I Used to Bath my Cat

This post is quite graphic, there’s lots of blood, if you can’t cope with that stop here.

Things aren’t great at the moment. I know it’s Wednesday only because it says so in the top right corner of my laptop screen. It is 2:09pm and I am sitting in my pyjamas and dressing gown un-showered for six days. I feel sticky and my hair is wet from grease but the motivation to fix it eludes me. I am forced to wear long sleeves due to the 26 cuts I made on my forearm on Sunday night. My brother and I are silently battling over control of the heating thermostat; he likes the house warmer than I can bear whilst trying to hide my arm. It will be seen sooner or later - these scars will be visible for months - but the longer I can delay Mum’s reaction the better. Sunday night was beautiful I wasn’t in distress I just really wanted to make a mess. I made three long cuts from my elbow to wrist and 23 smaller ones over the veins on my wrist (I didn’t count at the time, that was done later) the bleeding was erratic and at times caught me by surprise necessitating scrubbing the carpet and changing my bedding, thankfully it all came out. There’s something mysteriously beautiful about bleeding, it’s like opening a valve and releasing pressure from the machine that is me. I think this is the primary reason I cut. I feel such a release as soon as the first incision has been made. I don’t know why I like to see the blood, maybe it reminds me that I’m human, but that’s just a guess. From what I’ve read and what various medical professionals have said to me it seems that most people do it for the pain. Not me. If I had access to local anesthetic I’d numb my whole arm/leg/torso, whichever I was planning to slice open, pain is not my friend.

The apathetic state I’m in is not good but there is no help available to me at the moment and really I don’t know what anyone could do anyway; push me into the shower with the taps jammed on and the screen door locked, drag me out of bed after eight rather than 12 hours have passed, dress me and carry me out the front door. But what then, there is nothing to do upon leaving the house, all of my friends are an hour away and most work and study during the day and have happy marriages to keep them busy at night. After writing this I’ll be filling out the form to re-apply for my writing course, that along with a possible casual job will probably help me a lot, but as we saw with my breakdown over starting the DipEd even a little bit of stress causes massive problems for me. I don’t know what the fuck to do, be idle and bored or busy and torn to pieces by stress. I wish I could still do schema therapy, it was very helpful and gave me something to do two days a week.

2:55pm, Mum will be home soon. I might try this showering thing and get dressed to avoid the “what have you been doing all day while I’ve been working” talk.