So I still wrestle with cutting myself.
Not proud of it but that's the truth.
I had a bad day on Saturday.
In the early afternoon I started making a numerical list of all the bad things that were happening to me that day. By 4pm I was in #23.
It was a pretty shitty day.
I wanted to cut myself on the drive home. I had two boxcutters in my bag and a handful scattered in my car
I thought about doing it on my wrist, suicide style, but that area started hurting and aching, like a phantom pain of sorts. It honestly hurt as if I had done it already. Ouch.
So I slashed my hand. My left hand. One quick motion on a part of the top of my palm that I usually cut at.
I bled for fifteen minutes.
I couldn't stop the bleeding.
I tried to stay calm, putting pressure on the gaping wound with a wretchedly dirty towel I use to clean off dirty windows.
I bled. A lot.
And if I had actually gone ahead and cut my wrist like I had wanted to, I think I may have died.
The wound was so deep that you could almost see muscles inside.
This is a picture of the wound two days later.
I feel so vague about this.