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...