Tag Archives: self-harm

Suicide: An Examination

(TW- pretty obvious I’d say. Don’t read if you can’t handle frank suicide talk.)

The past month I have tried to kill myself twice. Overdosing on pills and slicing my wrists open.

I failed twice.

Due to interventions by people who contacted EMS and police to force me to the hospital.

I’m sure those more optimistic sorts of people would say it’s that I was “rescued” or “saved” from that whole “permanent solution to a temporary problem”.

It isn’t feeling much temporary to me. It’s been over a year now. I am an utter shell of a person. Can’t get a job. Can barely keep my head together for longer than a couple days. Time ebbs and flows and dribbles and spurts.

The only constant is pain and despair.

I find little joy in anything. I’ve been through so many different anti-depressants and such that I can’t even remember all their names. None of them help. Many of them made things worse (fuck you Prozac). I am trying very hard to remain here due to promises I’ve made to family and friends who at times I feel are being selfish in their demands of me. But perhaps I am the selfish one. It’s hard to know.

What I want to do though is record all that happened. So this entry is obviously after all the ODs and psych ward and hospitalizations and pills-pills-pills. I write this while sitting in my own bed with Zoe nearby. But the next series of entries are copied from a composition journal I used to write both my “goodbye letters” to various people and my entries during the psych ward stay.

Eventually the idea is that I will not be in this suicidal mindset anymore and looking back on this entries might be informative to me. I suppose. I just need to get it out anyway. I’m sure it will not strike many people on here as that fascinating of a read and god knows none of you are required to read any of the following posts. They are mostly for me.

For me and the universe.

I would like to dissect and examine the mindset behind the desire for suicide.

The Fitted Sheet

Putting a fitted sheet on a mattress fucking sucks. I swear it’s the workout of a marathon in one room.

You try that whole “diagonal sides first”; the whole “back sides first”; whatever other “trick” you got from family or Youtube. They make it look so simple. A breeze. Obviously a fucking simpleton should be able to get a damn fitted sheet onto their fucking mattress.

That’s the metaphor of my life right now.

I have this life “fitted sheet” that is well-worn, perhaps a bit faded. The pattern is super funky. Couple decades old.

But it’s mine. And I’ve heard it isn’t easy to get another.

I also have this brain “mattress” that I think may have somehow obtained the incorrect size. I’m not sure whether I meant for a full instead of a queen or maybe I need a king?

Honestly, it’s sort of hard to tell whether the mattress is too large or the fitted sheet is too small. Or perhaps the opposite. It’s all just wibbly-wobbly.

No matter how much I fucking groan and shove and twist into all sorts of fun shapes, the damn sheet never seems to fit properly onto the mattress.

I think I’m going to have to saw a corner off. Which is a bit sad, as I love this “mattress”. I don’t want another. I don’t want to really change it. To trade it out for something else. This one is just so familiar, despite the stains and weird lumps and sort of frayed bits on the corners. The whispers in the stuffing and the smudged sort of writing in spots that never seems to rub out.

If I can get the sheet on after cutting a corner off the mattress, then I can just face the weird malformed corner to the wall so no one visiting can tell.

Problem solved, right?

First session

“I’m lying there wondering what happens next and I hear a voice. It says, ‘Man, this is not a way to live. This is a way to die.'” -Cornell, “28 Days”


Today was the day. As the alarm blared, and a hand reached from under the covers to slam it off.

Fuckin’ alarm

She shrugged off the echoing words, well-used to strange thoughts and ringing words she didn’t remember thinking. It matched well with scrawled notes she didn’t remember writing and stacks of books earmarked at pages she didn’t remember reading.

The strange bruises and cuts on the canvas of her body. A quick glance in the bathroom before dressing showed there weren’t any new ones today.

Her stomach felt strangely hollow, but she ignored it. Breakfast wasn’t happening anyway. Running too late. She shoved a wad of cash into her hip pocket. She’d get food at lunch. The worshipful caress of her sharp hipbone said otherwise, but it wasn’t noticed.

