Robots Need Love Too

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.