For The Concerned Masses......or maybe just for the three or four people actually reading this blog.

Here is an update on my status since my...uh, foray into self-harm.
I am fine. Really. All of this will be sorted out very soon. I see a new psychiatrist on Wednesday and he'll find me proper treatment.

As for my arm...

Moment of Truth

Even though it happened six months ago, I still think about it and felt like sharing.
My sister, Faith, and I have never really had a "great" relationship. Once she hit junior high we went our separate ways. Even now our relationship wouldn't fall under any usual category of sibling relations. We have a lot in common--more than either of us realize at times, I believe--but we are still almost polar opposites. Anyways... Most of the time my sister (unintentionally) rubs me the wrong way once we are together for more than a day or two, so I naturally at times do not look forward to visiting with her.
Last Thanksgiving when I was at the University of Michigan, I flew to DC to spend the holiday with her since it was MUCH cheaper and faster than going home to see the parental units. I was sick the entire week prior to my visit (and still was extremely ill when I went) and I stepped off the plane not really glad to have to spend three days in a strange city with my semi-annoying sister. Then I saw her in the crowd gathered at the security exit with her pea coat and little scarfy and I felt this completely random smile form on my face and, for the first time ever, I was relieved to see my sister.
So despite my mixed feelings toward her, I really do love her.
This revelation to most seems elementary: you have a sibling, you love them. For me, this was something I long awaited.

God, The Devil...and Bob

Okay, so there really is no "bob" in this scenario. I just wanted the title to sound like that short-lived cartoon from back in the day (which was a Wednesday. Ask Dane Cook).

So I have been struggling with an urge to cut myself, but my sense of reason (and a little bit of fear) has allowed me to win the struggle.
Tonight, as I was watching South Park on my computer something totally random just hit me. I got up and took a needle from my mum's all-purpose sewing kit and started looking for some sort of topical numbing agent. I ended up only finding Neosporen plus pain relief and Cortizone10 (used for itch relief). I put both creams on and started to poke away with the needle. Fortunately I am too much of a wimp to repeatedly stab myself. The wrist has too many tendons for this method to work without massive pain.
This was God's grace. His grace that my mum has insisted on keeping dull knives in our kitchen (and that she took the one sharp knife with her to Seattle). It was his grace that I could not find the adequate materials for self-mutilation. Thank you God!
But then the devil put in his two cents. The other day when I was looking for the insurance card and current registration for our van, I noticed a razor blade in the change tray. Pretty odd, right? The devil reminded me of this and without even thinking I went out and retrieved it. My sense of reason, it seems, took a smoke break. I sterilized the blade with Purell (Go OCD!) and started cutting.

So there it is, I am a cutter.



How the hell did I ever get to this point?



I am a cutter.

The Supernatural

Even though my mum thinks the CW television show "Supernatural" is sheer evil, I have watched it and am now addicted. She doesn't know this of course. Granted, the show is about evil spirits, ghosts, demons, etc. but at the core is the struggle of two brothers against the natural (and unnatural) world.
Since my sister and even my friends really aren't all that close to me, I needed to find a different outlet for my confusing/scary emotions. I have chosen this television show. I feel a connection to the character Sam Winchester because he is an intelligent person trying his hardest to fight the evil inside him; I may not be one of the yellow-eyed demon's chosen, but I lead a battle against my OCD, depression and anxiety (example: my last entry). I know this seems entirely irrational to someone outside my situation, but I sometimes watch the episodes and believe that if Sam can keep his moral center against the agents of the devil then I can hold off my self-destruction.

Let's take a moment to survey all of this: What sort of world do we live in when the depressed youth find more comfort in the fictitious realm than in reality? One of the first steps in the treatment of any mental illness is seek help, talk it out with someone. But where has everyone gone?

Am I really crazy?

I've basically accepted the fact that I'm different from most everyone else. My mind rarely settles in one place for long, I am a thinker, an observer, a dreamer. I suppose I could say that I believe a person is only limited by their imagination. I imagine the practical and the impractical on equal terms.
My high school friend Kelsey once said I am probably the most sane person on earth and it is everyone else who dwells in the insane. Sometimes I still believe that. When I think about all the problems in society today it seriously makes me wonder why EVERYONE isn't affected by anxiety or depression. Honestly, theses are bleak times: war, terrorism, uncertainty, the increasing threat of a biological pandemic. If Americans were really paying attention to things, they'd be lining up at the nearest pyschiatrist's office.
In the past month or so, I've had the growing suspicion that I am bi-polar. Sometimes I am perfectly okay, I try my best to handle everything thrown at me and I actually feel like a normal 20-year old. Other times (like right now) I have this strange vibe come over me. Lately I wake up and one of the first things on my mind is self-mutilation. Should I use a knife? One of my mum's rotary cutters?
I've had thoughts like these in the past, but I easily shook them off as completely irrational. Now it seems like no amount of reason can stop them. They lurk at the back of my mind, surfacing whenever I try to settle down.
I am scared. My anti-depressant/anxiety medication is failing me. How long can I hold my thoughts at bay? Even as I type this I consider crossing the living room and getting a knife from the kitchen. What the hell is wrong with me?