Time hop-skipped and she was at her locker. The hopscotch jump of lost time didn’t faze her. Thankfully it was a routine school day and she could easily see by the clock on the wall that all she missed was the trip to school and maybe a bit of pre-homeroom socializing. Nothing she would be required to recall at a moment’s notice. But then a post-it on the inside of her locker caught her eye.

Meeting with the counselor today- after lunch

Panic rose. She would have to discuss “things” with this woman. Explain why her schoolwork was slipping and why her friends never saw her eat.

“Hey. Today’s the day.” said a voice to her left. She jerked silently before noticing it was a real person standing next to her. Katherine.

“Yeah. Today.” She replied.

“Are you still mad at me for telling your mom?” Katherine’s bright blue eyes were concerned and Kit momentarily wondered why she wasn’t mad. Normally she would be. She had been furious at Sarah back in middle school. Telling the school guidance counselor about having to prevent her from drinking bleach at a party. That anger seemed to bubble and overflow for weeks. Months.

But Katherine telling her mom about not eating? Nothing. Even though it was the missing piece in the mystery of “Kit’s mental status” that her mother was trying to untangle.

“I’m not mad.” She replied honestly. She had a sudden flirty urge to play with her hair. She squinted for a moment, trying to place the urge. It didn’t feel like hers. Katherine raised an eyebrow.

“What are you planning to talk about? Josh? Texas? Your dad?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Depends on the person.” She shoved the locker closed and twirled the lock compulsively.

“I think you should tell them about everything.” Katherine pushed. Kit’s eyes cut away, fluttering.

Another pair looked up.

Everything?” came the sharp reply. The eyes accompanying the harsh word seemed in contrast. They were a bit shy, but also warm. Katherine turned a bit pink. Her turn to glance away.

“Well. That’s up to you.”

The sharper eyes fiddled with her small green purse, pawing through it with purpose. Suddenly a rattling sound announced success and she pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. Katherine frowned. “More headaches?”

“There’s always more headaches.” Midori replied. “Today’s upcoming party isn’t exactly a help.”

“So you are mad.”

“Jesus Katherine. I said I wasn’t.” Midori huffed, tipping the bottle expertly and dry-swallowing a couple of the oblong white pills. “I’m going to be late.” She shoved the bottle back into the purse and looked expectedly at the dark haired girl in front of her. Katherine glanced at the clock.

“Oh. You’re right. I’ll walk you?”

“Whatever. Your tardy record.”

“Media doesn’t care. As long as we turn in projects, we can pretty much be wherever.”

“Should have gone the media track.” Midori replied, automatically falling into step next to Katherine. Sometimes their arms brushed. It was one of Midori’s favorite parts of the day and she hoarded the feelings jealously.


It was lunchtime by the time Kit was aware and she automatically headed to the table she shared with Germany and a couple other friends. She avoided glancing where Josh and Texas would be sitting, half in each other’s lap.

Charlotte peeked out and saw. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was better at pleasing Josh anyhow. Not her fault he preferred the sane.

Germany never asked why she just drank a diet coke. The excuse of headaches and migraines worked well for Kit’s supposed closest friend.

Lunch didn’t last as long as Kit hoped. As her other friends threw the remnants of their lunches away and headed towards the classrooms, Kit clutched her half finished diet coke and walked towards the faculty side of the building.

It felt like a death march.

The kids all knew where “special meetings” were held at the school. Whether it was tutoring, discipline discussions, or counseling, there was only one area it happened. Kit opened the door to the lobby and tried to dodge the eyes of a secretary she’d never met before.

Blackness

It was Roms who surfaced this time and timidly walked up to the counter. She recognized the sign-in sheet, similar to the one for when she arrived after third bell. She filled out the body’s name, then finally met the eyes of the secretary. The woman was obviously judging her, but Roms tried not to think about that. Someone important needed to attend this meeting. This meeting could not be lost entirely. That’s something a crazy person would do. Sane people remember. The primary goal was to appear sane.

