Reason for last entry
As I walked home last night with the wind whistling past my ears I got thinking about things a little too deeply for a lonely night, given my lack of sobriety. And I thought about what had happened the night of the first entry in this journal, about how at one point I thought I was going to lose my self control. The self control that I've been working so hard to keep for the last 3 years and it scared me.
Firstly because I really thought I had it sorted and although I didn't act on my impulses I was right on the edge. Secondly because I had been sooo sure about why I used to cut myself. I'd gone through it so many times with my counsellor and had come to the conclusion that it was normally for one of two reasons. 1: to punish myself for having hurt someone else or 2: to externalise the pain that other people had caused me, and then watch it "heal" into a scar so that I could keep the memory without the pain. On the day in question some fucker had stolen my disk with all my work from this year on it, the most important thing being that I had been working on this project for about twenty hours and it was due in the next day. So my obvious reaction: well, it should have been anger, or extreme pissed-offness and then I should just have got on with doing it again, but nooooo, it was "I have to cut myself" shortly followed by "I shouldn't be thinking like this" and so I threw a few "coping mechanisms" into my path to try to calm myslef down. I first tried "distraction" read some crap on the internet, played around a bit, created this LJ but eventually got tired of that and decided to go and give blood (cos it was blood donor day at uni). So I went down there and they spoke some gibberish to me, which I'm guessing was Catalan, and I explained in Spanish that I didn't speak Catalan. So then this nurse came to so me the questionnaire I had to fill in and asked me:
Her "have you ever given blood before"
Me "yes, in England"
Her "oh, are you English?"
Me "yes"
Her "oh, well you can't give blood here then"
Damn them and their dislike for mad cows. Bastards. I wanted you to harm me. I wanted you to stick something in my arm. I wanted to see the blood flowing out of me in a tube. I wanted to see a bag fill up with my blood.
If anything, this rejection made me feel worse so I had to go for a walk to try to calm myslef down cos now I just wanted to cut myself due to the sheer injustice of the situation. But I didn't. I gave SI a kick up the arse, but not before it had managed to scare the shit out of me.
Firstly because I really thought I had it sorted and although I didn't act on my impulses I was right on the edge. Secondly because I had been sooo sure about why I used to cut myself. I'd gone through it so many times with my counsellor and had come to the conclusion that it was normally for one of two reasons. 1: to punish myself for having hurt someone else or 2: to externalise the pain that other people had caused me, and then watch it "heal" into a scar so that I could keep the memory without the pain. On the day in question some fucker had stolen my disk with all my work from this year on it, the most important thing being that I had been working on this project for about twenty hours and it was due in the next day. So my obvious reaction: well, it should have been anger, or extreme pissed-offness and then I should just have got on with doing it again, but nooooo, it was "I have to cut myself" shortly followed by "I shouldn't be thinking like this" and so I threw a few "coping mechanisms" into my path to try to calm myslef down. I first tried "distraction" read some crap on the internet, played around a bit, created this LJ but eventually got tired of that and decided to go and give blood (cos it was blood donor day at uni). So I went down there and they spoke some gibberish to me, which I'm guessing was Catalan, and I explained in Spanish that I didn't speak Catalan. So then this nurse came to so me the questionnaire I had to fill in and asked me:
Her "have you ever given blood before"
Me "yes, in England"
Her "oh, are you English?"
Me "yes"
Her "oh, well you can't give blood here then"
Damn them and their dislike for mad cows. Bastards. I wanted you to harm me. I wanted you to stick something in my arm. I wanted to see the blood flowing out of me in a tube. I wanted to see a bag fill up with my blood.
If anything, this rejection made me feel worse so I had to go for a walk to try to calm myslef down cos now I just wanted to cut myself due to the sheer injustice of the situation. But I didn't. I gave SI a kick up the arse, but not before it had managed to scare the shit out of me.