Cutting With Markers

I hurt. All the time. Does anyone else hurt like this?
I can't sleep. I can't eat. I feel so empty. I feel so broken. I want more than anything in the world to be fixed. That's all I want. Maybe that's too much to ask for.

I'm trying a new thing with my counselor where I cut with a marker (he's trying to prevent as much bloodshed as possible). Every time I get the urge to cut, I'm supposed to grab a marker and run it down my arm like I would a sharp object. I tried it for the first time tonight. Surprisingly, it helped. I kinda don't want to cut anymore. Well, I never want to cut, but now I don't even have a craving. If only everything were this easy.

I haven't actually run a blade across my arm in over a week. That doesn't sound like a long time, but it really is. It's like a smoker saying they haven't lit up in a few days. It's a big deal. I've actually stopped trying to hurt myself since I made a promise to two people. I promised one that I'd never, never, EVER try to kill myself again. I made a promise to the other that I would keep sharp objects away from my left arm. So far, so good. I've been a week without the latter and almost a month without the former. I feel good. I also promised a certain gentleman I'd get better. I intend to make good on that promise.

But I wonder, does anyone else feel this way? My counselor says that I'm behaving exactly the way I should, based on what's happened in my life. Hmmm....molestation, rape, depression, abusive relationships, chronic illness, family drug abuse and alcoholism. That list is kinda long. Too long. I don't like it. I don't like to look at it. It sucks. This sounds selfish, but why the heck couldn't it just be one or two things? Why, God, why does it have to be all of these? Mr. Counselor Man says it's a recipe for depression, cutting, suicide, self-hate. I'm pretty much a textbook case and am behaving in all the ways a person in my position is expected to behave, with one exception: I'm getting help. And I'm making stellar progress.

I don't know why I'm writing about this right now. I guess I just need to vent. I need an outlet. I have a million things in my heart I'd like to say, but I never say them. I don't know why. I still haven't published the note that's been written and completed for several weeks. I'm still afraid. That's the biggest problem: I'm afraid. I'm always afraid. I'm so tired of being afraid.

And I'm tired of hurting. My stupid ankle sprained itself last night. Sucks. I can barely move around, and walks with Sweetie are hell. Poor dog. I feel bad for her. Her owner is either put up because of a sprained ankle, migraines, allergies, or [fill-in-the-illness]. Mah body est no good. Oh well. That's life, correct?

Now you may not believe this, but I'm actually feeling more positive about everything. Maybe it's because I have a crush...or not. I really feel like I'm almost through this. I know for sure I'm ready to be well. That's the first step, right? Damn straight. The good days certainly outweigh the bad, and I'm smiling a lot more. I know I'll be ok. But until then...oh boy.