Healing

Warning: mentions of self harm, rape, abuse, gore, trauma I talk about gore and other things related in detail so please read at your own risk!

For the past month or so, my iPad screen has not been working and so I am unable to access the majority of my rambles I wrote from 2023-2025, but I have been able to find others I wrote at that time and as I read them through, I hadn't truly realized how deep I was in depression.

I read through them and all I can think about is how much I hated myself. I could not speak kindly to myself without immediately putting myself down right after. I did not give myself a break. I didn't even think I was that depressed either. However, I clearly was.

I have been recovering from self harm for 71 days. The longest I've ever been clean since I started in early 2023. That is my ONLY proof that I'm doing better. In fact, I don't think I've ever gotten better. I've always been miserable. Camp helped me think I was doing better as it provided me a constant distraction from my depression but in reality I never actually healed. 

— Misery (Sept 14 2025)

I was a complete mess. No matter the progress I made getting better, I always found a way to criticize myself. I spoke so confidently that I was a huge burden, that I was never going to get better, that I was unlovable. For years, I harboured this hate towards myself, even when I didn't realize it as a child. I had always been desperate for affection, to be told I was doing something right, that I was wanted and needed.

I hate myself. I hate that I am gay. I hate that I am autistic. I hate that I am transgender. I hate that I am desperate. I hate my body. I hate my scars. I hate loving people. I hate how I look. I hate my personality. I hate my face. I hate my home. I hate living. I hate being sad. I hate existing. I hate my feelings. I hate being myself. (…) I do not deserve to be loved. I see that now. I do not deserve to be treated like a human. I am too much of a retard, too much of a fucking idiot to even considered to be treated as something like that. 

— Hate (Aug 25 2024)

 

When I wrote those words, I genuinely believed them. I hated every single aspect of my existence. Sometimes I look back and wonder how the hell I survived with all that hate and loathing. Even just a year ago, if my past self could see who I am now, he wouldn't believe it. I had no faith in myself. I knew eventually I was going to relapse. It was enviable. Sooner or later I would give up and go back to being a mentally ill depressed child.

But I didn't. I didn't give up. I am around 5 months clean and I've been happier than ever. I no longer look at myself in the mirror and feel disgust. I just see me. A stupid but silly me. And I embrace it. It is who I am. And I love and care about myself. I have found my footing in this world and I'm excited for the future.

The hardest part of reading through all of my old ramblings was how self aware I was when I was busy being delusional about a guy liked or when I was suffocating in a relationship. I knew what was going on. I knew I was being delusional, I knew I was in a toxic relationship. And for the longest time, I never did anything about it. I would've never had the courage to leave my toxic relationship if I hadn't reached out for help. (Shout out Webber my favourite lesbian)

I think what's ironic is that I am aware of how unhealthy and toxic my relationship is with Conor and I DO want to get out of it, I just don't want to be the one who leaves first. I don't want help. I don't want to get healthier right now. Maybe once I get out of my relationship, I'll want to get better, but I don't want to right now. I want to get worse, even though I'll feel worse.
I have an ability of being aware of where my relationships are at and if they're healthy or unhealthy, and yet I never use that ability to keep myself safe. I just ignore it because I can. I ignore it because I want to seek out toxicity. I play with blades and get surprised or upset that I get cut. 

— Constant Awareness (June 10th 2025)

I'm actually quite happy I wrote things down as I went through huge emotional stress. It helps me see how far my thinking has come. I was in too deep, I can convinced myself that being uncomfortable was the most comfortable thing to do. Healing terrified me. I thought I would get boring or I would become a prick. I was trying to find reasons to not get better.

Some days I still miss the feel of an open wound, or the scratching at a scab, but I trust myself enough to treat these urges as nothing. I don't act on them. Besides, it's the summer. Mosquito bites are giving me plenty to scratch at. I sometimes miss the community I surrounded myself with online, finding comfort in others that also were harming themselves. I can only hope that they are okay and safe. We all have reasons we harm ourselves. And all reasons are valid. 

