So, summing up the past couple of weeks, I can say that the men in white coats aren't coming for me just yet. In fact, being a scientist, I have a white coat of my own, so I've got that covered.
The last couple of weeks have been difficult at work, and I haven't had a chance to sleep much or do anything particularly enjoyable. That situation is now (hopefully) over, and I can get back to normal patterns of activity. I was aware during that time that I badly needed to do some falling apart, but there was no room for that in my life and it had to wait. That kind of resolve is not long term, and there was one morning when I had to sit on the sofa for a bit and accept that I was going to be late for work because it was either that or have the department see me in tears.
To celebrate the craziness being over, I stopped off at Tesco on the way home and bought a small (yes, it really was small) bottle of Somerset cider. It seems that I have no tolerance for alcohol these days, because that was enough to have me lying flat out on my bed with a stupid smile of drunkenness on my face. The smiling did not last, especially not when I broke out the Sarah McLachlan playlist.
(Note: I don't find music in itself to be depressing, but when I know I need an emotional release, it can help.)
And here we come to the resourcefulness of the practised self-harmer.
You see, there was a tiny smidge of whiskey left in the bottle I keep in my bedroom (I know, I know) so naturally I drained it. The top of the bottle was one of those metal screw caps with tiny sharp flecks on them from the cracking noise they make when you open them. Sharp, but not enough to do any serious damage. That knowledge gave me carte blanche to really go for it. I didn't need to be careful, because I couldn't really hurt myself. It was liberating.
I won't be doing it again, because I didn't find it particularly satisfying without the element of danger.
I don't have much more to say, so until the next time... Kerry x
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