Saturday, March 3, 2012


I'm laying in my bed listening to the snoring symphony in my room.  I can't sleep.  This is nothing new.  I was laying in bed watching the little slide show of drawing ideas in my head.  I draw.  A lot.  And I am sure it is no surprise that my drawings can be rather dark.  But I wasn't thinking of anything dark.  I was thinking about the different ways I could draw a girl pulling her houses, like the one I used for my blog.  I like the paradox of the cutesy drawing and the sad message/reality.  The ideas flowing between my ears weren't exactly unicorns and rainbows but they weren't sinister either, so there is no reason why my brain should jump to a really fucked up memory.  I was just lying in bed thinking about a mixture of stupid and brilliant drawing ideas when out pops a seriously unwanted memory. 

A couple of those horrible, fucked up photos show a little girl with gigantic bruising on her legs.  Bruising that literally covers the majority of the inner upper leg.  The only person I've ever personally let see the uncensored version of the photos asked me why I had such a large, severe bruise.  I had no idea.  I was completely blank.  I was an active and clumsy kid.  I just thought maybe I got it while doing something stupid, like jumping off the roof of a two story barn into a bail of hay (yeah, I was a bit of an adrenaline seeking monkey child).  I really had no memory of this bruise.  That is, until a few hours ago when it slammed into me out of nowhere like a diesel truck, steamrolling down hill with no breaks.  Now I know where that bruise came from.

I've spent the last few hours reluctantly laying in my bed, in agony, sobbing as silently as possible, sucking in my breath any time my girlfriend stirs in her sleep.  My legs are killing me.  I've taken both ib profin and Tylenol and have a heating pad set on high, but nothing has helped.  I have managed to fight the urge to cut but I have challenged my legs to a knock out boxing match.  My legs hurt both from my juvenile arthritis and from my punching.  I have no idea why I'd lose control and hit them as hard as I can.  I think maybe I wanted the pain I was feeling to be from something present and not something in my head.  Not many people know about my self injury but the ones that do always ask me why I do it to myself.  I have no good answer.  I don't have one of those deep meaningful reasons for it like the ones I've read about online.  I have no idea.  It is just a really insane impulse.  It's like being dehydrated and surrounded by nothing but infected salt water.  I know it's going to hurt me, but the desire to drink it and satisfy my thirst is pretty intense at times.

I don't want these memories.  I was much better off without them.  Why would I do this to myself?  What purpose do memories like these serve except for torture?  I am calling it a memory but that really isn't a big enough word.  It is more like a dream.  It is very very real for a while before I realize I'm dreaming and make myself wake up.  The dream always lingers.  I wish there was a reset button for my brain.  Can I do a factory reset and start over as someone else?