12 stitches because I didn’t test out my new toy before diving in as before. but at least I was stupid enough to go to work anyway. i’m already hiding my tears in the bathroom barely an hour into my shift. fuck.
He couldn’t believe how easy it was … he put the gun into his face, so much blood from such a tiny little hole, problems do have solutions you know? A life time of fucking things up fixed in one determined flash, everything’s blue, everything’s blue in this world, all fuzzy, spilling out of my head.
I know cutting doesn’t solve anything, but it makes everything stop just long enough that I can take a breath. It’s never enough, but right now it’s all I’ve got.
I’m screwed. I’m the kind of screwed where I can’t and/or won’t admit how out of control I am until it’s obvious to everyone and I’ve made a giant mess. I hate lying. I don’t lie. Until I do. Just about stupid things, like whether I’m safe alone, or okay enough to work, or in need of stitches. If I can go to the store and nothing shows I must be fine, right?
I should be in-patient, but the u.s. is stupid and throws new pills at you for a few days and shows you the door. Been there; done that; need a real solution now.
It is possible to be so special that it just massively fucking sucks. Trying to get successful treatment for a debilitating mental illness or three when your symptoms and reaction to all prescribed treatment are baffling to various highly experienced bio-psychiatrists and neurologists over a span of nine years, for instance.
I’d take average over this misery any day.
:) Thanks. Most of my progress has been in controlling my impulses and “powering through” to fulfill obligations regardless of my own interest or desires. Now I’m spending a third of my work shift hiding and cutting and then I leave early to “stay safe”, but I don’t qualify for disability because I’m not fired yet. ugh. Sorry, tirade over.