Being asked why I am so self-destructive exasperates me. I know it’s natural for people to want an explanation for something seemingly irrational. They are just trying to make sense of things. But they don’t seem to take into account that I am struggling to make sense of things myself.

I’ve grown introverted and obsessive. I’ve learned to interrogate every part of my thinking. Memories, thoughts, feelings, ideas, dreams, relationships, beliefs, every conversation I can remember from every day, they all accumulate anxiety like magnets. That neurotic adhesive binds it all together and renders me incapable of ever just dealing with one part. Because it’s all contagious to me.

I feel forced into a corner. It’s like I’m constantly defending myself from every angle, keeping every base covered. I’ve skydived into this hostile terrain and now I have to fight my way out. Alone. Because I can’t bring anyone alongside me without being brutally honest with them, and this would leave me exposed to the excruciating risk of rejection. I can’t chance that.

I’ve been trying to make sense of why harming myself feels so great for pretty much a year now. And I’ve not come up with anything that will satiate their inquisition.

I feel squashed,  claustrophobic. I can’t get away from myself and that makes me feel so fucking frustrated and angry and trapped. I’m waiting, in limbo, for answers to miraculously emerge from the mess.