Small victories

I was drawn. Desperately searching for the aisle in the store that would house those plates of steel that would make me feel alright. Debating with myself as I frantically searched and navigated my way through the food aisles that were giving me enough trouble of their own.

"If they cost less than $5, I can get them."

I found them. They cost significantly less than $5.00. In fact, they were only 89 cents. I picked them up, feeling the searing pain in my hand just from holding the package in my fingers. That pain hurt, and it throbbed.

I want the blood, but just not the pain.

I put the package back. In the end, it was as much out of convenience as anything. If I got the blades, I would end up telling my therapist about it on Thursday. He would then be obligated to ensure that they are no longer in my possession. Last time that happened, my then-therapist called Scott, and that was a big fucking mess that brought on a huge fight between me and my best friend. Making me feel like ensuring my safety was a burden. That I, myself, was a burden.

Besides, then my therapist would end up asking me all these questions that I hate, questions like: "What are you going to do to prevent yourself from buying more blades?" "How do I know that I do not need to be worried about your safety?" As much as I love therapy, sometimes it drives me crazy being asked the same questions over and over again, and giving the answers that I 'know' I'm supposed to give.

That right there, is the hardest part. Making yourself give the answers that are true instead of the answers you know they want to hear. Which is exactly why I would tell Casey about the blades in the first place. Otherwise...what's the point? Why waste his time and mine, not to mention my money?

Honesty is painful.

And as I drove home from the grocery store, knowing that I should feel proud of myself for not having purchased those blades, it just felt hollow. Not only did I not feel proud, but I felt the weight of the world pressed down on my shoulders, as I slumped in my seat.

Why does doing the right thing have to be so goddamn hard? Because...in the end...I know that I have to deal with this shit, for real, and not bleed or purge or drink it away.