So my in-town friend dumped me the day before yesterday, and then my sister was “too busy” to come see me yesterday (that was yesterday right? I’m losing track of time).
I felt really crummy last night. Like agitated and stressed and sad all at the same time. I felt like time was moving so slowly that I couldn’t actually stand it… Like Interstellar where every second is a day long or something.
So at 6:30 I thought about music, and curled up to try to get comfortable, and waited and waited until I was sure it was at least 8, then I looked at the clock. 7:16?! Are you kidding me?!
So I went looking for my nurse – there’s a board at the nursing station that says who is assigned to you – but she was on her break. So the nurse at the desk said that she would tell her when she got back. So I waited like infinity long, and went back out in the hallway around 9, and was told she was busy with another patient.
So I counted down from 60 and couldn’t wait anymore; I went in the bathroom to cut my arm just a bit. There is a zip tie attached to the pipes under the sink, and the edge of it (where they cut off the excess) is sharp.
Not really sharp, but sharp. Not conveniently placed, either, and you have to drag your skin against it a few times to make any progress. It is hard to see where you actually are making contact, which is challenging as I want one cut, not ten light scratches in different places.
I did as little as I could – which was where the skin was blood red but no blood actually dripping – and went back to bed.
And it was great. I know how baaad it’s supposed to be, and how it isn’t a Healthy Coping Strategy, but it made me feel really good. Calmer, and more centered, and then the little bit of arm pain was a distraction.
So this morning the psychiatrist came with a medical student, and was asking how the Ketamine went, and what the meltdown two days ago (when my friend dumped me) was about. And then he said “And the cutting – there hasn’t been any more cutting, has there?”
So I abruptly cut eye contact to look at my toes – not on purpose, I just had this deer-in-the-headlights reaction. Not exactly subtle. He caught on and said “you have??” and I said “It’s not a cut – It’s nothing, just a scratch.” He said “can we see it?” and I said “It would aspire to be a papercut at best!” and he asked if he could see it.
So I rolled up my sleeve and he said it looked old, and I said no, it was just from yesterday but a failure due to lack of materials rather than intent. So he said he’d see me the next morning but didn’t want to cut me a pass today due to my “impulsivity.” On one hand yes, I get that, but on the other hand there is a long way between a little scratch to relieve tension, and actually killing yourself.