I’ll be honest with ya’ll, it was a rough end to ’09 and ’10 is defining itself as a time in which I’m trying desperately to refill my emotional gas tank, the needle of which hovers over E right now. But I know one thing. I know one thing. I have a reminder of it on every Bauer bag/murse/backpack I’ve carried since about ’93 or ’94. It’s a crappy yarn-woven bookmark that is useless for that function, so now is merely decoration and a reminder. It was knitted for me by an older lady I remember only as “Babs” who I met while in intensive day treatment therapy and one lovely evening as an in-patient for a number of psychological problems.
I know one thing that this crappy yarn bookmark reminds me of every time I see it: I will not ever let myself get so out of control that I need to go back to that hospital.
I’m tired, worn out, stressed, on the virtual brink of being broke; I’ve been a shoulder, a confidante; and I’m out of gas. But I will never hurt myself again. Ever. If I ever thought I was about to, believe me, I wouldn’t hesitate to get the help I needed. But I don’t think that will ever be necessary, because I won’t let it be necessary. I’ll work it out. I’ll hit the heavy bag in my garage or scream or cry or play really f’ing loud Social D on my crappy Mexican Fender, but I will not hurt myself.
Nor should you.
Self-injury is not cool, not hip, not wicked-awesome, not anything but a thin bloody scream for help. Don’t let it get to that point. This is your only body. Use it wisely. Treat it well. This is your only mind; ditto. Your only heart; ditto again. I’m not saying ignore any hurt, any stress, any drama. I’m saying find a good way to deal with it. Hurting yourself is not going to help, not going to make it go away, and is not something you can take back. It’s as addictive as any drug.
So please — don’t. Get help. A friend, a parent, a teacher, I don’t care, but get it. You matter to me, and I guarantee you matter to others.
I’m not a licensed anything – not a doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist, therapist, or anything else. I’m just a guy who took a mental tumble many years ago and made it back. So can you. It does get better.
Hang in there. Instead of carving Liar, Hopeless, Failure, or anything else into your body, “write love on your arms,” a thousand times if you must. But don’t give in and don’t give up.
Take care.
~ Tom
