Self-harming

There was something on TV this evening about self-harm (cutting), and it reminded me.

All the times I've lain here thinking about suicide. The most common scenario I come to always involves a big knife and arterial bloodflow. You know this - I've mentioned it plenty of times before.

But what I haven't mentioned is the fact that every time, as I decide against the wrist slitting, I move on to fantasies of practising. Carving into my arms, just to see how tough the skin would be, how difficult it would be to hit the artery, how it would look and feel as the blood started to flow.

The urge to do it is as strong as the one to end it all. What stops me is partly the fear that I would enjoy it too much, and become addicted. Even more, though, is the suspicion that that first cut would be so simple, so easy, so lacking in fuss or consequence, that I would see no reason not to just keep on going. And suddenly, that would be that.


2.30am. Three hours of crazy hallucinations. That was a lot of morphine; it did knock the pain down but it left me floating around in a sea of bizarro-weirdness. It's wearing off now, but hope that doesn't mean the pain will be back - really don't want to take any more mind-spinners.