The following incident and the pictures at the bottom that go with it, are a symtom of an illness that I have been fighting since I was 22 years old. If anyone is at all curious and does not think i am a total loon after seeing the pictures here are a couple of books about the subject.
"Skin Game, A Memoir"
By Caroline Kettlewell
"A Bright Red Scream, Self Mutilation and the language of Pain"
by Marilee Strong
The 7th of May,
Last month I was sitting on the bathroom floor in my boyfriends house with blood streaming down my arm. My back to the bathtub, watching as the blood dripped onto the hardwood floor, all over the pink showercurtain and all over my sweatpants and blue corona shirt. As I sat on the floor, I began to feel a little bit weak. I wondered, perhaps if this time I had gone too far. Terrified of what my boyfriend would say when he got home, and staring blankly at the white dingy bathroom ceiling, I accepted, perhaps my impending death and I was happy. (A little scared but happy) Finally realizing that I was not going to die I called my best friend and told her everything that had happened earlier that night. Then I waited, cold, weat, bloody and tired for my fate, which I was sure was going to be terrible.
Earlier in the afternoon things had just gotten off to a horrible start between my boyfriend and me. The night before,we were watching Sue Joe on Oxygen and a woman on the show had concerns about her bisexuality. I asked if my boyfriend had ever looked at other men. I kept edging him on. wandering who, I thought it was surely someone in the past (like my thoughts for the same sex when i was young and confused) but instead he threw out a name of a guy in his office!
So, I said i hated him because he was gay, Then I apologized and said it just hurt my feelings, The same way my feelings got hurt when he used to look at other women all the time. I said that was why I lost all the weight I lost it so he would stop looking at other women. I also said thats why I started nude modeling so he would stop doing that.
Then the fighting started again, I was still hurt so I called him a fag. His response to that was I basically, I don't care about your work as a model. He said, "Why would i care if I am with a nude model, WHy did i think it was such a big deal. He said, We never touch, never take showers together, never cuddle with each other nude, never have sex,, He asked, What difference does it make having a bunch of nude pictures of you??
Right then, I stormed into the den and ripped in half all the nude pictures of me that he had printed out last night for my portfolio.
WHen he saw what I did, he came back and I was "the stupidest person he has ever known in his life." I ask why he would say that and then add.. "You don't care about my work, you don't care, why should i? So I ripped up the pictures. I said if he didn't care about my work, then i would stop. i would miss the three jobs i had lined up because there is no point to the modeling anymore if he could care less. Then he left the house once to go get a carpet shapooer I left too, I put on my skates and took a handful of morphine. Then i went outside for two hours, skating and laying in the sun (then i got deathly sick from my medication).
So, after he leaves and before i leave for skating, I stab one of my 8 knives into his computer desk, with a note attached saying FUCK YOU.
Later that day we got back at the same time, he saw the note and sarcastically asked me if I wanted to go to a movie. I whispered that i didn't think we should be around each other right now, and he walked out. When he came back again, he asked if I wanted to go to Wal-Mart, in the same tone. This time I did not even answer him. So he slammed the door and left.
As, I sat on our bed, pulling at the torn blue and green comforter, I could feel the fury inside me began to grow. I had no idea how Paul and i could start talking again unless i did something drastic.
The first thing I grabbed was a framed black and white nude picture of me, taken in September of 2004 at Black Diamond Caves here in Northern California. I threw it across the hallway and it shattered into a million pieces against the closet door. Next, I destoyed the Star Wars Movie collection I had given Paul for Christmas. Tearing up the DVD's with all the passion I had. My anger showed no signs of stopping, so I reached for one of my razor blades. The shiny new kind, the straigtedge blades that come in a box individually, very sharp and dangerous. Before I went for myself, I ripped up a shirt i had given him for christmas, leaving a nice pile of mess by the closet door.
Finally, I went for myself. I closed my eyes, and with the brand new razor I began to slash my arms with full force. When I opened then, I had four cuts which were very deep.. and a few smaller ones. As I started to bleed and bleed, more blood than i have seen in a long time, my fury still spurred me on. I slashed my arms even more, going into my room and ripping apart the stuffed animals he had given me, I cut them up and threw them into the growing pile in the hallway.
My fury began to turn into hurt when I saw my cat Georgie cowering in the corner by the Big slidding glass door. I started to cry, begging him to come out. By this time, I was bleeding all over the white rug. Little drops of blood that resembled a red trail of breadcrumbs. Terrified he would cut himself on the broken glass, I wobbled over to the den and grabbed him, blood sticking to his white and orange fur. I put him and my other cat both into the back room. Now since i had lots of blood to spare, I destroyed some more things. I ripped up the pictures in my modeling portfolio, smearing them with goo. I smeared the sticky substance on almost everything that was destroyed,
In my mind for some reason I was certain Paul would reataliate and certainly destroy something of mine. So, with that thought I went into my room and i cut some more, I bled for over 45 minutes. The color of the yellow carpet in my room beginning to turn red. I couldn't remember ever bleeding for so long so I started to become afraid.
The main thing in my room that I love, I just cherish is my 1984 Firestarter movie poster. The poster features an eight year old Drew Barrymore standing alone behind a torrent of orange flames. I began to stare at it, and for some reason i was sure my boyfriend would destroy it upon arriving home. So, I started to cry, pleading with myself, not to rip the poster off the wall. "I kept shaking my head, no no, not my poster. Please not that.. I was having a conversation in my mind. But the sensitbity gave in to irrationaitly and I took the poster down, ripped it in half and smeared all the blood that i had left on my arm (which now resembled a piece of ground up meat onto it). I was so SAD. I threw the poster into the pile in the hallway.
That brings me up to the bathroom floor. As i sat there still bleeding, I sung a few hymns and I said the Lord's prayer to try and comfort myself. I chatted with God and my mother who has passed away. My best friend who is also mentally ill with manic depression lives in Memphis and I was sure she had gone out for the evening, but i decided to give her a call anyway.
I got her, which was a god send.. I told her everything that happened during my tantrum and i was crying hard. Normally, I am afraid to show my true self in front of her when I am in trouble, for fear that she will abandon me, like so many other friends have in the past. Fortuanley, She calmly asked if i needed to check in to the mental hosptal which she always does, everytime I attempt suicide with drugs. This was not a suicide attempt, since i am a cutter and have been since 1998. Ellen calmly asked if i was still bleeding and did i need to put a turniket around my arm. I told her i was terrified of what paul was gonna do to me. Gracefully she offered to talk to him on the phone and try to calm him down before he got home and saw the extent of the damage i had done.
Unfortuanelty,he ended up calling first from wal-mart and i couldn't let ellen calm him down i had to say what i did. By, now I had lost a lot of blood and was not in the mood for a tongue lashing. Sadly, he sounded totally annoyed and pissed. I didn't talk to him long. I talked to ellen and told her he was coming back. Finally, he got home, angry. He talked to my best friend while i sat slumped over from blood loss on the computer. Wanting to cry, I listened to his final cruel comment to Ellen. "Why did she have to do this today, why did she have to get blood all over the floor when I just shampooed the carpet"? Eventually, he put aside his anger and noticed my failing abilty to stand or speak. We ended that horrible night, with me cradled in his arms like a baby. I got my strength back, but was bedridden for a few days.