Not Since 1984
I feel:: crazy
What song is on a loop in my head right now:: various snippets of Blue October songs
I cut myself the other night with a serrated-edge knife that I had held over an open flame until the blade was red hot. I made two cuts on my left forearm right beside where I cut myself before when I was 14. Incidentally, that was the same kind, same method of cutting. The blade gets so hot that it cauterizes the skin when it cuts, so there is no blood, but it does blister.
I had been talking to Tanya on YIM and I had just finished telling her that I felt like cutting on myself. She tried to reason with me by telling me that it would leave scars and that I wouldn't like that. I told her I wanted the scars so that they would be a reminder of what kind of person I am. She then told me that I was rationalizing. I probably was, but in the middle of watching the glaad awards, I sat in my big comfy chair and sank that searing blade into my arm twice. I can't say that it didn't hurt. It did and it kept hurting for the rest of the night, but for some reason afterwards I felt a lot better. I couldn't reason why at the time. I guess I just wasn't in the correct state of mind to be rational. Now, though, I think the reason it made me feel better is because when pain is inflicted on you, your body responds with adrenaline and endorphines so that you get what athletes call the "runners high". That's what I felt afterwards. It was like elation. It was the everything'sgonnabealrightandwhydidIworryinthefirstplace feeling. That night, as I was laying in bed trying to sleep, I kept running my fingers over the seared skin on my arm and I would get that feeling all over again just remembering. And the pain of it kept reminding me. I don't know what I think I need to remember. Do I think I need to remember being depressed? I don't think so. I don't have to actually "remember" the feeling of that. I feel it everyday. No need to remember. So, I'm left wondering just why I did this to myself. I mean, I'm a grown woman. Grown ups don't do this kind of shit, do they? I do remember feeling at the time that as the hot blade touched my arm there was some sort of release. God...I'm a fucking nutbar. I know I would do it again just to feel that release.
This is definitely going to be one of the subjects of discussion in my weekly therapy meeting on Monday. I'll probably have to have my meds changed. [sarcasm]Hooray! I just luuuv changing psychoactive medications.[/sarcasm]
What's really fucked up is that I don't really feel all that badly about cutting up my arm. As a matter of fact, I feel kind of good about it. I even thought about doing it again today, although, I didn't because I just didn't feel that urgent need to.
So, anyway, just thought I'd let you guys know that Denial is not just a river in Egypt.
What song is on a loop in my head right now:: various snippets of Blue October songs
I cut myself the other night with a serrated-edge knife that I had held over an open flame until the blade was red hot. I made two cuts on my left forearm right beside where I cut myself before when I was 14. Incidentally, that was the same kind, same method of cutting. The blade gets so hot that it cauterizes the skin when it cuts, so there is no blood, but it does blister.
I had been talking to Tanya on YIM and I had just finished telling her that I felt like cutting on myself. She tried to reason with me by telling me that it would leave scars and that I wouldn't like that. I told her I wanted the scars so that they would be a reminder of what kind of person I am. She then told me that I was rationalizing. I probably was, but in the middle of watching the glaad awards, I sat in my big comfy chair and sank that searing blade into my arm twice. I can't say that it didn't hurt. It did and it kept hurting for the rest of the night, but for some reason afterwards I felt a lot better. I couldn't reason why at the time. I guess I just wasn't in the correct state of mind to be rational. Now, though, I think the reason it made me feel better is because when pain is inflicted on you, your body responds with adrenaline and endorphines so that you get what athletes call the "runners high". That's what I felt afterwards. It was like elation. It was the everything'sgonnabealrightandwhydidIworryinthefirstplace feeling. That night, as I was laying in bed trying to sleep, I kept running my fingers over the seared skin on my arm and I would get that feeling all over again just remembering. And the pain of it kept reminding me. I don't know what I think I need to remember. Do I think I need to remember being depressed? I don't think so. I don't have to actually "remember" the feeling of that. I feel it everyday. No need to remember. So, I'm left wondering just why I did this to myself. I mean, I'm a grown woman. Grown ups don't do this kind of shit, do they? I do remember feeling at the time that as the hot blade touched my arm there was some sort of release. God...I'm a fucking nutbar. I know I would do it again just to feel that release.
This is definitely going to be one of the subjects of discussion in my weekly therapy meeting on Monday. I'll probably have to have my meds changed. [sarcasm]Hooray! I just luuuv changing psychoactive medications.[/sarcasm]
What's really fucked up is that I don't really feel all that badly about cutting up my arm. As a matter of fact, I feel kind of good about it. I even thought about doing it again today, although, I didn't because I just didn't feel that urgent need to.
So, anyway, just thought I'd let you guys know that Denial is not just a river in Egypt.
posted by Anais Nin at
3:53 AM
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