Sunday, February 25, 2018

Self-harmed for an hour; fought off assistance

I lay on the bed picking at my face, lost in a blissful null space of self-harm where you enjoy the pleasure of the pain and think about not that much. 

I did it for an hour. My wife came in and saw me and I yelled "I'm having a shower!" as if to say "there's no point, it's going to get wet and I'll have to stop" but she creamed me even as I fought her off. 

Not hard, just blocking her invading hand until she landed it on.

Then, with my being unable to do it anymore, I put a plastic bag on my leg to cover my healing excised scar site and had a shower. I creamed myself on exit and my wife checked I'd done so. The nearly-squeezed first tube is now in the shed for when I am here and the fresh tube in the bathroom for after the shower.

I failed. I self-harmed and enjoyed it. I fought off a sane person trying to help me.

My OCPD swelled monstrous after injury—and I'm on a hefty dose of a drug to stop me. But it couldn't, not this morning, and I blissed out on hurting myself.

It's fucked up. I've learned hurting myself gives me calm and that is deeply not right. That's happened because my brain chemistry is strudelled from injury, medication and life.

I hope I stop; that future me will go "no" and gently take me by the hand to cream my face so I can't tear strips from it no more.

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