Thursday, May 26, 2011

I gave my mom my utility knife

and I totally regret it right now, so looking at razor blades on Amazon is my new porn.  My utility knife sucked at cutting, but it hurt and I could do a series of quick shallow cuts.  And now it's gone.  I'm not sure why I cut; it's adult onset--I only had one episode as a teenager, but I desperately want to.  I guess the driving emotion is that I need to make up for what I didn't get done today and provide a mark for the things I did wrong.  I wasn't perfect, I guess, and cutting will make up for that.  I shed some blood and it makes things okay; I've balanced the scales.  I also get distinct satisfaction from watching the blood well up from the shallow wounds and the stains it leaves on my clothes the next day.

But I'm not cutting tonight; I have to go too far and draw too much attention to get an effective tool.

Also, I'm really trying not to hurt myself, so I'm writing about how I want to, and lusting after a 12-pack of nice, sharp, cheap, efficient tools, remembering the satisfying hairline scars left over from the last time I sliced and diced with a razor blade.

It's completely illogical, but cutting is a great example of the disordered brain at work. Surely if I punish my body, I won't say or do stupid things, I won't be lazy, I won't mess up.  And the crappy thing is, all of this is reinforced by the freaking endorphins that come with pain.  I'd be better off masturbating, if that didn't make me want to cut myself as well.

So what's an effed-up adult-kid to do?  I guess I'll read fanfic and pop a benadryl and try to sleep the urges off.  Tomorrow I'm getting sliced up at the doctor anyway, so I'll have to "enjoy" that.