Ahhh...the irony

Warning: This entry may be triggering to some people. Please stop reading now if you are easily triggered or are recovering from SI.

Yesterday at work I spent about an hour thinking about how fun it would be to cut my belly... Just a few cuts between my belly button and my pubic bone... Between 3 and 5 slashes with a triple-blade razor... Not very deep... Just enough to draw blood and release that opiate-like chemical in my brain that sort of numbs me... Just enough to FEEL the blade go through my skin...and to make a lovely pattern of scabs when it heals...

I haven't cut in a while (actually, since June 12th). I wasn't angry yesterday. I wasn't feeling overly depressed or sad or emotional. I have no idea why I wanted to cut. It just sounded like a good idea.

Maybe I was just slightly triggered by reading sirenslave's diary yesterday. Her descriptions of her love of blades and needles and pain are quite beautiful. Who knows? Sometimes I just want to do it, simply because I can...

I think this is the first time I've mentioned my self-injury in this diary. I've done it in varying degrees since I was a child. I've always picked at my face, nails and cuticles until I've made myself bleed. (My fingernails are currently the shortest they've ever been.) When I was younger, I used knives/keys/ fingernails/whatever sharp or semi-sharp object was around to make welts on my skin. I never drew blood, but the welts would last for hours, and were fun to look at.

Lately I've been using triple-bladed disposable razors to actually draw blood, to cut myself. The last two times were both during fights with my husband. The last time I cut about 5 times on my left upper thigh, and the time before that I made about 3 cuts on my right wrist. I always have a place picked out before I do it. Actually, that's not really a true statement. I don't actually pick the spot. My body tells me where it wants me to do it.

It whispers, "See those wrinkles on your wrist? I think they need to be deeper…"

I try not to cut deep enough to leave scars, and so far, I've been lucky. I also try to cut in places where it can be hidden if I need it to be, whether just with keeping my clothes on or by wearing long sleeves, or whatever.

My husband knows that I SI, and he's been very good about trying to understand it (after the first time he caught me, when he threatened to throw me into a hospital), and to help me restrain myself when I feel an urge to do it. I bought a GREAT book on the subject, called A Bright Red Scream by Marilee Strong. She's a journalist who interviewed doctors and SIers from all over, of all ages and backgrounds. It's a great book for families of SIers to read to try to get a better understanding of why we do it.

I might lose some readers with this entry, but oh well. I'm just trying to be honest in here. At least I know some people know what I'm talking about, understand, and love me anyway. *grin*
So, anyway, the irony in the title is that I was thinking about cutting yesterday, decided not to, and then last night while my husband and I were taping down the drop cloth so we could paint the living room, I cut myself unintentionally. The cats knocked a vase off of a stand in the living room last Christmas, and I thought I had gotten all the pieces. Apparently I hadn't.

I was smoothing down a piece of tape, and something hurt my finger. I looked down at my left hand, and saw that I had cuts across my first, middle, and ring fingers on my left hand. OUCH. The middle finger cut started bleeding pretty badly, and it sort of made me feel light-headed. It took a bit of pressure to make it stop. So now I have these three lovely cuts on my left hand.

How funny is it that I enjoy cutting myself, as long as it's INTENTIONAL? If I do it accidentally, it hurts like a bitch, and makes me nauseated and light-headed.

Once again, YES, I am a freak.