me and october 26. 2013

from my book:


i’m anxious as soon as i leave her office. i don’t know why. i might be already imagining how uncomfortable i am going to be when i have to see her next week. i might be worried that i said something in my babbling that alarmed her and she is on the phone with my doctor at that moment working out the details of having me committed again. i might be worried that she secretly hates me and as soon as i left she ran to the front desk and complained about me and called me fat and ugly and dumb.

you can’t see it but inside i am shaking. everything is shaking. my mouth has dried up. i feel waves of energy going up and down from my chest to my stomach and i begin to look around me as i walk home – i am nervous and fucking scared of something but really unsure of what that might be. normal looking people begin to look like any one of them could suddenly explode in front of me or grow devil horns or begin chanting while blood and snot poured from their eyes and ears. who knows?

and i get to my apartment.

there is a razor blade sitting on the counter. i used it a few days ago so it is slightly orange and dirty with my dried blood on it. i honestly don’t care.

i pick it up and slash at my arm. there is no careful precision exact two-inch long cuts in some perfect little line. this is just scared and pissed off negligent slashing. i do this three times. i check myself to make sure i haven’t cut my entire arm off. i haven’t. so i go again. by the time i am done i have about ten or twelve dark red burning strips on my arm and my floor is covered in blood.

and i instantly feel better. every bad thing inside of me became good and hugged and fucked every part of my inside to make up for the fight they were having just moments before. there is euphoria like i have never felt with any drug. i feel good. even as i wipe the blood off one good time and then wrap my arm in paper towels and i lie down and just enjoy the fact that at least now i know exactly where the pain is and why it is and it hurts like a sunburn or a tattoo and i smile because in some strange way i deserve this and it’s just the way it is.

after about an hour i begin to hate myself again but only because now i have to go out of my way to keep these covered because understandably it makes people uncomfortable. and i don’t mean to do that. it’s not their fault or their problem. and i know that if the roles were reversed i would have absolutely no idea what to say to that person.

but there is nothing to be said.

it’s personal.

but now you know.

~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2013/10/26.

4 Responses to “me and october 26. 2013”

  1. I have an impulse control disorder – sometimes I pull my hair out. It makes me feel ashamed of myself and embarrassed to go outside sometimes but it is a very satisfying feeling when I am doing it and the urge to do it feels irrisistable. I tell myself I’m a freak and I look like a freak. That is why I like the Radiohead song.
    I’m so sorry you feel so much pain at times. I hope that there are some coping strategies out there that you can learn. I’ve been doing the hair pulling since 1989 so I don’t know if I will ever stop.


  2. i’m sorry, lynne. i hope it does stop for you. i hate that in addition to the pain we feel inside we also have to deal with outer issues that only make us feel worse. it really sucks. i used to have to wear long sleeve shirts even in the summer here to cover my cuts when i was younger and afraid of being thrown back in the hospitals. even now, people can see the scars through my tattoos and i always get that brief sad little look and quickly the subject is changed.
    i hate the way i look also. i can’t imagine that ever changing. we can’t fix everything, can we?
    take care.

  3. I have experimented with cutting when I was younger but for me it was hitting, Sometimes just with my fists and once with a meat mallet where I basically tenderized my entire back. It was summertime then and when I forgot and wore a tank top my ex husband was questioned about abusing me. I don’t understand why it feels so good to hurt myself but sometimes it is the only way to get rid of the other pain…

    • i think there are those people who take out their frustrations and pain on other people, whether it is verbally or physically abusing others, and then you have people like you and i that would much rather take it out on ourselves. i’ve always been that way. i think because somehow i feel like it is my fault and i deserve it. it certainly isn’t anybody else’s doing.

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