The secretary glanced at the sheet, then at something on her computer screen.

“Room three. It’s the last one.” She pointed down a short hallway. Roms gave a brief nod and headed towards Room Three.

She opened the door and saw a woman already in there. She paused.

“Are you K____? You’re in the right place.” The woman said, a smile on her face. She was younger than Roms expected. Barely out of college. She entered tentatively, the diet coke held in front like a shield.

“Is this all right?” She asked. The woman nodded with a smile.

“Sure. I’m Joy.”

A derisive snort exploded in the back of Roms’ mind, but she ignored it. Fought to not let the offensive sound reach the air verbally.

“K____.” She lied automatically. Joy nodded.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because my father won’t pay for a real psychologist and doing it through the school is free.” Midori interjected bluntly.

Roms pushed back the sensation of a blush but wasn’t positive if her face remained passive. Lately, her and Midori had less of a wall. They synced in many of their goals for the body, so perhaps that was why.

Joy had about as good a poker face as Roms herself so there was no way to tell if the blush avoidance was successful.

“What are you hoping to get out of these meetings?” Joy asked

Roms paused, considering.

“You can be honest. It stays between us.” Joy encouraged.

“I suppose it would be whatever is needed to reassure my parents and friends that I’m fine.” Roms answered truthfully.

“Are you fine?” Joy asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that right now?” Her tone seemed hopeful. Rom felt the immediate upheaval and internal lip curl.

“Probably not.” She said quietly. Joy nodded easily.

“That’s fine. We don’t know much about each other yet. Please do sit.” She offered the open seats at the round table she was at. Roms chose one diagonal from the therapist. Not across, not next to. That seemed the most comfortable. Joy made a note in her pad.

“Let’s start with some easy stuff. Any pets?” She asked, her tone disarming. The buzzing bees of Roms’ head increased. Suspicion was high. Roms pushed back as much as she could, trying to focus on the fact that getting through this meant parents backing the fuck off. That thought decreased the buzzing.

“Two cats. Girls. Velvet and Ashes.” She went ahead and supplied the names. Knowing that was the logical next question. She’d handled enough guidance counselors to know the line of questioning.

“Do you take care of them mostly? Or your parents?”

“They’re only at my father’s house. But I mostly take care of them. He will on the weekends I’m at Mom’s.” This commentary caused another note made to Joy’s pad.

“Do you see your parents equally?”

“That’s the technical deal. But since school is here, I’m at my father’s more. Most of my friends live here.”

“Understandable. And your parents are okay with that arrangement?”

“Yep. Friendliest divorced parents you’ll ever meet.” Roms’ tone edged on facetious as Midori crept out slightly, “Their separation was a business arrangement. Neat, organized, timely, and emotionless.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Joy said, her expression remaining fixed. Midori rolled her eyes.

“Okay.” She replied without argument. Joy seemed to react to this, and made another note.

“Why do you say it’s like a business arrangement?”

Midori slumped slightly in the chair. She definitely hadn’t taken enough painkillers for this woman. It was ridiculous that Roms thought to go along easily with this bullshit.

Midori debated a moment on letting Rika out to just end the session bluntly. But that could end with further counseling and possibly school faculty involved. Rika was not good at censoring her language.
Last time in Geography when the boy had made a crude pass at Kit, Rika’s response got her kept after the bell. Thankfully the teacher liked Kit, and had heard part of what the boy said. So the discussion was mostly for show. Not a true disciplinary action.

Rika in this situation would end differently, Midori was pretty sure. She sighed heavily.

“Look. I get that I’m here to ‘sort things out’ or whatever. But I really hate the constant ‘why’ follow up questions to things I say. Can we do this a different way?”

“I appreciate the honesty, K____.” Joy replied matter-of-factly. She did not make a note on her pad. Midori wasn’t sure what that meant. “Any suggestions on the best way to do this?”

