I hate my period. Period. Everything’s just worse then. Apparently bleeding from my intimate orifices makes me lust for blood even more than usual, so much more that I might do stupid things.
I almost put an ad on a sex-dating site to look for someone interested in knife-play. I somehow got to my senses halfway through the process of posting it and ended up deleting it. Common Sense or Cowardice? I still don’t know.
Despite having been told not to mention my rather unorthodox urges on my blog, I really can’t help it. It’s the only place where I can release it. I don’t think I would have killed a respondent to that ad, but still… I might have ended up doing more damage than intended.
My head is pounding and I’m hallucinating, I keep hearing the Gnossienne No. 1 by Erik Satie, mixing with the sound of rain on my window. I know that right now cutting would help, cutting would stop the headache and the music, but I can’t do that.
I promised Experiment No. 7 I wouldn’t cut myself, I promised the Riemann Hypothesis I wouldn’t cut myself, I really can’t break that promise. It was a promise on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, and that’s an unbreakable oath. If you even try to break it the universe comes after you and trust me, that’s faster than Karma. I have experience.
Since I’m trying to live the Normal Life™ I can’t spank or cane myself either, so I’m lost with a borderline psychotic condition (I am still aware, I consider myself only truly psychotic from the moment I can’t tell I’m psychotic anymore), a desperate need for controlled pain, a pounding headache, stomachache feeling like I’m having knives pushed into my flesh, toothache from my up-and-coming wisdom teeth, and a new blast of insomnia.
By the way, yes I know how knives in flesh feel, I deliberately stuck a knife in and almost through my hand once.
All I can do is take a few of my Only-For-Emergency antipsychotics and hope they put my light out for tonight. If they don’t, I will resolve to food, horror and porn, as usual.
Love and Chaos,