Where Sida considers wrist-slashing and solace is found in God

Actually, I didn't really consider wrist-slashing. But it was an attention-grabbing title, yes?

No, I know my anatomy far too well to wrist-slash. The image of the tendons and reticulums and superficial veins of the wrist (rote memorised in Anatomy) has stuck to my mind. I can imagine myself applying razor to wrist, thinking: "Is that the tendon of my palmaris longrus I'm going through? It would be, it's the only one not within the flexor reticulum". Actually even that wouldn't be possible. I am far too much a coward.

The suspense must be killing you. I must disclose, now, what I am talking about.

It was a desire to turn inner pain and converge it into something physical, a physical pain that would be easier to bear, a physical pain that is almost tangible, a physical pain that a panadol (or two) could dull. It also stemmed from anger, although who the anger was directed at was uncertain. There is no one to get angry at, and yet I am angry. There is no one to punish, to yell at. Only an inner couldron, toiling and bubbling, as Shakespeare would have said. (This is good, I will record this feeling, one day it may help me to work with others in a similar situation when I'm a doctor)

She said to me, "You are my strength." And I felt like yelling. I am not your strength. Don't you think this affects me too? I have been watching all these years, all my life, silent and stoic. Yes, I listened silently as you moaned to me all these years, all your troubles that I neither wanted to hear nor should. But this affects me too, I am hurt too, and I am no strength! Don't lean on me! I'll show you how 'strong' I can be! I will do something weak, something stupid, and you will take notice, and realise how weak I can be too! I'll take up drugs, I'll slash myself (well, maybe just prick my thumb a little) and run away and get pregnant!

The source of my problems: one word: parents. I won't say any more on this, since I don't know where to start and I don't feel like talking about it. Only that it's been this way all my life, when I first had memory, when I could recall my mother telling me (in a moment of anger) that it was all my fault. (But, thick as I was, I was too smart to believe it. I had considered the events and circumstances and knew that I had nothing to do with it.)

So it was also a desire to punish someone. Possibly my parents, who rarely considered the impact on me, since I was always a quiet and submissive child. (Unlike my brother, who has the whole family in his grip). Or perhaps (this shames me a little, but it did occur to me) God. You love me? Well watch me do THIS! NOW you will take notice!

I was quite tempted by the idea of it, but just the idea of it. I will never execute this idea, like many other ideas, because of sheer cowardness. But the fact that I had these ideas and were tempted by them disturbed me so I called my best friend. I didn't tell her much, only as much as I wrote here. I feel a little sorry for her, because I remember how awkward I feel when people talk to ME about such things. I know I should talk to a religious friend but I havn't got one close enough (which is really my fault, I hadn't really 'opened up' to anyone). Anyway, she said that people looked up to me. "I look up to you, Sida. You're a Med student". I would have believed her if it weren't for the med student bit: she does law and I know that she'd never look up to me because I'm in Med. But she also added that I have a younger brother, who, in such times, would look to a strong adult.

Damn. Yes God, you have me trapped. I have to be strong now. Help me, give me some of your strength.

I didn't pray much initially during this time. What to pray? God know the plight I'm in. My thoughts regarding God ran something like this: "I will have faith. Who am I not to have faith? But I sure don't know what you're doing up there."

My first "verse of the week" is where Paul describes the holy spirit interceding for us when we can't find the words to pray with.

The spirit must have interceded, because during a particularly difficult time, my brother said to my great surprise: "Sida, can we pray together?" It's surprising because he hasn't really been exposed to much Christian upbringing at home. But we took a walk to be away from the shouting and prayed together, taking turns. It was wonderful. When we got back, we came home to relative peace, although of course the air was still thick and tense.

Today at youth group, after all the activities was finished, a guy decided to show me a verse of the bible for no apparent reason. Isaiah 30:18. I didn't pay a great deal of attention because it was time to practice our choir, and also his bible was of the version where there is a great deal of explanatory text and stuff in square brackets, such that the idea was scattered. But I did remember it so I could look it up when I got home.

"Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you/ he rises to show you compassion./ For the Lord is a God of justice./ Blessed are all who wait for him!"

The message is clear, and I will wait for Him. But it's not easy, to have faith and be patient while everything crashes around you. But seeing His words does make me feel better, even though there is nothing new that I didn't know already.

My recount ends here. Don't worry, I'm not crazy, you can sleep soundly tonight. And I won't do anything silly. I'm to damned cowardly (or too sensible, depends on how you call it) for that. Besides, I have my God. I feel silly to have written this much, I have never exposed my sores so publicly before. But no matter how people judge me having read this, or even if no one reads it, I feel better for writing it all down.