I’m writing this post to give myself a little time to cool down before getting the knives out, so bear with me, and if you’re one of the people who keeps sending me rude and/or abusive comments just stop reading here and never come back, please; I don’t like having comment moderation, but I’m not going to allow your drivel appear on my blog. To reiterate, this is not a nice read and may be a little graphic, so stop here if that bothers you. Preamble over.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! It’s one of those nights where I need the kind of friend whose doorstep I can just appear on and cry on their shoulder for five hours, drinking copious amounts of tea (maybe wine would be better) between tears. I have friends who I would gladly have over here to do that, but I don’t know if any of my friends would allow me to do that to them. I’ve only ever had one friend who I could drop in on unannounced and know it’d be alright, that was many years ago and she is no longer in my life. I won’t get through tonight without self harm, but the severity is still up in the air, urges are very violent tonight, but I do have some will to restrain myself. I mentioned two posts ago that I surrendered my last razor blade at the hospital; that was very good of me to do, but very short sighted. I knew the blade would have to be replaced and I’d been thinking for a while that I need a more damaging weapon, but as long as I had that I couldn’t justify going out and buying something else. I didn’t feel like self harm at the time of purchase, but I needed to have something in the house – I can’t use kitchen knives, it’s just wrong – A late night trip to a 24hr Kmart proved handy, craft knife from the stationary section and box cutter from the hardware section. I haven’t opened the craft knife, but I tested the box cutter last night and it’s great, as sharp as a razor – so not too painful – but stronger and angled so I can get some depth, perfect. Unless I calm down by the end of this post it will be used to make a deep line from my elbow to wrist, I know that will be very visible, but torso hurts a lot and legs don’t bleed enough. I have a two month old gash on my chest and it still hurts.
Church put me in a terrible mood tonight, it was nothing to do with the service, and no one was rude to me. I just looked around and saw all these living, breathing people who seemed to find conversing easy, who could sing to God without internally kicking themselves for not meaning the words enough, people who were truly thankful for what Jesus did for us all those years ago. I am thankful, and I know it’s not about feelings, but I don’t feel a thing, just hollow with lots of bubbles of pain. I couldn’t sit with them, we’re just too different, but I didn’t want to leave - it’s Easter and the very least I can do to say thank-you is to obey the command to not give up meeting with each other – I sat in the foyer where I could still see and hear everything, but could be separate from those I feel so unlike. They’re not uncaring blind Pharisees, four people came to see how I was, I lied, but they cared enough to come; and no I wasn’t wanting people to feel sorry for me, I was in a fairly inconspicuous place, not screaming for attention or pity. From this position I could see the entire congregation, how they communicated with one another, how they engaged and how they looked so alive – yeah the Holy Spirit has that affect on people, but I supposedly have the sprit in me too. Looking at them it dawned on me that I’m already dead; my heart still beats and my lungs still draw breath, but that’s all. I think I died when my brother did in 1991, there may have been short periods of life in me between now and then, but really, I’m gone. Following the service I put on my best happy face, as I was doing coffee tonight, happy face failed me but I was at least able to get rid of ‘I hate the world and want to die face’. I left as soon as it was polite to do so.
I would have liked to go straight from church to the spot I’ve picked for my train accident, but I don’t like the idea of dying on Easter Sunday, not because of Jesus, but because it’s essentially giving myself a massive tombstone. It needs to be done on an ordinary day, not near anyone’s birthday or other major event. I still think my birthday would be perfect, my parents remember my brother’s birthday, and death day (they’re only three days apart, but still) to only have one day to remember is surely easier. I don’t think I can wait until December, maybe Wednesday will work at least the public holidays are over by then.
I had more to write, but my brain is clouded and I’m looking forward to drawing blood. Sorry for the detail in this post, it may be one I make an exception for and edit when I’m in a saner mood, but right now it’s exactly what I want to say and it did come with a warning; it was your choice to continue reading. Goodnight.
Hi....I'm hoping reason has prevailed and you are not in the thick of hurting yourself at the current moment....to be honest, P and I were just watching some TV after a hard day's tiling and I'm just glad I thought I might check Facebook before going to sleep. I know you just write whatever is honest to you at each moment, and I think that's good, but it certainly worries me that you may decide that no one is upset by this posting, when it's possible no one has gone online and read it.
ReplyDeletePerhaps I can just register in writing my concern and hope you know people do care about you? Try your best not to give in...I'm glad you know it's not all about feelings, but you're wrong about what everyone in Church is thinking when they're singing. You don't know their thoughts any more than they know yours. Try not to compare yourself with what they *appear* to be thinking and feeling.
Hope you are able to weather the storm...I'll text you tomorrow and see how you're doing.
K
I didn't know your brother died! I asked you before why you were miserable and you never replied, just deleted my comment. You are experiencing serious grieving. I know! When I was sixteen my older brother died too. I grieved for eight years. I blamed myself for his death. A week before he died we had argued. I felt that he was pulling the "big brother" routine on me, correcting my poor behavior. When I was out with my Mom the next day I said that I hated him and that he would not be my friend if he weren't my brother. A week later his motorbike was hit by a car and he drowned in his own blood....dead before my Mom and I could make it to the hospital. My Mom withdrew in her grief, my other brother was away in the Navy, and I was on my own with my losses. At that age friends didn't want to hear about one's grief and pain. I self medicated for years, hating myself, blaming myself, and always wishing that it was me who died instead of my brother, because I believed that my death would not have caused so much suffering for my Mom.
ReplyDeleteI remember that pain, yet the numb feeling I had. I remember ironing and wanting to put my hand on the iron to feel physical pain that might in turn take away my emotional pain. For eight years I was self destructive.
I feel bad for ya, K! I know how you feel and have to say, "it will get better". I know right now you believe this is what your life will be like forever, but IT WON'T! I don't know why you were ever given the diagnoses of BPD, sounds like grief to me compels you to behave erratically. Let me know if you're ever interested in learning how I got beyond that terribly dark place in my life. You need to hang in there and have faith in yourself. I really believe faith in yourself is more important than faith in some god. I posted the Sartre quote on your blog a week ago -- I find strength in what he said. take care.
Thanks K, I'm sorry.
ReplyDeleteA little update, a friend came over, we had tea and talk. Knives are still away. If you are worried about me please call me, not the police unless you call me and I sound like a raving lunatic, in which CAT team are better to call than police. Thank you for caring about me though, whoever you are.
Annon: I may have misunderstood the comment I deleted, I think that came at a time I was getting a lot of nasty ones and may have thought it was from that person. I don't think I'm still grieving for my brother, he was only 3 days old and I was only 7. I think the way the death changed the family was the problem. Maybe I'm wrong, I really don't know. I think it would be much harder to lose a sibling you've grown up with, all I knew of my brother was watching him grow in my mother's belly and three days in icu. I don't think I even held him until after he'd died.
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ReplyDeleteWell, emotionally losing my Mom at sixteen was worse than losing my brother. I'm sure your Mom was overwhelmed with grief when you were seven. Death does change the family dynamics. Perhaps, you are still mourning the loss of the mother you once had.and that is very sad. Did other horrible things happen to you, although having a withdrawn mother is painful enough?
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