I got a scrape the other day.
I don't know when or how. It must've been when I was doing yard work; But the thing is that I noticed it the next day. I was having a particularly bad day and I was scratching at my scars like I always do when I'm nervous, and that's when I felt it.
A very, very familiar feeling. I knew exactly how it felt to have cuts there. And I didn't notice how much I missed it until that moment..
I couldn't stop.
I couldn't stop touching it. Fiddling with it. Anything to make it hurt the way I needed it to hurt.
The days have been getting worse since then, but the cut is fading now and still it's the only thing I can think of.
The way I need it to hurt.
But it isn't hurting anymore. It doesn't sting.
It's a very suffocating feeling. There's no way I could hide it like I used to. So it just drives me insane. Nagging at the back of my head because of the reminder of how it felt to hurt in a controlled manner, just when I needed it.
And I can't tell anyone. I don't have friends, nor close family who would understand or even that I could burden with this. I tell my husband and he'll just either get mad or blame himself, as if he hasn't done the exact same shit I used to.