Emotions are much stronger than people can ever predict. It is only when they experience it themselves, will they understand. I harmed myself because I was obsessed with someone, because I thought I deserved it, because I needed to, or sometimes just because I was bored.

I was a whirlwind of unprocessed trauma and depression for years. All without medication and people to talk to about it. I struggled with my body image and who I was for years. I actually developed an eating disorder before I was introduced to self harm. And the way I got that eating disorder is kinda silly. I used to be repulsed when I saw extremely thin people online. But I kept looking at it. And I became envious. I wanted to be like them.

The thing was about my eating disorder, I struggle and still do, to do portion control. I either eat until I'm full or I starve until I am forced to eat. Once I eat, I just keep eating until I can't anymore. It's kind of like a binge eating disorder, but I am not educated enough to say what it is definitely. There was a point in time I hit BMI 19.9, and I was so happy. And then I promptly ate so much food I gained a couple pounds. I am a certified big back but nowadays, I don't care. I love food. Food tastes amazing. Why hold back if I can eat something that tastes so good?

It was while I was on the eating disorder side of the internet, that I was exposed to self harm. EDs and self harm are more intertwined than people realize. Both are ways to punish the body. I had been so sensitive to gore when I first got exposed to the self harm community. But as I continued to engage, I found myself drawn to it. I saw someone deep fry their blood clot and eat it. They said it was disgusting. I've seen people cut a square out of their leg with a scalpel. I've seen someone cut off their nipples and eat them. I've seen so much. Too much stuff for the 14 year old that I was. I should've never explored that side of the internet. Yet I did. Trauma seeking at it's finest.

I remember the day clearly. It was March 12, 2023, while my mom and I were housesitting for a couple cats in Cardiff, Wales. I had found scissors. I had decided to try it out. It wasn't out of emotional distress, I just wanted to try it. I held the scissor blade open, my hand shaking so badly and sweating buckets even though it was literally freezing. I dragged the blade across my lower leg, but I was shaking too much and I missed. I continued anyways. The first time I ever harmed myself with an actual blade, it was rather pitiful but the fact was I now attempted it. At 14, I had hurt myself.

Ever since then, I had slowly gotten more confident and switched to actual razor blades. It took over my life. I started to obsess over the depth of the cut, how big it was, how often I cut, how it scarred. I would criticize myself for everything. It started out as a curiosity and boredom and it spiralled out of control. I was convinced that scars made me prettier. More attractive.

I don't hate how my skin looks nowadays. I like my scars. I like how bumpy some are. How big some of them are. I still pick at my scabs and hope for scars, just because I can. It's just fun and I'm not doing it for the pain.

Words spew out of this mouth of mine and I don’t know where they’re coming from. I wish I could shut up and pretend like everything is fine. But everything is not fine. I want to get worse; I want to love and be loved but I feel too complicated to ever be loved. I want to be covered in scars to show that I need help. I want to be hurt and abused again. To go through trauma again. I want to be taken advantage of, be raped again. I want to be an alcoholic, a drug addict. I want to suffer. I need help and I know it, but if I get help, theres no more fun, no more suffering. 

— Unlovable (June 24 2024)

I was 15, wishing to be sexually assaulted again. I wanted to be abused, hurt, become dependent on drugs. I was convinced that being unhealthy was fun, that suffering was comforting. I was hurting so badly but I forced myself to enjoy it. Looking back, I'm so proud of myself. I got through one of the darkest times in my life. I was at the bottom, and was sure I would stay there forever. But look at where I am now. I am out of that hole. I am standing tall, stable and happy.

I'm grateful for the support I have from my fiancé and friends. Antidepressants can only do so much. If it wasn't for my fiancé, Seth who would chew me out when I relapsed and actually forced me to get better, I don't think I would be where I am today. I've gone through a lot. And I used to think my trauma was not as bad as others. However, trauma is still trauma. It still impacted me and my growth. It made me into who I am today. A boy with short term memory problems and who can be incredibly annoying around the people he loves. And I am proud to be a dickwad.

me 2023-2025

me now fr