“The way that gets me out of here and my parents no longer pissed.” Midori answered.

“Well I’m going to be honest with you then, K____. That’s going to have to involve some whys. I have to be able to see why things are not fine. Eventually. Or the parents probably won’t be cool.”

Midori picked up on Joy trying to make her speech more high school causual in its rhythm and some word choices, but it mostly sounded odd. It put the whole head on edge. Even distant parts of the pieces who were truly unaware of there being a system.

“I’m not sure what to tell you.” Midori said stubbornly.

Then there was a push and Roms gave way. “I guess I should say I just got out of a long relationship. For high school. Almost a whole year. I was dumped a couple weeks ago. He’s going out with one of my former best friends now. Found out they were already doing stuff behind my back for months. My other best friend that I sit with at lunch hasn’t noticed I haven’t eaten at school in three weeks.” Roms paused, hesitant with the last big tidbit. Then she focused again on the goals of just getting through this as honestly as they could without getting committed.

“And my third best friend…she’s the only one who’s noticed anything different about me. But I think I have a crush on her. I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve only liked boys. I still like boys. I’m not a lesbian.” Roms’ tone became desperate at the end as pieces of emotions breathed in from other corners of the system.
Being more abnormal was a fucking disaster.

Why couldn’t they just be normal.

Joy was silent for a long time. It felt like forever. Roms was resisting the urge to give way to The Compulsives, who would pick or scratch, or toy with something and make the abnormal even more obvious. She remained rigid, in body and head. The headache increased.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” Joy said, finally starting to make some notes on her pad. “I think having feelings for people who care for you can be good, healthy, even if they seem confusing. I think we really got through a lot of stuff today for a first session. Is it okay with you if we stop early today? I think you need to pause after telling me all that. And I need to pause too before talking to you about all that. But I’m glad we were able to open a little bit of this box you keep.”

Roms stared, resisting the urge to drop her jaw in open-mouthed surprise. Joy knew about the box. Joy carefully didn’t meet her eyes while she finished writing and Roms composed herself, mentally running through all that had happened in this room. With Joy.

It was vital that Kit be aware of this whole first session.

Roms had a feeling these sessions with Joy would determine some important direction for the future. Others were more skeptical, but Roms was the one who was usually right about those sort of predictions.

Something important was at work here.

No Water

(trigger warning- depressed and self-harming)

Due to a cockup between the county and the city water suppliers, my water got disconnected at noon today. And the county (my supposed legit supplier) refused to turn it back on today, even though I completed their auto-payment two hours before the “cutoff time”.

I informed them they should edit their paperwork so to not be blatant liars. Then they said rude things about my attitude. Then I said rude things about their ability to be forthright with their citizens.

My water will not be turned on until some vague time tomorrow because they refused to give me a specific time.

I am trying to not have a complete meltdown but it’s been really fucking hard. Grey (my brother) brought some friend home even after I texted him and told him not to have guests because we have no working water (i.e. toilets).

My fucked up coping brain decided to take a couple narcs because the common side effect is constipation. Therefore I won’t have to poop. Now I get to be high and not poop. Tonight should be unicorn farts.

Instead more self-harm is happening and time is skipping like an elementary jumprope. Skip-pa-tat-tat. Tick tock tick tock.

Hips and arm. I know it’s bad when the cuts are in multiple places.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a homeowner.

Or an adult.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Can’t even handle a little stress.

Just a little.

It’s not like I’ve been struggling to find a job without success for 6 months and my savings are dwindling to a joke of a joke. The only bigger joke is my pool of friends. Not a pool. Not even a puddle. Barely raindrops. I don’t deserve friends or jobs. Or houses. Or water.

I deserve blood blood blood.

Tick tock tick tock skip-a-tat-tat.

“Making my own road out of gravel and some wine.” -Gin Wigmore

Attempting Focus

I am scared to leave the bedroom.

