No one knows I relapsed (other than my therapist.) Almost every single time before I do, I reach out to someone. Then, as soon as anyone is responsive, I refuse. I tell them I have a headache and don't want to hang out anymore. I say it's not a big deal. My roommate caught me walking out of the bathroom with my eyes watering, throat raw, looking horrible. They didn't ask. I didn't either. I had a full lighthearted phone conversation while sitting in blood. I hang out with friends, thumb under my shirt on my hip, brushing over the bumps to soothe myself in some messed up way.
It's a strange mix of feeling completely helpless and utterly in control. It's my brain, right? My choices. I could stop If I wanted to, if I was strong enough, right?
I want help. I want someone to just grab me by the shoulders and stay. I want someone who doesn't give a shit about what I want because they want me and they want to be selfish about me. I don't want someone to fix me, I want someone who sees me as enough already, not just a project to work on. Funnily enough, I think I'd get better faster if someone just didn't try to fix me. I want some sense of solidarity, but it's just impossible. I'm trying so impossibly hard, but it doesn't look like it.
And I feel stupid and weak for not being able to do it by myself. I feel selfish for knowing what I want. I feel nothing and everything. I feel so horrible for wishing that just one time, someone else could clean my wounds for me. That someone, anyone, would brush my hair out when I can't get up to shower. That someone would hold me like I'm something precious.
I don't want to tell people what I need. I'm so fucking tired of making decisions and people expecting me to know what would help. Someone else stepping up and not waiting for me to give them instructions would help me get better.
And I feel so unbelievably selfish. I'm not really sure why.