I’m afraid this will be a rather short post this evening. But perhaps that’s just as well. Some of you regular readers might be getting a bit worn out, what with my posting twice a day. And most of it not too cheerful.
I am offering a report. This was my assignment today.
Some things need to to be dealt with. They just do. This needed to be.
And there also gets to be a point when you know that it is time. That it can be dealt with and that it has to be dealt with.
So I did what I usually do when it’s time to work out some serious, unpleasant things. I stayed in my pajamas, ate badly, drank an endless stream of very strong, very sweet tea, watched TV. And worked at this.
Oh, and I took a long nap.
I have two thoughts about it now. I’m not sure either of them are new, but I have them with a bit more clarity
A) I’ve been afraid my whole life of what I might do, either to myself or to someone else. I never attempted suicide again after that first time, and although I did self-harm, it never entered the realm of dangerous. Still, the urge to harm oneself is terrifying and confusing, not terribly unlike feeling you are possessed by the devil.
B) We harm ourselves because pain of one kind or another is simply unbearable. Death promises to end it. Self-harm is at least distracting, like putting ice on a mosquito bite. We might decide it’s about guilt or self-hatred or the general futility of life, but that’s not what it’s really about. Those are simply the ways we try to make sense of the urge after it’s already in our heads. We might think it’s about shame, but it’s just as likely the shame itself is the pain we are finding too much to bear. It was for me.
Oh, and the cat has retired from killing bugs. She now restricts herself watches them. Just thought you might like to know.
I am going to sleep really, really soundly tonight. Even if I need to kill all of my own bugs from now on.