Middle of the night Friday/Saturday: Dave was distant last night. Not speaking directly to me. I feel lost, isolated from him – the one person I want to be close to. And I’m what’s pushing us apart. Me and my illness. Has it become too late for him to help me through this? I feel awful. I want to reach into the wood stove and grab some embers to burn myself. But I’m not. For the moment. I so want to be held and nurtured and comforted. It seems as likely to happen as getting water out of a rock.
I just went to the stove, opened it and found a hot coal. I wanted to put it in my belly button – symbolism there, right! But I put it down and closed the door. No burn. It’s been suggested (in a book?) that I draw on my body where I would cut or burn. I haven’t tried that because it doesn’t seem as satisfying. I WANT there to be injury. There’s usually very little pain if any. I can feel the skin being cut. The deeper the cut, the less pain and it becomes more of a detached observation. And I wonder what a stab feels like. With burning, I’ve found that if I focus on it, there is little actual pain and it can almost feel cold. I’ve noticed that over the years when I’ve had that rash on my hand and was running hit water over them. It felt more cold than hot. Is it detachment? Is it like when I shut down during difficult conversations and find myself expressing very little emotion, voice getting quieter and losing affect, body not moving? If I become very still, maybe my heart won’t hurt so much.
This wall between us is driving me crazy. I want to talk, but am afraid to initiate it, and Dave won’t.
Need to sleep . Lorazepam time.