Who am I to me?

I have been thinking a lot lately about not only what other people think about me but what I think they think about me and what in heck do I think of myself.  Who am I when there is no one watching?  I always try to be a good moral person.  I stop to help people cross the street (there is a blind guy that lives near the liquor store and he always tries to cross thru a very busy intersection) whom I have helped on more than one occasion. So yes I volunteer, help at the school, hospice and other charity events.  But that isn’t all that I am.

Does a job define who a women is and what she does?  I have had several careers throughout my life but I have never truly followed thru on any of them.  I high school drop out and a college dropout to boot.  Besides those little set backs I believe that I have been successful.  I have worked at the Board of Trade, I understand stock markets and commodities.  I have started in restaurants as a server and excelled to Assistant General Manager in less than 4 years.  When I want to just chill and bring in cash serving is so satisfying to me.  It allows me real estate to sell ME.  But at the same time not me. I feel like I am on stage and I am in a play acting as you would want a server to act.  I have pretended to be nice so long that its not an act anymore.

When I describe myself to a person: strong, smart, happy, easy going, business oriented, family oriented and a good wife and mother.  If I describe the hidden me… drunk, addicted, cheater, thief, stoner, lazy…. this list goes on.


I harm because…

This is the first time that i have every put anything like this out in the world.  I have only recently admitted to my self that I might have a problem.  I am not the typical adolescent going thru angst.  I am in my 40’s and self harm has been a coping mechanism for me over the last 4 years.

My heart fills with so much pain that hitting myself, poking my fingers in my arms, stomach, sides; and thing to cause pain and a bruise.  This weekend reached a new level and pain.  I sit here today with my hands almost too swollen to type, black and blue along with my head that I rammed into wall over and over again.  I don’t know how to find help, where to find help.

Why am I doing this and what is this teaching my teenage daughters?