My drug of choice

This post is a compilation of multiple journal entries over the last few weeks.

I promised God (and others, later) during my church's Pentecost service in 2010 that I would let go of the anger and resentment I was holding onto that made me cut. Since then, I have cut myself on two separate occasions. The first time, this past February, I cut because I was hurt and angry and upset by fighting/tension between myself and my best friend and his fiancee concerning how much time my best friend and I were spending together. I made 4 cuts on my arm because I wanted them to be seen; I wanted my hurt to be noted, you know?
The second time was different, though. I had a bad night the night before and I reached out to a friend. I survived the night and the next day without cutting. But then I got angry at another close friend and fed up with trying to succeed with not cutting. I cut 6 lines into my thigh, knowing that no one would see them. I would have to admit to them for anyone to know.
But those cuts were done for me. In a moment of rage and sadness and hopelessness. I'm not accountable to anyone for them because they're a secret.
I am a liar. And I'm drowning.

I was--have been--thinking about whether or not to come clean about me cutting again. I don't want anyone to know I'm failing; I don't want my leadership positions to be taken away. I think I'd rather suffer alone, and have people think I'm strong, than have J. know I'm cracking, than interfere with his happiness. So the cutting will remain a secret--until he finds out on his own, or I feel like it might overwhelm me, like it did last Spring.

Maybe I'm not telling because I don't want to be rescued, or I don't think I should be rescued. Do I just want them to let me go? I'm hiding my cutting, my suicidal ponderings, my anorexia contemplations...Do I not want the rescue, the lifelines?

I cut again. I started thinking about it on Sunday, started thinking about dying--I got pretty sad in church. I ended up cutting on Monday with an attitude of anger, sadness, 'dare me not to', and 'I deserve this'. The last cut I made scared me--I was either pressing harder than usual or cutting faster than usual, because I cut deeper than I ever have before. I bled through my jeans; I actually had to use a bandage for the cuts. I bled until the next day. I wondered if I was going to need stitches. The scars will be noticeable, and they'll take a while to heal, making it hard to keep the cutting a secret.
Is this what I want?

For as long as you can remember, you have been a pleaser, depending on others to give you an identity. You need not look at that only in a negative way. You wanted to give your heart to others, and you did so quickly and easily. But now you are being asked to let go of all these self-made props and trust that God is enough for you. You must stop being a pleaser and reclaim your identity as a free self.
The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief or bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing--not healing, not curing--that is a friend who cares.
Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.
-Nouwen