A Different Kind Of PnP

Not party and play, seeing as I lead a strictly Substance Free lifestyle: No alcohol, no cigs, no drugs, no pot, and as few medications as possible. I’m not strict about no caffeine, but I only drink tea once in a while and very rarely a soda. I take Tylenol or allergy meds maybe four times a year, NyQuil for a few days if I happen to get sick. No morals, I just don’t want to.

Pain and Pleasure.

When I was thirteen I tried to kill myself with a razor blade in the shower. I didn’t because the first little nick of that blade against my skin hurt. I thought I was trying to escape pain, but what I really wanted out of was the numbness. I’d ached for understanding and compassion for so long that all I felt was the agony of numbness. I could feel the pressure of love against me, but none of its warmth. It was always too fleeting, it seemed.

But pain! Ow! Pain was unexpected. Pain was a feeling, a sensation, and I got angry that it had hurt that it hadn’t been easy. Anger was an emotion, and the warmth of it slithered across me like a silk shirt over my head. I felt disappointed and sad and angry and I felt things.

So many people find their lives renewed after a suicide attempt because of the counseling, the help, the support they receive. I’ve never met anyone who got the blade right into their skin and found there their saving grace in the sting of a dirty razor in a hot shower. Pain saved me. Anger renewed me.

I put a band aid on the little slice, not even longer than a quarter of an inch and nowhere near my thick arteries and veins, and forgot about it.

That brought me back to my body and there I found my self. Poor, neglected self. I didn’t know anything about my self except the pain. And now the pain was mostly replaced with dissatisfaction and general crankiness. So I asked myself questions, I read books and formed opinions, I taught myself values that rang true in my ears. Strength flowed into me from books and from some source that to this day remains unknown to me but I have suspicions That brings me to the pleasure.

Relying on my own strength, on my own reserves, on being the extra back-up I need in an emergency, I get such a kick out of it. I find such joy in navigating life with my own guidance and under my own power. I still fall down, I still need help – though I hate to ask for it. I prefer to struggle through on my own most times, because I want to know that I can. I find so much pleasure in being myself, and such a shitty feeling when I’m not. I can’t help but be myself. Not if I want to hold onto a little slice of peace that has been nestled in my  gut, in my heart, ever since that day when the razor hurt me.

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One Response to “A Different Kind Of PnP”

  1. Em the Femme Says:

    Actually I did find relief in cutting for ages. Not many do, but people who self-injure can find that kind of pain comforting for all sorts of reasons (being able to feel, releasing endorphins, etc.). Just wanted to throw in my .02.

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