Looking back on the irony of my self-destruction

I’ve been reflecting a lot of my first few sessions with my original therapist and I’ve come to realize that I single handedly destroyed the things that I liked about myself as if I was refusing to appreciate anything about my appearance.

During my psychological assessment, my psychologist asked me if there was anything about my body that I actually like. I replied by saying that I liked my wrists because they are slender and my eyes because they are bright and colourful. But I’ve destroyed them both; one metaphorically and one literally.

I destroyed my wrists by self-harming. The scars on my wrists are a constant reminder of what I have done. I have a love-hate relationship with them; on the one hand I hate looking down at my arms to see the tell-tale signs, but on the other hand a part of me is desperate to have more.

I destroyed my eyes metaphorically. I used to enjoy the spark that I saw in my eyes; the happiness; the brightness. But that isn’t there anymore. When I look into my eyes now all I see is sadness and pain. While I know that a lot of this pain is not my fault, I also know that my eating disorder and self-harm have definitely contributed to the sadness that I see in myself when I look into the eyes reflecting back at me in the mirror.

I’ve destroyed the two things that I actually liked about myself.

But was it me or was it my disorder? Can I even separate myself from my disorder? I don’t know anymore.




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