Crutches

You know, when I get anxious sometimes or when I get particularly reminiscent, this strange compulsion settles over me.

I want to hear my ex’s voice, because for a while in the past, his voice would soothe me and comfort me. It would quiet me down and some nights, his voice was all that I clung to. I’d see him, hear him or be around him and everything felt like it would be okay. It was temporary and rare. When things started getting bad between us, this comfort too faded away. But in times like these, I still cling to it. I’ll listen to a song he played for me, listen to his singing or try to find his profile on social media. It’s a momentary relief that I only search for in times like these. I don’t know why.

If not look for my ex, I think of self-harm. I think of what it would be like to slit a clean cut into my wrist with a sharpener blade like I used to. It used to be so tempting, and it still is. Most times though, I have my defences and sensibilities wrapped strongly around that part of my brain. But when I feel this way, I find it soothing to visualise what it would be like if I could cut myself again. The release it would bring. The stings of the cuts on my wrists, the raised and scarred skin for days after. A sick, twisted part of me loved that. I loved to see what I was doing to myself. And in times like these, on nights like these, I long for that comfort again. To experience it again for even a moment would feel like catharsis.

I don’t know why I cling to these things. My ex and my self-harm. Maybe because they are both toxic sources that offered me a massive amount of comfort for a time in my life. Maybe because though I knew they were terrible for me, I still loved them dearly. And I feel it in my chest right now. It feels loathsome that I still seek comfort in these things when I have grown so well and so beautifully beyond them.

It angers me that I still want him to be the one to comfort me in some of my weaker moments or that I still want to cut myself. And it angers me because the truth is, I don’t really feel a genuine desire for either of these things.

I don’t want him anymore. I feel so joyful that it ended. That I’m better now. That my self-worth and my life is better now. I don’t want him, or his habits or the way he treated me. I deserve more than what he gave me. And I know that.

Neither do I want the cuts on my body. I miss the way it would make me feel, sure. Like a junkie getting her next fix. But I’m past that. I’m healthier now, stronger and more courageous. I face the issues in my life head-on. I no longer cower behind sharpener blades.

So why is it so hard for me to let go of these crutches I used to have? Why can’t I just burn these things out of my memory? Why do I have to continue living with them?