Wednesday, 7 October 2015

last entry is bonkers

but i guess the title of the blog comes into play then

spent the last half hour scraping skin with knife; not sure why - meaningless bollocks, I guess.

Keeping the self centered in a hyposensory crisis - that's my angle anyways.

I miss blogs. This one doesn't count - it's basically a delayed email system.

OK So I Fucking Get It

Holy shit I'm drunk as fuck - nystagmus dominating my present, but it's so worth it...

So I experienced the Joy of Self Harm just now. Been spending all evening trying to deal with emotional response to an upset father... seems a bit meaningless now, because I feel like Einstein... tempted to write this off as some sort of insane thing but actually it's pretty useful, if only for my future self.

There's this kid at school who indulges (indulges? needs) self-harm in order to cope with a situation over which he has no control. The kid who he was once friends with is suddenly no longer his friend, and this boy spends his lunchtimes trying to figure out why... ends up descending into self-harm because ultimately that's the only way to understand what the hell happened...

long story short.

so I put a knife to my foot, and try to pierce it. Doesn't work. Doesn't draw blood. No joy in the pain. It's pain that annoys, no more. Start to think that self-harm is something I will never understand. I then for some reason decide to draw the blade over my leg in a constant motion.

That's the ticket.

It's a hug from a blade.

I'm not going to sugar-coat it: it feels fucking amazing at this moment. I never understood why people self-harmed before: I thought it was to draw attention to themselves, or to form material for songs, but no... holy fucking shit, it was like having an orgasm without the actual orgasm. I haven't felt pleasure like that for fucking years. I felt like Icarus coming close to the sun. It's no lie. It's no exagerration. It felt so good I'm actually aroused just thinking about it again. I'm not holding back here, because it's fucking important...

The blade drawing itself slowly over the skin... it's protective. It's a hug. I will repeat this over and over because that's it. That's my Eureka moment. It's a hug from a blade.

I felt so fucking numb before that happened. Nothing was working. I hit myself on the head - momentary relief. That was taken from Daniel at work. I pinched myself. Same result. I grabbed fabric and it was a temporary resistance. I liked the resistance: use it.

All I can think of is that these kids, especially Ben, need to go to the gym. The equipment has a strength they will never overcome. They need that dominance. I needed that dominance, in that moment. I will be ok, but I am a method actor. I need to experience things in order to understand them. Didn't think I was able to act, but apparently I can. I will survive. I am Gloria Thingy. I am stoic, so don't worry, if you're reading this. This is nothing but a record to myself, but I want you to see. In this moment of temporary vulnerability, I need you to see. Thanks for being my seer.

Girl Anachronism comes on. Suddenly, there is clarity so complete it almost scares me. I think hyposensory issues are responsible for what we call borderline behaviour. What we call depression. Hyposensory issues mean that what we give people is simply not good enough. They need resistance, godamnnit. They need something to fight against and TO LOSE.

This needs emphasis. "She'll burn - the attention just encourages her." They need the defeat. They need to know that it's SAFE TO LOSE. 

Total absence of a parental figure means replacing it with something else that will ensure defeat. We make our children win too much. They need something against which there can never be a victory. Otherwise, if adults always play the role of understanding, the child will wonder where the end is. Where the boundaries lie.

This is choking me up a bit as I write because this shit applies to actual students I work with. I hate how I need to experience their emotions in order to understand them. I don't actually need to hit myself on the head when I feel like shit. My dad is depressed, and lonely, and doesn't understand why his wife rejected him. I'm drunk enough to gain perspective on the situation now. It will be okay. He will get through this. He may die confused, but he will not be unhappy. I think.

This moment made me vulnerable enough to enter into the world of the vulnerable child. Talk about method acting. Spread of action. Meme personality. Copycats everywhere. Are they man or are they Memorex? That was a lyric I had no idea about until it happened irl as I typed.

If this document is worthless, that makes me glad.
If this document is worth even a sliver after bypassing the melodrama, that also makes me glad

At the moment, my painful ways into the psyche of the children is proving successful. Method acting as fuck. But I'm worried for myself. What if I'm a genius, though?

On that road, there was a meeting today in which I said that the methods I proposed for one student proved successful, and as a pisstake, Linda mockingly did a worshipping mime directed my way - hate how I can't tell whether to take that as a massive insult, or a tongue-in-cheek insult.