I need to get scared out of doing this. I need to hear that it can cause damage to my body. Yet, when I do get told, it’s met with disbelief and doubt. Liver damage and liver transplant? Nah, it won’t happen. Next time if I go into cardiac arrest a defibrillator may not work as well as a result? Nah, I’m sure the damage isn’t be permanent. I’m convinced they’re telling me this just to scare me, or they’re exaggerating the effects.
Don’t know why I did it either.
I guess part of me reasons that if I don’t portray it on the outside, people won’t believe how awful I’m feeling on the inside. I’m afraid that if I don’t keep up with this pattern, people will automatically assume I’m better, even when I’m not.
Part of it too is the void I feel. On Saturday when I had an appointment with my psychologist we discussed my parents; the emotional support that wasn’t present while I was growing up, my father’s reaction when I ended up in hospital in August last year, my parents not writing me an affirmation letter at Year 12 Retreat when most other students received one… That same evening I attended an Awards Night as our volunteer group for a youth mental health organisation were finalists. We ended up receiving Highly Commended, and in our celebrations one of the staff hugged me. She’s a middle aged woman and a mother herself, and it made me realise how much I crave that from my own parents, or at least a mother or father figure. Emotional support, affection, comfort, the sense that they care… Stupid really.
And now I’m off to sleep at 10pm, because sleeping from approximately 11pm last night ’til 2pm this afternoon just wasn’t enough…