Finally!

It is 1:43 AM, I'm not sleeping, and I feel like writing.

So, here goes. God, it musta been... Wednesday? I was home, David had a friend over, and I was upstairs in Mom and my bedroom, alone. Well, I got bored. Here's the strange part: Boredom was all that it was.

I was completely able to recognize what I was doing. I -chose- to do what I did.

Like I said, I was bored. I was thinking of things to do, and nothing sounded good. I thought about cutting, and was like, "hm, sounds boredom relieving." So I went downstairs and got a kitchen knife. I sat at the foot of mom's bed and started scratching at the inside of my leg. I scratched and scratched and scratched.

Then, I kind of stopped, looked at my leg and my knife (which was still moving on my leg at this point) and was like, "What the FUCK am I doing?" Then, I snapped... Kind of.

I felt rage and the want to throw things. So I did. This was no blind fury. This wasn't premeditated, either. I just got angry and decided to start throwing things. After I ran out of things to throw without traveling across the room, I stopped and looked at what I did. I screamed.

Now, let me backtrack just a little. As I was throwing things, I was feeling anger that diminished quickly. As soon as I was out of things to throw, I was out of emotion. As I screamed, something inside me kind of broke... Actually, it more like froze. My emotional self froze completely. I felt no emotion.

For someone who had felt only negative emotion for several weeks (I had a slight period of happiness recently... Other than that, it's been months... close to a year of near continual negative emotion), feeling no emotions at all was quite nice.

I was kind of freaked out, at first. You don't have to have emotion to think something is weird and not right. I wasn't used to feeling nothing, so I scrambled for the knife and was going to continue scratching myself, but David (bless his heart) plied the knife away from me.

Then it kind of sank in. My movements were like that of Gollum, almost, so I grabbed Fuffles (my baby blanket that I still have for comfort), the book I was reading, and sat on mom's bed in the AC and read until Mom got home.

David called mom and I refused to speak. [There was something about a closet in there somewhere after I screamed, but David noted it and I don't feel like going back].

When Mom came home, she was kinda frantic. She was crying, cleaning, begging me to explain what was going on. Lots of boring stuff happened, and then I ended up in the ER until about 10... 30. It was decided I was to go to Methodist Hospital. Mom and Uncle Bert took me home, I grabbed some stuff, and headed off.

By the time I got into bed (in the hallway -.-") it was 4:30 and I was zonked.

Speaking of zonked, I'm getting that way now. I will post more about my hospital visit next time. Until then, I hope this answers some of your questions.