I hurt my thumb

I HURT MY THUMB

For perhaps the first time today,

Something usually semi-conscious

Became fully conscious.

Something usually a free-floating reaction

Was done in response to a specific situation.

I hurt my thumb today.

No, not in the sense of banging a knuckle,

Or something like that.

Rather, this was totally self-inflicted.

I pick at myself.

Call it a milder version of “cutting.”

I bite my fingernails the quick,

And occasionally below.

And when I go that far

(I would say “too far,” but it obviously isn’t,

To at least a part of “me,”

Because “I” keep doing it)

I hurt. And I bleed.

If it’s not biting nails that deeply

It’s picking at the skin around those nails,

Eventually, with the same result.

Why?

Is it a genetic predisposition to anxiety?

Or various abuses of childhood?

Obviously, it’s a mix of both,

And, even on a case-by-case basis,

Who knows which predominates, and when?

I don’t, because I usually

Not fully conscious of this.

Today, at least as to the moment, though,

I was.

I was being yelled at by my boss

For something that was a complex mix

Of who was wrong, or not, and why,

And what background there was.

And I picked.

And then I hurt, and bled,

Even more than normal picking.

No, it didn’t feel “good.”

But, it “felt.”

I “felt.”

I felt the pain of suppressed anger,

Of feeling that whatever I might say

Would only make things worse,

That because of the background there was

Of him, his boss, of me,

Of their perceptions of me,

Of my perceptions of them,

And of my knowledge

Of my coworkers’ perception of them,

That whatever I might say,

Would only make things worse.

He would get angrier yet,

Making me more afraid, more on edge,

More anxious,

More suppressed-angry.

And, given the situation, the relationships,

And the power dynamics,

That, if not even that,

That what I might say

Wouldn’t change things anyway.

So, I picked.

A small psychological victory, perhaps,

To be fully conscious, fully in the moment,

Of why I was doing it, when I was.

And, another small victory, perhaps,

To see that I had done it worse than usual,

And to make me wonder

If I really, really, feel that way.

– Feb 28, 2012