In the Moment: Cuts and Carves

(This is probably triggering for cutters.)

I bought Hello Kitty and Disney Princess Band-Aids to dress up my cuts in pretty pictures.

This was back in June, when I started my downswing, and had too much negative energy which can only be leaked out through reckless skating, or gashing my skin again and again with scissors, in short bursts, tens of lines lined up against each other on my arms, my thighs, my stomach.  Shallow enough they won't scar, enough that is hurtshurtshurts, and when I'm done going horizontal I cross them off in vertical zig-zags and it feels good-bad.  Later that week I would say I had a sewing machine accident when asked about my bandaged left arm.  Cat scratches on my thigh.  My then-boyfriend eventually figured it out, but instead of giving me a one-way ticket to the looney bin (which probably would have saved our relationship, had he tossed me in the mental ward so I could have gotten my diagnosis before I ruin it all four months later.  Or he ruins it all.  We were both pretty insane, and running toward disaster, but I got but in the mental ward, and he got to not care about the girl he dumped) he told me not to do it.  I kept doing anyway until my first day at my new job.  They don't like it when tiny little teacher's aides carve up their arms.  They don't want people like that around kids.

I'm still on my medication, a little bit of antidepressants, but I'm sitting here with Helly Kitty Band-Aids and my pair of freshly-sharpened sewing scissors (the blue pair I use for paper and self-injury, not my good singer pair for when I actually sew).  I am anxious and angry and I know what I want.  I know where.  My left hip bone is screaming, so are the tops of my arms.  I don't know why there, I just know that that's where the negative energy is and it needs to gogogo.

I shouldn't have postponed my intake appointment.  I was sick, but I shouldn't have.  Can't keep one more week without carving lines in my skin and covering them in happy pink bandages meant to dress the skinned knees of four-year-old girls.

I guess I'm in trouble.  I guess I should write this in my actual journal, but it sounds so good.  I can write dynamically right now, and this is the first time since I was put on these drugs and I just want to let it out.