Friday, June 03, 2005

Today should have been wonderful...

but it just wasn't. Every time I look at the fresh cut or the old scars on my arm, I can only think of what stupid thing self-injury is to do. My left arm, belly and thighs are covered with scars, all self-inflicted. It used to make my husband angry, but now it just makes him sad, like it is somehow his fault. But it's nobody's fault but my own. I don't even know why I do it, other than it calms me down. When my thoughts are broken into a million swirling pieces, slicing myself open brings everything back into focus - when you are trying to control a cut, you *really* focus on what you are doing. When I feel disasociated from myself, the pain of a cut or a burn makes me feel alive again. When I feel mania creeping up on me, the cutting is like blood-letting - I feel like the poisonous thoughts are leaking out of me with every drop of blood. When I am in a deep depression, it makes me feel a bit better to punish myself - I only feel guilty about it later.

I used to smoke pot recreationally, and gave it up a few weeks ago. Hubby and I both decided it was just complicating our lives, and it would be bad for his career - imagine being stoned and having to go out and collect someone's dead body...not cool at all. So I gave it up, and at first I didn't miss it. But now I think it was helping me manage my mental illness in some way. I feel sicker now than I have in a long time and I just wish I had some nice green bud to take away my ills. My mood swings are terrible right now - I'm rapid-cycling, I think. My ups and downs were a lot farther apart and not nearly as strong when I was toking. But today, I've gone up and down like every hour or so. I absolutely had to have cigs today, anything to distract me from the lure of a blade. I've gone through so much Xanax lately that I'm going to run out before I can fill the prescription again, and it's not helping. I've built up such a tolerance that it doesn't even make me sleepy anymore. I've taken as much as 12 mg at once (my usual dose is 1 mg 3x daily) and I don't even get tired or a buzz or anything except the edge off my anxiety. And some amnesia - I'll forget whatever I did after a dose like that.

My husband is home til Monday morning, and I should be happy, I know. But I just feel sad and manic and crazy, all at the same time. I remember when manic felt good - now it's just scary. I feel like I might lose my mind altogether sometimes. Or maybe I already have - what person in their right mind would cut herself on purpose? I only know one other cutter, and she's crazy as a loon. I don't want to be like that. Sometimes I simply don't want to *be* at all, but my family needs me and that keeps me going. I can't let them down. If my husband lived at home right now, I think I would just go check into some hospital and stay there as long as my insurance would let me, but that's just not possible. If I could afford to live on disability income, I'd stop working in heartbeat, but that's not possible right now either. So I get up every day and go to work, where I pretend to be okay. No one sees me crying at my desk. No one knows that sometimes I stick myself over and over again with a needle (on my scalp, where it doesn't show). I smile and greet people like everything is fine. No one knows that it feels like I'm dying inside. The people I work with don't know that I don't have any friends, or that the only reason I leave my house is to work or get groceries. I'm not part of any of the little cliques in our office. No one asks me out to lunch, or stops by my office just to chat. Sometimes a whole week will pass without anyone setting foot in my office for any reason. Fifty people there, most of whom I've known for almost 10 years, and nobody really knows me at all.

I'm hoping that going to church this Sunday will make me feel better. No one knows me there, since I haven't been going very long, but I get some peace just being there. It's one place where I know am welcome, and I can feel like I belong, even if it's just for an hour each week. I know that if I kneel at the altar to pray, the pastor's wife will come pray with me, and she's such a caring person - she just radiates love and compassion and I cherish every second that I spend with her. Last week she put her arm around my shoulder and prayed with me at the altar and I was moved to tears. How someone who's known me for less than two months can make me feel loved and cherished is an amazement to me.

I wish that sleeping pills worked for me - Ambien is all my doc will prescribe, and it may as well be water for all the good it does me. Benadryl works, but I have to take a lot of it, and it makes me feel hung over the next day. But it stops the nightmares that I've been having, or maybe it just stops me from remembering them. I guess that will have to be good enough for now. Well, I guess that's enough self-pity for one day. Stay tuned, I'm sure there's more crazy rambling to come.


Anonymous sean said...

I do believe you have been touched by His Noodly Appendage.

(I kid, I kid!)

8/06/2005 5:06 PM  

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