It's Been a Month

All the warnings galore:




There's a hole in the wall, from where I tried to smash my head through it.
A Puddle of blood, soaked through the carpet, and more than likely through the wood under it, that has dried by my bed. A box cutter, with Rust colored dried blood, is sitting open under a dirty clothes hamper.


I lost my mind.
I'm still healing physically, and emotionally.

Something else took over.
My inner demon.
The voice, that challenges every positive interaction, won.

It received validation, someone else saying I was the problem, and it got free.

I tried everything I could.
I bit myself, the bruises didn't become apparent until they faded over a week after. I was pinching, it wasn't enough.

It all happened in a blur.
I blacked out.
That voice reminded me that it was right, and I was wrong. I was so wrong.

I've been fighting my self destructive side for so long. I was exhausted mentally, emotionally, from fighting it.
Hearing someone validate that voice. Was enough, that time, to grow in power.

I blacked out.
I remember head butting the wall, in desperation, Then I regained control again when I saw the river of blood running down my leg.

That feral, blood lust part of me. Remembered where the box cutter was.
It had always taken a note of it.
Every time I saw it, I thought to myself "I need to put that away"
but I never did.

Maybe It didn't want me to.
I grabbed it, slid it opened and cut, deeply.

First time in six years.
First time hurting myself in three.
I sobbed.
I was drained.

It won.

I went to the hospital, after twelve hours it was still profusely bleeding.
They gave warnings on waiting so long for stitches, I spent three hours in the ER.
I lied to them to get me to go home.
"Do you have thoughts of suicide"
"No" I lied
"Did you do this to end your life."
"No.." I half lied.  I want to kill myself. I didn't do this to kill myself. I did this as a way to DESTROY myself.
"Do you have feelings of self loathing, self depreciation, etc?"
"No" Another lie.
I lied through my teeth to keep from being put into a hospital over night, or for a few days.
I had work. I didn't want to be alone. The fear of being alone, and being fired is greater than staying alive.

Four stitches, and five staples later...
That damn voice won. That demon had it's blood lust satisfied. So it crawled back.
But it was stronger.
I'm still fighting it.
Work is not helping.
I'm alone more often than not, and I can't get it to shut up.


I'll be seeking help when I can afford it. Maybe I'll be put on medications. Maybe a therapist is all I need.
The stitches came out, my scars are still healing.
I needed to get this out.
I needed to confront what happened.
The bill came out to over $1600, and I'm sure it's still counting.

I'm still depressed from this.
I'm still wallowing in my own self doubt.
I don't know if I can fix this
I don't even know if I truly want to fix this.

I just don't know.


z