Sanguis Ex Machina
translates from latin as “Blood From The Machine”
soft charcoal, white pastel and red pastel
Me and my scars. When I say I have bipolar, I mean it. I have attempted suicide many times and self-harmed more than that. It is not something I am ashamed of, nor am I at all proud. I have looked at self-harm, and looked and looked, trying to understand it. And I have come to the conclusion that for myself, I cannot. It is irrational. It is a manifestation of the illness. It makes no sense to me.
It becomes a desire, an end unto itself. I have been in many ways completely normal – lucid, rational. Smart. And yet within this is the continual overriding desire to cut myself. My mind will not leave it alone but tears at it and fills it as if it were an act of need or of succour.It has nothing to do with attention – as you can see, almost all my scars would be invisible were I to wear a longsleeve shirt. Which is what I always did. But not any more.
So why? There is NO ANSWER. This is one of the things about the reality of mental illness – looking for causality often cannot succeed. It is merely that something somewhere is not working as it might in this person’s head. Something wrong, something gone, out into the soft and never ending night. Some baffling and sad aspect of humanity.