I have hidden the car keys.

Slipping back into the compulsive habits of checking my hair and skin every time it feels like more than a minute has passed. (has it?)
Checking all online media and the cell phone for unknown communications. Checking the usual hiding places for blades or pills.

Habits left over from a girl who learned to survive. The others I’m sure wouldn’t call me that. I’m the part usually overlooked. Much dismissed.

I bring the clocks out and set them around the bedroom. Make sure the batteries are fresh. I can accept the lost time, but I at least want to account for it.

A good six hours gone today. Sucked into the curling smoke of nothing. In fractions and fragments. Nothing seems to be more than 30 minutes. Here and there.

I keep checking to make sure items stay in their hiding places. I keep checking the skin and taking blood pressure. So far no more than bruises and scratches. That I can handle. And the blood pressure is not ideal, but it is not hospital-level. I am determined.

Though I have just as much of a desire to stay far away from doctors while we are like this, I have no desire to put us in direct harm. I am not a suicidal part.

I remain as vigilant as I can for those that are.

-Roms

DID Media Spotlight: “The Ward”

(Note: If you haven’t seen this movie, I will completely ruin it for you. The main character having DID is supposed to be a twist. Sorry. This will happen with a couple of my reviews. DID is a common “twist” tactic in suspense/thrillers/horror. Still worth watching in my opinion, but this is my warning for you if you do care.)

(Note 2: Trigger warning for some frank clinical discussion of self-harm. Nothing graphic.)


The-Ward

Rating: 3.5 Stars (out of a possible 5)



The plot of The Ward is a bit confusing. At its most basic, the premise is a young woman named Kristen is found in front of a burning farmhouse by police and taken to a psychiatric hospital for treatment, as it appears she lit the farmhouse on fire herself (and possibly injured people?).

I will preface this by saying I am a rather large fan of John Carpenter. And I must give him props for using a common horror trope in a way that didn’t completely offend me like most DID thriller/horror movies. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

As I said before, since I’m dissecting this movie for how it pertains to Dissociative Identity Disorder (or the ol’ title of Multiple Personality Disorder, as it’s referred to in this movie) there will be spoilers ahead. I watched this movie twice so that I could more deeply react to the little “clues” and techniques used knowing that “Kristen” is physically by herself during her stay in the the ward, not accompanied by a couple other young woman, as shown to the audience initially. It’s done decently well. Although I’ll say as a avid fan/student of both the horror genre and someone with DID personally, I recognized what was going on with Kristen pretty early on. The other staff did not interact with the other girls (alters). With the exception of the main therapist/psychiatrist, who does address multiple alters. But only in counseling sessions. And it’s done in such a way that a multiple can tell he’s addressing a multiple.

Now to dissect.


The Good

#1 No psychopathic killers-  STILL a horror movie!
I truly enjoyed this movie for being the only thriller/horror I’ve ever seen to feature a person diagnosed with DID that did not kill or murder others. The violence in the movie is entirely self-harm related. And handled rather cleverly, if more Hollywood-tized that us average multiple systems, obviously.

The strife between alters is more dramatically violent than my personal systems’ experience, but there could be some argument made that Kristen’s system merely manifests the internal strife and memory/abuse issues differently. The main conflict is that the original personality (Alice) is upset by the alters and doesn’t want them around. The alters, in their fear of being destroyed, have tried repressing (“killed”) the original personality so that they could continue their existence. Though an extreme reaction, I find it realistic in the movie because the therapist was encouraging Alice to “get rid” of the alters. Almost like an “integration” as opposed to co-conscious to function in day-to-day activities.

But Alice wasn’t truly destroyed and she starts trying to fight back against the alters; they start disappearing. Again, extreme for a normal system, but it is a movie. And a horror movie. Still more legit in my opinion than someone like Norman Bates and his alter killing young women regularly.

