Latest Site Update: TheAnimeFanboy let me put his hilarious fic Kenshinball up! Go read it, one and all!!
Despite how completely awesome is the cross-shaped wound on my cheek, I’m not going to cut my face anymore because my mom is starting to annoy me with all her looks and questions about my sanity. I am not dangerously insane. I am not suicidal or in any similarly self-destructive mental state. I have examined my mental processes very thoughtfully lately, however, due to the discoveries I’ve made about knives and cutting my own skin. My self-diagnosis: I am a slow-swinging mild bi-polar who alternates between mild neurosis and mild psychosis. This is truly what I believe myself to be, and if my mom dares to suggest again that I need therapy, I know exactly what I’m going to say to her — and it’s not going to be friendly. This isn’t something that needs to be treated (at the moment; I’m keeping tabs on it since I know that things like this tend to get worse later in life… if I ever need professional diagnosis/medication, you can bet I’ll go get it — I’m not going to burden people I love with untreated mental disorders the way she does), and I don’t need her bigoted input when I’m not hurting myself or anyone else.
Well, technically, I am hurting myself. But not in any permanent way. I wouldn’t cut myself so it would leave a disfiguring scar, or impair my abilities. But I have to say that the highly dramatized stuff I’ve read about knives and self-mutilation — seeing the glint of steel, smelling blood, staring at your reflection in the shining blade as the edge slowly presses into your skin and turns scarlet (and so on) — it’s all true. Every last word. It’s freaking awesome to slice a big X on your face and just watch the blood and feel the pain… And then to put alcoholic sanitizer on it and just let this rush of burning pain spread through you… it’s beautiful. I believe it’s about control, but I’m not analyzing it (done enough of that already).
I’ve always had a masochistic streak. When I was a kid, I used to pinch parts of myself until I bled… it drove my mom crazy… I won’t get into my emotional masochism, ‘cause that’s a bit more difficult to explain without making me sound completely insane (which I’ve already established that I’m not), but yeah… it’s definitely there. There’s a sadistic side of me too, and to be frank, I’m afraid of it. The only nightmares I have anymore are about me hurting or killing someone; I can’t stand the thought… and yet, always, some little part of me screams delightedly, “YEAH!! RUN HIM OVER AGAIN!!!” And I think that’s what wakes me up. Hurting myself is one thing; allowing myself to be hurt by others is a similar thing… but hurting others is something entirely different. Something I don’t want to enjoy. It’s that fierce desire not to hurt others, no matter what the little repressed voice says, that keeps me from worrying about myself. If I didn’t fear to hurt others, I would be seriously afraid and would definitely seek counseling immediately. As it is, I think I’m not so far from normal… not that I really want to be normal, but it is safer, ne?
Here’s a delightful quote from my latest Favorite Fanfic: “He wanted, he admitted silently to himself as he leaned against his car, someone to take care of him. Someone stronger, who didn’t need their hand held, who wouldn’t offer themselves to him and leave the decision up to him. What he really wanted was to have the choice taken out of his hands. He frowned. That sounded wrong in his head, somehow. He didn’t want to be forced, but maybe…compelled.” That is me… it’s kinda freaky, but that is totally and completely me to the letter. Too bad I won’t find myself in the situation that he did. I’m a little worried, really, about how what I’ve been talking about here may affect the way people think of me. I don’t care much about the general populace, and I’ve never valued multiple friendships (considering that almost every single one of my friends has had serious dependency problems and was really only my friend for that reason)… but when I do find someone about whose opinion I care, I care very much. I am a little afraid that anyone who really gets to know me will decide that a semi-neurotic/pyschotic bi-polar isn’t safe to be close to. The traits I value in myself — intelligence and creativity, which are, I believe, unaffected by these minor disorders of mine — may not be what others want to find in me… and what they do want may be more tied up with my little problems. Naturally there are a few specific people, at the moment, that I’m worried about. And turning the situation around… from my point of view, I wouldn’t mind being close to someone like myself… but that’s me. Taking it to the extreme (let’s say both extremes: an insane genius)… I still don’t think I’d mind being close to such a person. But once again, that could be just me. Who knows?
When all’s said and done, this is just a momentary bout of introspective self-doubt that will pass quickly, probably once I get something written or have a really good dream. That’s one of the blessings of being semi-neurotic: it takes very little to make me all happy again. LOL. And life is generally good, after all. I like to think it’s because I choose to be happy with where and what I am, but that would be arrogant even for me. It’s really just luck. Whatever :)