I am in an abusive household where everything is seen as transactional. Nothing that I own is truly mine, not my clothes, not my underwear, not my period pads, not even my gifts. They all “belong” to my mother, because she says she paid for them with time, effort and money.
She says the same extent about my body. She was disgusted when she found out I was harming myself and tried to claim that it harmed her more than me because “she gave birth to me, and I’ll never understand that unless I become a parent.” She claims it is disrespectful to the sacrifices and hardships she had to go through to give birth to me, as my self-harm is a destruction of it all.
She dares claim that my body belongs to her. She was appalled and horrified when I mentioned wanting to medically transition because I’m “destroying the body” and argued that doing that is worse than me cutting myself and leaving permanent scars on my body.
She’s the kind of person who uses blood as a way to connect family. Even if I forsake her or go no contact, I will always be her “daughter” because my blood comes from her.
I view self-harm as a way for me to claim my own body for myself. Even if it hurts, even if the marks I leave on my body are ugly and disgusting, at least it’s proof that my body is mine and nobody else’s. Seeing blood when I cut is both cathartic and a cruel reminder to me: it’s like seeing all proof of my mother’s blood leaving me and that thought fills me with joy but at the same time I hate it because I can never truly distance myself from her, as there would always be her blood within me.
She recently took away the only other safe haven I had, my journal, by reading it behind my back and taunting me with my private thoughts. Not even my own writing is mine anymore. I feel like self-harm is the only thing I have left that belongs to me and I can’t even do that anymore unless I want her to kick me out when she’ll inevitably do another strip check.