Life hath finally lost its flavour to the extensive degree that you are numbed to the internal pain, the consistent stabbing sensation of life’s betrayal that perpetrates every forsaken waking hour you are forced to respire. At which point only two methods of feeling anything above the spreading emotional numbness infecting every singular cell of your being are available, and you’re not quite ready to commit the fatally final act of suicide (covered in the next optimistic guide).
This leaves one option on the table ‘Self Harm’, and yes I know it’s less effective than suicide and you will have to hear the pathetically curdled words “Are you Ok?” every god forsaken episode of human contact, but we can’t help that the human race is full of idiots. On the bright side, you are still alive to rather bluntly aim an attention pointing finger to the bloody marks on your body and say “Do you think I’m ok?” using your best ‘Are you a fucking idiot’ tone.
So, the nitty gritty, how to properly execute the somewhat self-destructive activity of ‘Self Harm’:
Never inflict damage near a rather over healthy blood flow
This particular point has to be raised as the objective of ‘Self Harm’ is not to kill yourself, and for the amateur in the arts of summoning the refreshing sensations of physical pain as a means of confirming you are still able to feel anything; think of the counteractive process of bleeding too much life out of that fractured shell you call a body and dying, and in that case you definitely will not feel anything every again.
Make it look like an accident
Perfections own degree of exactly straight red lines, one after blissfully humanity confirming other in a row, cannot be explained away as ‘The kitchen knife caught me’… what, five times in a row as you let it happen?!. ‘I brushed it on a wire fence’ is and only will look like that if you are clever enough to avoid giving into the OCD that has rather unhelpfully added to the wonderfully positive urge of hurting one’s self.
And think location, the wire fence scenario does not apply to areas of the body not commonly exposed to those risks ‘I was checking my thigh when a gust of wind picked me up and threw against the fence, before I could pull my trouser leg down again’ will not be believable, ‘I moved out of the path of a cyclist and scratched my arm’ however…
To have reached such a depressingly deep place to feel so strongly about the option outlined here is never good, once should be enough unless ‘You’re fucked worse than a carrot in a cage of starving rabbits’ to use the politely official terminology. And one ‘accident’ on the rare occasion that life’s damning condemnation really is too much for the comprehension of living to process is just about passable, turning your body into something that looks like a human pin cushion at a nursing home’s international knitting contest makes it rather obvious. Even to the idiot asking “Are you ok?”
I would so love to wallow around in merry delusion, whilst the fluffy bunnies sing choirs of cheesy positive pop songs but alas I not so able to delude myself about the unspoken damnation of a life sentence in this world. So to say that subjects like the one I am covering imply positive connotations would be as honest as that carrot hoping to escape the hungry bunnies. Such places as the depressive survivors of stripped away optimism do darkly inhabit have such self destructive options on open view in the markets of sorrow, and when walking a mine field so avidly as the damned do you are bound to hit the odd mine.
At least some informed soul formulated the wonderfully blunt ‘suicide box’ on the mental health form the doctor will hand to you when you show the scars of that ‘accident’ in the kitchen or ‘brush with’ a wire fence. And I would honestly hope that any slightest flicker of recognition with what I have written here would have you running to said doctors and ticking that box, after you have laughed yourself silly reading this.
DISCLAIMER: LAUGHING AFTER READING THIS WILL EITHER DEMONSTARTE MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES, A SERIOUSLY SCREWED SENSE OF HUMOUR OR THAT YOU ARE JUST PLAIN BAT SHIT CRAZY!
AND ANY OFFENCE TAKEN CAN BE DIRECTED TO THE PERMINANTLY EMPTY OFFICE MY SANITY ONCE INHABITED, YOU CAN JOIN THE QUEUE!!