A word about common sense and how sometimes I don't have any

So, occasionally, I show remarkable lack of common sense. 

This week I got sunburnt in a record 40 minutes. Trying to tan my legs, I instead burnt my shoulder.

I shaved my armpits and then put on an extra strong deodorant. The instructions, which I hadn't read, said not to do this. 

Now my armpits are grossly red and infected. 

 I went to the supermarket and did all my shopping, only to realise at the till I didn't have my purse. 

And then there's the common sense I lack due to my mental health.

Like did I pick up my antidepressants?

I did? Ok, where are they? If I were a box of drugs, where would I hide? 

Turns out, they're in the drawer they're supposed to live in. 

The common sense I possess is twisted. 

"I can't self harm because Sam will see."

"I cant kill myself yet, I've got theatre tickets and a holiday booked." 

This common sense is accompanied with an utter sense of worthlessness that contradicts the ideas that my existence needs to continue until such & such a date. Because I don't want to disappoint people. 

Wouldn't killing myself do exactly that? 

No. When I get these suicidal thoughts, they are about protection. Protecting me, from the pain. But a lot about protecting the people I love from the hurt I could cause them. As if the hurt of killing myself could be any less than what I could inflict on them throughout life. 

I lack common sense. But I still have some compassion. And I'm directing to myself. And my poor armpits. 

And nothing will ever show my lack of common sense than putting potatoes on the radiator to dry...

Talking about last night

Last night I was the kind of "crazy" that people take pains to avoid on the street. 

The kind muttering to themselves. Twitching and moaning. In a world of their own, not in an adorable distracted way.

  

last night

It was burning, and I was crying and shaking, but I couldn't stop it. I was wringing my hands violently as if to shake the itchiness out through my fingers. At one point I can pulling on my right index finger because it was on fire with itching. 

It started with the crying. I felt despondent, I lay protracted on my bed wondering why my brain was so slow and making everything so hard. 

I tried to harm myself by pulling my hair out but it didn't hurt enough. 

I used a self harming alternative which succeeded in making my arm sting. 

Then I got a sudden burst of energy and I tidied up my room. 

And then that's when the itching started. 

First it was my arm where I'd drawn all over it in pen in a bid to not cut.

Then it spread up my arm. And across my chest to the other arm. 

And then I was scratching my arms as if I was possessed. 

It started spreading to my legs and my face and I decided there was nothing for it but to run a bath. 

A shallow puddle of cool water. I lowered myself in hurriedly and I would never normally have a bath that cold but I needed relief.

The act of getting my thoughts together to run a bath had helped me become more lucid. 

I scratched a bit more in the water but it helped me to calm down. 

I went downstairs afterward to take an antihistamine. And then I phoned my boyfriend. 

this morning

This is a more tangible side effect of withdrawal than the headaches, or the anxiety. You can see the damage it does immediately. The sunburn effect I experienced on my body last night faded to leave these bruises. I write this the day after and I itch. My hip itches, my hands itch, my head itches. 

And these bruises will fade, and my sanity with it? 

1 more day.