Posted by: ImpendingDawn | June 9, 2010

On the Edge

Today, I felt almost normal.

Also today, it was raining. In the past, I have had measureable emotional responses to the weather; happiness in the sunshine, anticipation in crisp air, and downright grumpiness in the rain. My emotions in the past week have also been closely linked to weather patterns, however I am unsure as to whether that can be attributed to some legit phenomena, or whether it’s merely a coincidence and I’m being ridiculous. In any case, I felt nearly normal today despite the weather, which I think is a great accomplishment. HOWEVER, I do not want to talk about the weather. I want to talk about my week.

After having that amazing experience at YC, I guess I was hoping that my life would change overnight… I would go to bed as my normal self  – stressed out, overly emotional, and spiritually dry – and wake up finding that everything was different. Because the Lord deigned to speak to me (or my overly active imagination tripped out again, one of the two), my life would just be fine and dandy.

It was not so.

For one day after YC, I was happy. I felt like I was in the right place in my life, and God was smiling down on me. I felt like I could make it through anything. Even the thought of all the life-changing choices I would be making in the next little while didn’t faze me.

The next day was hell.

Things seemed normal at first, but then a dark
shroud began to encase my heart and my mind. Rational thought stopped. I began beating myself
down, ripping myself apart. Either I wasn’t thinking at all, I was contemplating the dark abyss of my life, or I was ripping my own heart out. I could not see the point of life. I could not see the point of anything I was doing. I felt like my entire life was a waste, like I was a waste. Things got darker and darker. I couldn’t smile anymore. My laugh was harsh, bitter, and forced. My eyes were cold and empty.

And I kept thinking about blood.

Not in a vampirish way. I didn’t want to drink it, merely drain some of it from my body. I would be standing aimlessly among a group of my friends, completely oblivious to all around me, because I was thinking about blood drying from cuts on my wrist. “How beautiful,” I would think. “How terribly beautiful.”

I kept pushing those thoughts away, because I knew they were dangerous.

Then one night, I couldn’t push them away anymore. None of my coping mechanisms were working. I couldn’t escape. I sat on my bedroom floor and looked at my wrist. Just looked. I knew that I was on the edge.

I began dragging my nail across my skin, noting with interest the darker pink where the nail was pressing and the lighter pink around the edges.

I wanted to cut. It would be so easy.

Then, something made me get up and go to the bathroom. Something made me get my pajamas on and crawl into bed. Something made me fall asleep with tears drying on my cheek and my unmarred wrist laying near my face.

I didn’t cut that night. I haven’t for over a year.

I find it difficult to think about these experiences, much less write them down. I know that I haven’t dealt with the core issues that keep causing these intense bouts of depression. I know I haven’t. I’m afraid to.

And I guess that’s the entire point of writing this blog: maybe if I write down my most trivial thoughts often enough, I’ll finally be able to deal with the important stuff. Maybe.


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