The little damaged kid in me cries and feels terrified. She can’t shake the memories of the past, and the feelings they bring up. Being here again brings them up so much more (but below the surface, where I have no real conscious recognition of it)… only they have no basis, so she has to give them a reason for being there… because why would she feel so scared with nothing there but ghosts? my head takes over and screams out the urges and makes them so damn strong that they take over for the fear and the memories and the pain… and now we need something to be legit about all that, so hurting me would make it real, would give it a reason for being… it would be a validation of having a real reason to feel so horrible… and in that skewed little way of hers, that little girl thinks that the only real love comes from pain and fear and abuse… so we recreate it whenever we can… because it just feels right. That feeling of peace is not possible here, because all the memories are of chaos and terror and… pain greater than words can express…

I'm just so angry that I don't know how to express what I need to in a way that is meaningful and safe. I am floundering, and I have nowhere to turn.

I get lost in the addiction of it, and suddenly the trauma and the PTSD symptoms go away because they are over-shadowed by the craving to damage myself as badly on the outside as I am on the inside... and the high is GREAT... and it's all-consuming... I ****ing hate it! but I love it too, because it does make other things less of an issue...

And I have no one to talk to about it...

Why is the care I get after cutting the only kind of care that feels real? I know I'm loved ..., but why is it that the only time I FEEL it is when a stranger has to take care of me?