#2 The alters/personalities
I must say I really enjoy the actual characters themselves. I think they did a good job trying to address a lot of the common archetypes systems tend to develop. I do have one major nitpick, but I’ll get to that in the next section. Mainly though, I could find parts of my own system in the archetypes they had. Unlike United States of Tara, where the personalities are sort of more just these “fun quirky characters” like “housewife” and “redneck” that sometimes serve the more standard coping mechanism of a system (like Buck acting as a protector alter at times), the alters in Alice’s system seem to serve a more standard DID system function. 
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#3 Self-harm actually addressed
A sensitive topic, of course, but one that is rarely actually referenced in the media’s interpretation of DID. But in “The Ward” it’s addressed not in one, but two ways! There’s the more standard self-harming alter (Emily) who has self-harm scars on her arm. The sassy Sarah ribs Emily about them derisively, reminding me of my own Rika’s scoffing at the self-harming alters in my system.

But there’s also moments where Alice or Kristen is seemingly attacking/harming another alter, but when the “twist” of DID is revealed to the audience, we can see that they’re truly just harming themselves. Sort of like “Fight Club”. It appears to Kristen that she’s in a brawl with Alice when what the hospital staff is seeing is her throwing herself at the ground and window, cutting and hurting herself. A bit dramatic, yes, but I know I’ve had minor versions of such issues myself.

Before the twist is revealed, this is what the audience sees. After, it's shown that Kristen was holding the knife to her own throat.

Before the twist is revealed, this is what the audience sees. After, it’s shown that Kristen was holding the knife to her own throat.


The Bad

#1 All beautiful young perfect white women
Okay. I get that a lot of systems’ alters tend to reflect the body’s physical attributes, to a degree. But I know I have some with dramatic weight/coloration/height differences, some with dramatically different ages, and a couple with different gender attributes. I was disappointed that “The Ward” had all of Alice’s alters as young, beautiful slim white women. Even the little-alter, Zoey, is obviously no younger than 16 (and that’s pushing it), her “little” status more addressed by the addition of childish pigtails and a stuffed animal she babies constantly. The only real difference was hair color. Different hair colors does not diversity make.

Ignore that she's obviously the same age as Kristen (the blond), Zoey is sucking her thumb and clutching a stuff bunny! She's obviously a little!

Ignore that she’s obviously the same age as Kristen (the blond), Zoey is sucking her thumb and clutching a stuff bunny! She’s obviously a little!

#2 Therapy is maaaybe evil
This one I’m a little more torn on. Mostly because personally, I’m hugely against the whole idea of destroying parts of a system for integration or a similar prognosis. But I do give this movie’s therapist some credit for dissuading the nurse from dosing Alice for no reason at times, and for listening to each alter as much as possible. If his goal had been co-conciousness and trying to have the alters respect each other rather than “beat” each other until the strongest is left standing, then I would respect it much more.
Also they use freakin’ electroshock-therapy at one point. Granted, the movie takes place in the 1960s, but still. Not cool.

#3 DID is still technically the villain
Okay. I did say I respect this movie more than the average DID horror because the protagonist, despite having DID, is not a murderer/killer. She was abused as a child and splintered and now is still having trouble coping. However, by the end of the movie, DID is still clearly a villain. The goal is to “cure” Alice of it. She obviously couldn’t possibly function in society without it. The violence of the movie is caused by the alters’ fear of being destroyed by Alice, which is encouraged by their therapist. This movie definitely doesn’t have DID coming out smelling remotely rose-like.
United States of Tara still does a better job of trying to de-villify it more than the average media attempt. Which is disappointing, because if “The Ward” had ended with the alters finding common ground and deciding to unite against the stress/introject of the abuse instead of the origin personality of Alice, I would have given this a full 5 stars for merely doing something a movie never has. Vilifying DID.

But we are still the villain.

And that is sad to see.

Emergency Rations

(TW for some negative coping/self-harm discussion; though it will be matter of fact/clinical, not graphic)


Some people think the apocalypse is coming.

