Relapse

Warning: Graphic, triggering, all that bad stuff. Mostly venting. I really meant to not depression blog anymore but it happened. Took me plum by surprise!

So I've never been private about my on again off again issues with self harm. It just kinda happens from time to time.

Well tonight I allegedly had enough fail. I'm also not secretive that I have a hard time on campus, mostly race & gender and sexuality fail. As I often explain, seemingly no matter where I go I'm the "safe negro". The safe negro lives to be the exception, the black friend, the one that chuckles and takes no offense. Too bad that's not me at all! I honestly don't know where people get it from.

After some racefail the room went quiet--I had my headphones in. I vented for a little bit then signed off gchat not knowing if I was going to burst into tears or pass out. I took a third option. A pair of slender work scissors had glinted at me most of the evening on my work table. Because I'm really bad at this "cry for help" thing, I got my night clothes in the darkness and poked them handle first in my mouth. I walked down the hall to the public restroom. I thought surely I'd just do my business and move on--who was I kidding? I was always joking & threatening to cut myself for the lulz, I wasn't fooling anyone.

But I'm not sure what I did. All I remember was hacking and hacking over and over and over and now there are ridges and welts and blood on my arms. I can count them individually like running over index cards and there still aren't enough.

It happens. As the designated safe negro I don't have feelings, and even if I did I don't have a mouth to voice them anyway, I'm stripped of just about all human dignity. Kid's stuff, I can't feel anything anyway. I didn't so it must be true. I'm not allowed to be mad or upset or angry or have feelings at all.

Why would I blog something so dreadful and personal? Because I'm a person, do you understand? I'm not your minority friend. We as privileged, they as privileged, have no. fucking. right. to erase identities. No one is you ____ friend and they don't live to serve you, they don't live to be your little pet project. You're dealing with human beings all the time that feel the same way as you.

What a hard lesson.