NOTE: This post graphically discusses self-harm. If this is a trigger for you, please do not read further.
Happiness is not a foreign concept to me. As I mentioned yesterday, I had a salon appointment. My nail tech did, indeed, ask about the bandages on my arm, and I muttered something about having cut myself. Fortunately, by that point, my husband replaced the Disney Band-Aids with 2 of the biggest, yet appropriately-sized bandages I’ve ever seen, and they were that normal Band-Aid color.
I also got my hair done. I was scheduled for a cut and color, and when I was at the salon last week, I mentioned to my stylist that I wished I could go red, but my hair is so dark. As you can see from the picture, she certainly got my naturally black hair to a red that’s even brighter than she expected, and that we both love! I absolutely LOVE it! I guess there’s still a bit of punk rock in me lol! I was excited and elated when I left the salon.
Not long after I got home, I cut again. It was a compulsion. This time it wasn’t to release emotional pain — it was to release tension. As the razor went up my arm, it was stimulating — I felt a rush that, I admit, was awesome. I spent the rest of the night trying not to cut, because it had an addictive quality. At least I had TV shows to watch, which was a good distraction. Also, I began feeling a bit manicky; turns out, I forgot to take my morning meds, which is when I take the majority of my mood stabilizers.
Anyway, my husband e-mailed my psychiatrist again, who this morning, replied:
“It may be a good idea to go to the hospital right now. One thing that they can do is get Barb up to a good dose of lithium very quickly, as they can take daily blood draws and monitor her closely. In fact, I would perhaps suggest that this is the best course of action.”
So there may be another hospital stay in my very near future. I did text with my therapist yesterday, who called me last night. She said we need to figure out better coping mechanisms. I have an appointment with her early this afternoon, and my husband will be sitting in.
As I type this, I feel the depression again. I don’t know if I’m rapid cycling, or if it’s because I forgot to take my meds yesterday morning. I hate feeling this way, and I absolutely regret having cut, period. As I said, it feels like an addiction.
If I do end up going to the hospital, too bad I can’t wear my Doc Martens to complete the punk look lol! They’d only take the laces away, and it’d be awfully hard to walk in unlaced combat boots!
I’m sorry I haven’t been reading your posts these past couple of days, but I want to thank everyone for sharing their stories, love, support, and encouragement. ❤️❤️❤️
If you’ve ever cut, did it feel addictive?