Art Distraction

In my effort to not self-harm, I arted some more. Neither is finished, but it helped me get through the evening injury free.

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Baby steps

I decided to give away my blades. It’s slightly overwhelming, but I know I need to if I’m going to make progress.

Hospitalization: Part 8

Journal entry from my fourth day on the psychiatric wing.
**Self-harm trigger warning**

Today was hard. My depression was high, my self-harm urges were high, my suicidal ideation was high, and my anxiety was high.

Having so many strangers (visitors) all over the place had me on edge, and not having a private place to go had me frantic. I wanted to cut., I wanted to hit walls and cause bruises, I wanted to bang my head against a wall, I wanted to stab myself, I wanted to cut my throat, I wanted to take the knife from dinner and use it to cut.

I was given Ativan. It helped mildly. It took the very edge off, and that’s all. Not what I was hoping from an anxiety medication.

I want to cut. So badly. I’m going to try to sleep instead.

Curiosity killed the cat

I cut it open to see what was inside, but all I could see was blood.

The Bloody D *Self-harm Trigger Warning*

I cut and wrote a D in my skin. It stands for Don’t fucking eat.

Don’t expect anyone to love you. 

Don’t sit around on your butt today. 

Don’t eat, you fat whore.

Disgusting, that’s what you are. 

Don’t even think about eating that. 

All this and so much more.

The gold calls to us

There is a blue vein in my left wrist that sticks out. I’m left-handed, so I normally don’t cut on my left arm. However, when I look at this vein, I want to open it.

It calls to me. It’s not a suicidal thing. It’s not even really a self-harm thing. I just feel the desire to slice into it, to see the blood.

Just to see the blood.

The way it sticks up underneath my skin, it’s like it’s daring me to look inside. 

Alas, anorexic nurses. Ugh. 

I might have a problem *self-harm trigger warning*

I opened the drawer by my bed and this was the first thing I saw.

Also, I should probably get rid of some of these…

Backpedaling

I noticed a trend in myself this morning. I backpedal a lot. But only in situations where it’s important, and mostly when others are trying to help me.

I remember, when I did residential in 2010, I was there for almost 8 months. About halfway through, I was really struggling. I was having a lot of hallucinations and I was very suicidal. I wrote a note about it and put it in the program director’s mailbox. (That’s about as direct as a I get.)

I was summoned to her office to talk about the note. When confronted, I backpedaled. No, I wasn’t reallyworried about hurting myself. I that suicidal. (I’m not sure how suicidal you have to be to be considered a risk?) I wasn’t really having hallucinations. Blah, blah, blah.

Because I couldn’t be upfront and honest, I ended up not getting the specialized help that I needed, and my stay there was probably longer than it would have been otherwise.

I noticed this morning that I do this a lot. I put some information out there, wait for the professionals to react, then retract my statements. I don’t know why I do this. I did it this morning.

In my session this morning, I mentioned in passing how much I was struggling, and the finger indecent. He was, naturally (and rightly) concerned. He wanted to call an ambulance and have me admitted in the hospital to keep me safe. He was very worried about my safety.

So, I did the only logical thing, which was to downplay the whole event and to minimize the extent to which I was struggling. I’m, apparently, really good at this. I’m great at assuring mental and medical health professionals that I’m not really a danger to myself and that I’m not really struggling. And I convinced him. Well, at least enough that he didn’t call the ambulance.

He did schedule another meeting for Monday, but I wasn’t admitted to the hospital today.

The thing is, I do this with myself. I have thought every day this week, at some point, “if I’m feeling this way tomorrow, I’ll go to the hospital.” But when the next day comes, I talk myself out of it. I convince myself that I’m really not doing that badly and that I don’t really need to go.

Again, I don’t know why I do this. Maybe I should tell him on Monday…

It’s hard to cut with a screwdriver

And also with Pokemon pins.