Self Abuse
When I was a kid, around 10 or 11 years old, I would wake up in the morning with my head down on the desk and the knife from my microscope dissection kit still on my arm. I had to wear long sleeve shirts in even the most humid weather to hide the marks on my wrist.
I used to think I must have been such an incredible wuss, to play with that knife when I could have gotten a razor from the bathroom at the bottom of the steps and done the job right. Only recently did I come to understand that they were't a coward's failed suicide attempts. I was what some people call a "cutter."
I was about to turn 20 when I broke a bone in my foot playing whiffle ball on the street. I walked on the foot for the next 11 days before finally going to the doctor. Then I walked on the leg in the cast because I "didn't feel like" using the crutches.
Years later when I was in college I had several operations on one knee. ("What, summer already? Must be time to go back under the knife.") Each time, as soon as I got out of the hospital, I went out to walk on the leg. Every time but one I went out to play frisbee within hours after leaving the hospital.
I quit smoking years ago. I don't do drugs or drink to excess. I don't have injuries to aggravate. I figured my self abuse was behind me by now.
It wasn't. Some habits die hard. You see, I misspoke above when I said "I was what some people call a 'cutter.'" A couple weeks ago or so, I cut again, though not my wrist this time. Hey, I'm older and wiser, not willing to live full time with long sleeve shirts, what with summer coming. Sorry, but bad jokes come with the territory.
This "recovery" thing is a lot of hard work, with setbacks and stumbling and progress oh, so slow. There have been a lot of ways I have abused myself, some less externally obvious but no less damaging.
If this sounds in any way familiar to you, well, what's that line again? You are not alone.
Thanks,
Joe
I used to think I must have been such an incredible wuss, to play with that knife when I could have gotten a razor from the bathroom at the bottom of the steps and done the job right. Only recently did I come to understand that they were't a coward's failed suicide attempts. I was what some people call a "cutter."
I was about to turn 20 when I broke a bone in my foot playing whiffle ball on the street. I walked on the foot for the next 11 days before finally going to the doctor. Then I walked on the leg in the cast because I "didn't feel like" using the crutches.
Years later when I was in college I had several operations on one knee. ("What, summer already? Must be time to go back under the knife.") Each time, as soon as I got out of the hospital, I went out to walk on the leg. Every time but one I went out to play frisbee within hours after leaving the hospital.
I quit smoking years ago. I don't do drugs or drink to excess. I don't have injuries to aggravate. I figured my self abuse was behind me by now.
It wasn't. Some habits die hard. You see, I misspoke above when I said "I was what some people call a 'cutter.'" A couple weeks ago or so, I cut again, though not my wrist this time. Hey, I'm older and wiser, not willing to live full time with long sleeve shirts, what with summer coming. Sorry, but bad jokes come with the territory.
This "recovery" thing is a lot of hard work, with setbacks and stumbling and progress oh, so slow. There have been a lot of ways I have abused myself, some less externally obvious but no less damaging.
If this sounds in any way familiar to you, well, what's that line again? You are not alone.
Thanks,
Joe