I have found myself reading over and over this post at Surviving Prostitution and Addiction. In the first paragraph, Angel K writes:
At times get the strongest urge at times to utterly destroy myself, to hurt and hurt and hurt myself, to shred myself to bits. To punish myself. It’s as if I’ve internalised what they said to me – you deserve it, you like it, you were meant for this – worthless! Bitch! Dirty girl! Slut! Whore… and on. There’s a part of me that feels horribly dirty and damaged beyond repair, which makes any attempt at change seem utterly futile.
Although our life stories are different, I can really, really relate to this urge to all out do myself in. It tends to mostly occur in the evening, when I am by myself, in front of the computer….I don’t see a way out of my troubles, a way to freedom and self-acceptance. I’m not sure I even want self acceptance, if that makes sense.
It would be different if I was some pure, innocent thing. But I’m not. I’ve done some really fucked up shit, for lack of better wording. I’ve hurt people and frankly, the circumstances don’t matter to the people who I’ve wronged. And then writing a post like this feels like pleading for others to tell me that I’m really not that bad, that what I’ve done isn’t really that bad, that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, yadda yadda yadda. Supposedly, I have PTSD from my Evil Actions, but that sounds like an excuse as well. As in, I’m the victim here, when I’m surely not.
I think about what I’ve done every damn day; I experience nightmares about doing it again. I can’t take remove myself from this planet at this time, since seeing first-hand how that destroys loved-ones of the person who commits suicide. I can’t bear the thought of passing on that pain to my parents, so for now I just have to grimmace and bear the Scarlett Letter for what I’ve done. Besides, as I don’t believe in an afterlife, I don’t deserve to get out so easily.
I wonder why I don’t hurt myself even more….every object becomes a way to hurt myself. If I really wanted to, I could make this life into much more of a hell for me than it currently is.
I realize how utterly feminine this self-loathing sounds. But at the same time, it is based in reality. A reality that can’t be undone, no matter how much I may do things differently in my mind.