Whether this apocalypse is ushered in by zombies, warfare, the devil, or bad environmental management, there seems to be some consistencies in the behavior of those believers.

They plan. They organize. They stockpile.

There is a box or bin of supplies they have set aside for this possible apocalypse. Do they expect to use these supplies tomorrow? No. In a week? Most likely not.

They are just in case.

I have a similar stockpile. My apocalypse doesn’t feature zombies or nuclear warfare.

And unfortunately it happens often enough that my life could be considered a season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

But I still maintain that my stockpile of supplies are just in case.

When I order a new box of silver shining blades, I’m not thinking about the next time I’ll drag them across my flesh. I’m only thinking about how they are able to release the buzzing, nasty thoughts that sometimes run through my head. How they are able to prevent me from considering worse options.

When I set aside a certain amount of my daily pills for “an emergency”, most likely against what a doctor would recommend, it isn’t because I am suicidal. It is only to weather the storm of the apocalypse until it passes.

I have made a living out of surviving apocalypses. I consider myself a veteran by now.

And after emerging from the destruction of each one, I carefully set about resupplying my stockpile. My emergency rations.

Not all of it is harmful. Sure, there’s a pack of cigarettes (Charlotte’s favorite brand), but there’s also bath oil and a rich lotion that soothes the scratches on my skin. There’s a favorite book. A particular movie.

I weather the storm in many ways.

But every item has the same purpose. To distract, to relieve, to encourage until the danger passes and the sunlight can begin to filter through the shadows again.

Remember that. It isn’t about harming. Not truly. The idea isn’t to make myself a canvas of the macabre to be gawked at or pitied.

It’s all about surviving.

Spiraling

The path isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral. You continually come back to things you thought you understood and see deeper truths.

-Barry H. Gillespie

I was doing well. I was. I have a house. I own it 100% outright. I’m doing this adult thing. I even traveled this year.

But life isn’t a straight path. It’s a spiral and half the time, you come right back around to where you were.

And where I am now is not good.

My life is a spiral.

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Unsure Reason

*TW: self-harm*

I self-harmed.

At work.

In a knee-jerk, habitual way.

Just felt…off suddenly. Calmly reached into the back of my desk drawer for my “emergency blade” (that I also use to do marketing stuff for work as a cover) and automatically go to the bathroom.

Back stall. Lock the door. Make sure I’m alone.

Drag it across my hip.

And I fucking sighed in relief at the pain of it.

It disturbs and disgusts me how easily I fall back into it. It rots me inside. I hate it. I hate myself. I can’t shake it.

It’s been fucking months.

I went through the whole stressing of buying a goddamn house and moving in and didn’t self-harm one time.

Why today?

Things are not extremely bad. I mean, they aren’t all sunshine and unicorn farts, but they aren’t awful.

I don’t understand it. But the sweet relief I feel now is the same sharp, sugary, melting feeling it’s always been.

I hate this.

And I can’t stop.

Fading (TW for suicidal thoughts)

Yesterday all I tried to do was fade.

Slice, swallow, sleep.

But apparently razors and half a bottle of pills isn’t enough.

And now everyone is determined to bug me constantly to make sure I’m “okay”.

Yeah. I’m “okay”.  Sure.

It feels fake to be at work, but where else would I go?

Ace bandages over my injuries so I don’t have to answer any questions beyond “an accident” when asked “What happened?”

I just want to fade.

I’m so very tired and done with faking it and pretending I’m okay.

Obviously the medical world has decided I’m not worth it.  I’m just joining in.

I lied about the number of pills (fifteen) I took yesterday.  Gotta avoid the hospital.  Doctors do nothing.  Though the pills did no more than put me to sleep for awhile yesterday, I’m hoping the toxicity will catch up to me and perhaps I can fade that way.

But I doubt it.

Why would I get what I want now?

After so long of just pushing through, wearing the mask, being the robot, faking the smile- why would it change now?  Why would I finally be able to relax?

Never.