One week ago today, something inside snapped. I’ve tried to articulate what’s going on in my head and in my heart, and the best I can come up with is “I’m thinking too hard,” or more accurately, “I don’t know.” I don’t have names for the feelings or the emotions, or even the thought processes. I only know that they’re overwhelming, to the point of reducing me to tears in the most public of situations. What the heck is that?!
I don’t know.
Last Tuesday, I don’t even remember when, I got back from class and ambled into my room, not feeling entirely stable, not sure how to fight off a relapse of any magnitude. I curled up in the corner between my bed and my wardrobe, holding Orion, and cried as quietly as I could, trying not to disturb Jess, Corinne and Ryan, all of whom were watching TV in the living room. The incident becomes more and more of a heart-pounding blur every day, but one thing I do remember is having a grotesque image in my mind’s eye — I wanted to find a razor blade and go at my arm, in the same spot, again and again, until I couldn’t go any deeper, until my hands were shaking too hard to stop, for as long as I could. Thinking back now, I flinch and shudder, and realize my own stupidity.
But that evening, the image wouldn’t go away.
I stopped crying for long enough to half-jump out of bed, and land on my knees in front of the filing cabinet under my desk. In the middle drawer, next to old notebooks and folders, was the t-shirt I bled on when I cut, along with old Band-Aid wrappers and a few safety pins for impromptu bandages. Something in the back of my mind remembered that I had also put a razor blade there, but wasn’t sure if it had been put in the box that Ryan had taken from me.
It hadn’t.
At this point, I can only remember pieces of what I did. I remember that I was so far gone, I didn’t even bother closing the door, much less locking it so I wouldn’t be found. I plopped down with my back to my bed, stared at the sharp steel edge for a few moments, and went at it. Maybe what I did was akin to the mental image I’d been fighting, though my hands began to shake far before I wanted them to. I remember seeing one of the cuts gaping, but only half understanding that that meant the cut was a quarter of an inch deep. I moved on to three other cuts, none quite as severe as the first. At some point, the razor blade fell out of my fingers, and I stopped. I sat there, waiting for anything, and nothing came. Though I was a little bit calmer, all I wanted to do was cry.
I don’t know how long I was sitting there.
Eventually, I got up, wrapped a strip of t-shirt around my arm, and sat at my computer, not bothering to try and manipulate a safety pin. When I got up to throw away a can of fruit punch, I didn’t even think to try and hide the makeshift bandage on my arm. If there was ever a time I felt numb, this was it. I walked down the hall, to the edge of the living room, dropped my can in the garbage, and walked back to my room. This time, my carelessness may have been my saving grace.
I got caught.
In a few minutes, Ryan had come in and parked himself on my bed, asking what happened. I don’t know how long we talked, but there were plenty of “I don’t know” answers on my part. There was a kind of gut-wrenching guilt, and a trembling pain that shot up my arm the entire time. He asked me what Grace meant, and when I didn’t have an answer right away, all I wanted to do was crawl under my desk and hide. I’ve been taught about grace all my life, about what I didn’t deserve, and what God extended through Christ’s sacrifice. I have brain knowledge about my faith galore, but the more I fight against my inner demons, the more seems to get lost in translation between my head and my heart.
A week ago was the first time I got a hug and couldn’t stop crying.
(I’m fairly certain it was the “of course I forgive you” I heard from somewhere above my head. Wow, that hit hard…)
I didn’t know what to do, what to think, even where I was supposed to start. Eventually, after peeling off a crappy bandage and seeing the extent of what I’d done, there was a trip to the store to get real first aid stuff. From my Google adventures since, I know I should have gone to get stitches, but most of me is glad that I didn’t. I found two more razor blades around my desk, which we put in an old soda can that Ryan threw away. Somehow, I floated through all of that, after the talking, up until I was cleaning my arm in Ryan’s apartment. Holygoodgriefwow, putting an open wound under running water hurts. I felt like I was going to bite a hole through my lip. And with that pain, I realized that I had a lot of thinking to do, and a lot of changes to make in my life.
I have to stop hurting myself.
I don’t talk to or trust God nearly as much as I should.
I will deal with the scars for the rest of my life, but I cannot let myself be so paralyzed by guilt and regret.
I know all these things, I don’t know for how long I’ve known them. Maybe that’s what’s had me so mixed up this past week… Maybe I’ve been thinking too hard about my own faults, maybe I’ve been too absorbed with the healing wounds on my arm. Maybe I’m realizing more truly the depth of my own sin, and how dark the inside of me must be. I don’t know. Maybe school has gotten more stressful, and I’m attributing it to the wrong sources, maybe I’m starting to understand how absolutely blessed I am and thankful I ought to be to have friends and Family like Ryan and the girls. Maybe I’m getting tripped up by my sheer lack of contribution to the increasing number of conversations my roommates are having about things like dating and drinking (neither of which I have any experience in), or maybe I’m starting to panic about what life is going to be like after college. Maybe I need more Fall-GetAway worship experiences with Cru, maybe I need late-night walks around downtown Ames.
Maybe all of it is the answer, maybe there’s something deeper.
And for all this typing, I still don’t know jack. I know a few simple things, and I’m starting to learn a few more, but I still can’t find the right words.
I’ve been clean for one week. And for now, I’m going to leave it at that.
