Moving In

Did it. I moved in with mom and it took a little adjusting but there was no turning back. I missed my younger bio-sib and it felt strange sleeping in this new place. Still didn’t have my own room, had to share with one of the half-sibs. I was already in high school and it was not too far from the house as it was from grandmas house. It was good and bad, but I wasn’t sure what to expect anyway. After some time, my step and I actually started getting along. I guess because I was older now, so there was a little bit more respect from each of us. I found myself going to him for advice or just to talk about my day or random stuff. It felt like we were sort of bonding. I would call my bio-sib just talk since I didn’t get to see ’em as much but we’d get to see each other once in a while. Things were going ok except for the youngest half-sib. We were having a difficult time getting along. I was older and tried my best to get to know ’em, but this one was just super spoiled and would scream and shout for every little thing. I couldn’t stand it, as hard as I tried, there was just no getting through. I ended up just kind of isolating myself from certain situations. I was so tired of the negative things I just wanted something positive for once. It seemed like things were starting to take a left turn, I was feeling, once again like I didn’t belong, even though my relationship with my step dad was improving, he would always take the younger half-sib’s side even if they were wrong. I started to deal with the negative things by cutting myself. I don’t know why I turned to hurting myself, but for some reason it felt good to me. Like, I’m going to hurt myself before I let you, kind of thinking. I remember punching my window and my hand going right through the glass. I seen blood running down, but to me it wasn’t enough. I grabbed a shard of glass and proceeded to cut my hand even more. I didn’t feel any pain whatsoever. I was just staring at the blood as it dripped down my hand into my other hand. One of the half-sibs squealed on me and of course I got in trouble but I really didn’t care. Got my hand cleaned up and bandaged and went on about my day like nothing. I learned that being so disconnected and building up these walls made me stronger than what I thought. Cutting myself as a way of dealing with negative feelings really heightened my tolerance for pain. I became numb to it, as well as my feelings.


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