Tag Archives: #selfharm

Stop Hitting Yourself. Stop Hitting Yourself. Stop Hitting Yourself.

I know the feel, Supes.

My father was the target of an International Conspiracy. Every time the man approached an empty intersection “a friggin’ parade” would pass by. Pulling out of the driveway? “Everyone and their mother” had to pass by our house.

Furthermore, someone was attempting to kill this man at all times. “Jim, you’re killing me.” “Frank, you’re killing me.” Even parts of the Trinity got in on it. “Jesus Christ, you’re friggin’ killing me.”

If only I had it so good! I am in league with myself against myself. The center of my own conspiracy. I am friggin’ killing me.

I don’t begin my days thinking, “How can I hurt myself today?” Maybe I should start. Maybe I could plan it out better? I am open to suggestions.

Allow me to list this last week’s round of self harm. I cannot even believe the first one because it was straight out of my Father’s Greek-o-vision.

If you are unfamiliar. Take the story of Oedipus. A young man runs away from home because of a prophecy that he’d kill his father and marry his mother. What’s the worst that could happen? Oh, if you’re thinking being sold into sex-trafficking, bless you darling innocent!

Oedipus travels, is forced to kill a man, becomes King and marries a Queen. And now for the twist! He was adopted! And he killed his bio-dad and married his mom after all. Then Oedipus gouges his eyes out. Like ya do.

So, that’s true Greek thinking. That and making sales people cry.

Long ago my father pointed out a dangerous bannister he was positive one could catch a pinkie finger on and tear it off! 😳 Yeah, right…OK, yeah I just did that thing. My pinkie is still attached, but my body continued forward. First down me!

I have also been cutting myself. Most recently with a soap dish! (I get creative.) I literally asked for it. I asked Stan to get a not-for-camping soap dish. He got this cool stainless steel thing. First time I used it, I dropped it. It bounced off my head before somehow gashing open my pinkie toe. Hitchcock would have been pleased with the blood in that shower, and the bathroom floor, half a roll of toilet paper, gauze, bandaids, towels. Finally I taped it tight, put on black socks and went to bed. Try practicing Sun Salutes without the top of your foot!

Truly, my Dad had a long list of things “you haven’t lived until” they happened. Like a burning cigarette butt between your toes, “cauterizing” one’s toes with boiling water, etc. Only the annoying part is that — while I may have laughed at his warnings — since his death I have either experienced any and all of these, or met people who have.

In life and in death, the man insists on always being right.

So the right pinkie finger I balance my phone on and use to pick my guitar. And the pinkie toe I also need to hold a plank. Oh, and then there is the right thumb and arm I almost jammed up roller skating, but was wearing guards! Too bad I wasn’t wearing them the next morning when, walking my dog, she bolted across the street and I fell on the same hand, jamming up the entire right side of my arm, including the thumb!

I have managed to harm every extremity and the attaching bits on the right side of my body in one week. Just by going about my life. And yet I expertly pulled my dog back onto a dock after she thought swimming might be a good idea, and I can hit a forearm stand!

Maybe it’s how I rush around. Or maybe I just need to develop my Greek-o-vision. Whatever it is. This is my cry for help, as I balance my phone on my right pinky finger, and type with my jammed up thumb to elbow to shoulder situation to write this. Help me. Maybe bubble wrap? Didn’t work out for Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes, but I’m not dressing to impress. I just want to stop hurting myself! Wait…maybe it’s a conspiracy! Everyone and their mother is friggin’ killing me.

– JL βœŒπŸΌπŸ’™πŸ’›πŸ––πŸΌπŸŒ»πŸŽΈ

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