy. I always thought as a child it was safer to be a boy than a girl. Girls get hurt I thought, boys do too but for me being a girl seemed worse. So that day I shaved it, walked out of the apartment into a hallway full of people with the hope that someone would tell me how crazy I am. I was disappointed when a neighbor told me I was the only person she knew who could get away with “that look.” I was disappointed, left empty because I didn’t need confirmation or a compliment, I needed cruelty and hurtful words. I needed scars to accent the ones I already have. What was I looking for? I needed to remember my place, to remember that I should not try to act like I deserve anything but a slap in the face. I was looking for someone to remind me that I’m alive. I don’t feel alive sometimes. I don’t trust that when I have a piece of happiness that it belongs to me or that I deserve to have it. I believe it’ll be taken. I believe it’s a trick. I know I’m alive if I’m hurt. I may wish I were dead but I know I’m alive.
Those cuts I use to put on the bottoms of my feet were there to remind me with each step just how worthless I am. I needed each step to hurt, like each breath hurt growing up. I worried so much that I’d forget and get comfortable and make a fool of myself. I worried I’d make a fool of myself and act worthy of breathing. Keep my head low, keep it covered and for the love of Pete don’t ever believe in equality.
I fear the things that go through my mind. I fear needing to once again feel the same level of pain I felt as a child and young adult. I seem to need it now, just to know I exist. I am sorry.
Last night I dreamed my mother came to my door. She looked through the peep hole with this huge brown eye. I closed the door of the peep hole and she was in. She told me my house is filthy and asked how I could stand to live here. I said because I lived with her for 20 years I was use to living in filth. The more rooms she traveled in the dirtier they became. Strangely enough I was eating in that dream too. I think this is the third dream now where I’ve actually eaten something.
Right now my drug (Blossom) isn’t here. Where will I get that fix? I will not shave my head nor will I go looking for pain or confirmation of my existence, but I do crave it.
-R-
What I Was Looking For-Monday, July 21, 2008-10PM EST
Yes, I too sometimes crave things that are positively damaging to me. When I was younger I would have given into the craving. But now, like you, “I will not shave my head nor will I go looking for pain or confirmation of my existence,” but like you I do crave it.
(I haven’t the guts to shave my head, but have always wanted to for some reason.)