Trigger warning: self-harm
In the interests of being completely honest on this blog about what I’m going through, I have to admit that I sort of gave in to the overwhelming urge to cut last night. I’m not proud of my weakness. I thought I could fight it off.
I tried to tell people yesterday about how much I hurt. By late last night I was having panic attacks. Horrible, reality-distorting panic attacks when I thought about the near future. I tried to tell my husband, but admittedly it was 1:00 in the morning and he was tired. I had no one to call.
I deliberately chose something that was sharp enough to hurt but neither sharp enough nor big enough to draw blood. I pressed and dragged it slowly over sensitive skin until the pain made me nauseous. This was not about suicidal ideations. I do not want to die. I simply needed a physical release for the pain ready to burst out of me. That’s why I was careful in my choice. It’s not ideal. Ideal would be never to have had to do it in the first place. But not doing it would have meant being driven to take handfuls of pills or drive my head through a wall.
I scratched up my arm to save my life, really. I know that is twisted and warped but that is what depression does to me. It was the lesser of two or more evils. Even as I did it I thought about b’tselem Elokim, being created in the image of G-d. I thought about that and felt badly, but I didn’t know what else to do. Prayer was not helping last night.
Today it hurts. It’s red but there’s still no blood. It didn’t cut deep enough to even ooze. The pain remains a release today. I don’t have to do it again. G-d willing, not ever.