I’ve had about a week of feeling completely robotic. I just keep doing things to distract myself from my own head. It’s seems as though as long as my hands are occupied, my brain is going to stay quiet. But I have to go to bed eventually, I need to sleep. I have so much time to myself. I like being by myself, but the thoughts are hard to control.
I had a bad day a couple days back from this one (worse than the usual bad), and I let loose for the first time in a long time. I cut 26 times, all in places where people could easily see if I were to adjust my clothing. I didn’t care at the time, I didn’t care who was going to see and what they were going to think. I needed to feel something, I needed to do it. I can hardly begin to explain what it does for me and how addicted I am to it.
And yesterday, I did a whole slew of terrible self-destructive things. And I would’ve told anybody who asked (I was so beyond the point of caring what happened to me). I had the house to myself (doesn’t come around very often), and with the recent things that have happened to me in my life, was sort of having a pity-party. Lots of food and television and crying when something reminded me of how sad it is when people die. Once I had eaten enough food to support a fully-grown hippopotamus, I forced myself to throw up (wasn’t hard; all I had to do was think about all the stuff going on lately, and everything came right up). I then felt like a terrible person, so I went and extended all 26 of my cuts from the day before. It was very painful about 10 minutes later, so I decided to get drunk (doesn’t take much for someone as small as me). When I was drunk, I could still feel all the pain I’ve been feeling the whole week. I couldn’t relax myself enough to chill out my brain and rationalize with my demons. And I felt fully capable of killing myself, because I was drunk. So, knowing that was a terrible idea, I decided to go get high. That worked for a little while; I could see the humor in the little things that I so often forget. But as soon as I got home, everything came back to me. I would’ve pulled the trigger (figuratively; I don’t own a gun) if it weren’t for …
No, nevermind. I don’t get why I didn’t do it, but I didn’t. Probably if I have a future, I’ll thank past me for taking a deep breath and stepping away from all things sharp.