When You Just Can't Take It Anymore
Everyone has limits. As a self-injurer, it seemed like I was always testing mine. If something hurt, I messed with it until it hurt to a point where I just couldn't stand it anymore. Before I knew it, I'd created a new and higher level of pain tolerance.
In the throes of an eating disorder, my limits weren't defined until I'd reached a point of near death. I was always pushing myself...in a negative way...to do with less for longer and longer periods of time.
As the victim of abuse, my limits were defined by those around me. How much I could take depended on how much I was given. How many times I thought I'd reached my limit, my quota of tears, only to find out that there was more...and more...and more.
But everyone has their limit. One day an internal line is crossed and you snap. Something in your mind clicks and you realize that THIS (whatever it is) is truly the end of the line.
Even if you can't see them, limits are there.
For most of my life I didn't realize this truth. I thought that the only way I would reach my limit was to die.
And most of the time I didn't care if that was true.
But I should have cared more.
I had people in my life telling me how valuable I was and how much I had to offer the world.
I wanted to believe them.
But there was such a disparity between the messages I received externally and the messages I gave myself, that it was impossible to know what the truth really was.
Trying to reconcile these two "truths" made me feel like I was literally being torn in two.
I wanted to be a whole and complete person. But how?
One day I reached my limit. On that day, something clicked. I'd reached the end of the line.
And you know what?
I didn't die after all.
At my peak, I was self-injuring four times a day. It was how I coped with almost every aspect of my life, good or bad.
I thought that if I stopped, my heart would explode. Literally, because there were so many emotions there, so much passion, joy, frustration, anxiety, worry and promise that without an outlet, it would build up, and then like water breaking through a dam, I would succumb to the power that was my emotions.
But if I continued, death was a near certainty.
What to do. What to do.
But on that fateful day when I reached my limit, I knew I had to take the risk: dare stop injuring and fearing death or continue and proving myself right.
I hope people who read my blog realize what a life and death struggle self-injury has been for me. Even though time continues to pass, I think about almost daily. On bad days I find things around the house that I used to use and just hold them, wondering, reflecting on the choice at hand: stay "clean" or take a huge step backwards.
So far, I've chosen to stay clean.
It's funny. I used to cry when I self-injured. Now sometimes I cry because I can't. I won't let myself return to that dark place even though I know part of my heart still lives there.
Of all the things I've done, stopping SI has been the hardest. It has required the most of my mental energy and challenged my resolve in ways I could have never imagined.
But I'm learning I have many limits. And with each day I'm reaching a new one.
There are days when I feel like I can't take it anymore. Stepping back into old, familiar habits would be easy.
But that's part of the challenge, right? Staying the course when so many things are daring you to stray?
There is strength in numbers. With each positive comment I receive, with each story of hope I am sent, my strength increases a little more.
It's hard to admit that the weakness still remains. I thought for sure it would have left me by now.
But it hasn't. My readers are not alone. I continue to walk and struggle with them.
One day at a time. One small victory at a time. One new limit...
In the throes of an eating disorder, my limits weren't defined until I'd reached a point of near death. I was always pushing myself...in a negative way...to do with less for longer and longer periods of time.
As the victim of abuse, my limits were defined by those around me. How much I could take depended on how much I was given. How many times I thought I'd reached my limit, my quota of tears, only to find out that there was more...and more...and more.
But everyone has their limit. One day an internal line is crossed and you snap. Something in your mind clicks and you realize that THIS (whatever it is) is truly the end of the line.
Even if you can't see them, limits are there.
For most of my life I didn't realize this truth. I thought that the only way I would reach my limit was to die.
And most of the time I didn't care if that was true.
But I should have cared more.
I had people in my life telling me how valuable I was and how much I had to offer the world.
I wanted to believe them.
But there was such a disparity between the messages I received externally and the messages I gave myself, that it was impossible to know what the truth really was.
Trying to reconcile these two "truths" made me feel like I was literally being torn in two.
I wanted to be a whole and complete person. But how?
One day I reached my limit. On that day, something clicked. I'd reached the end of the line.
And you know what?
I didn't die after all.
At my peak, I was self-injuring four times a day. It was how I coped with almost every aspect of my life, good or bad.
I thought that if I stopped, my heart would explode. Literally, because there were so many emotions there, so much passion, joy, frustration, anxiety, worry and promise that without an outlet, it would build up, and then like water breaking through a dam, I would succumb to the power that was my emotions.
But if I continued, death was a near certainty.
What to do. What to do.
But on that fateful day when I reached my limit, I knew I had to take the risk: dare stop injuring and fearing death or continue and proving myself right.
I hope people who read my blog realize what a life and death struggle self-injury has been for me. Even though time continues to pass, I think about almost daily. On bad days I find things around the house that I used to use and just hold them, wondering, reflecting on the choice at hand: stay "clean" or take a huge step backwards.
So far, I've chosen to stay clean.
It's funny. I used to cry when I self-injured. Now sometimes I cry because I can't. I won't let myself return to that dark place even though I know part of my heart still lives there.
Of all the things I've done, stopping SI has been the hardest. It has required the most of my mental energy and challenged my resolve in ways I could have never imagined.
But I'm learning I have many limits. And with each day I'm reaching a new one.
There are days when I feel like I can't take it anymore. Stepping back into old, familiar habits would be easy.
But that's part of the challenge, right? Staying the course when so many things are daring you to stray?
There is strength in numbers. With each positive comment I receive, with each story of hope I am sent, my strength increases a little more.
It's hard to admit that the weakness still remains. I thought for sure it would have left me by now.
But it hasn't. My readers are not alone. I continue to walk and struggle with them.
One day at a time. One small victory at a time. One new limit...