The Day I lost a foot.

Hello, everyone. I apologize for my lack of updates, but I figured it's time to pull out the cobwebs and get back to work. I regret to inform you that I no longer have much communication with... Well, any of the people mentioned in previous posts. Jason is no longer allowed around me because of past experiences, and Pappy has disowned me. I've moved to St. Joseph Missouri, but will be returning to Hutchinson in about four days.

But to get onto the topic of this post, I have something to confess. I obsess. A lot. I get very interested in one thing, and it becomes my entire life to an unhealthy extent. I don't know why, but when something peeks my interest, I want to know EVERYTHING about it. From time to time, I will even forget that said thing is not real. Right now, I'm obsessed with a children's show. However, that is a story for later on.

 Now, the most intense of all of my obsessions would have to be the movie SAW. Saw has always been my favorite movie since I first watched it, and it was definitely not a movie one should take to heart. For some reason, I remembered watching the Saw One foot chopping scene, and thought it was a glorious piece of art to watch a human go that far into their psyche to free themselves... Unfortunately, I wanted to find out if I had that in me...

And unfortunately, some mentally handicapped cousin in my brain decided it was a good idea... So, I tried it on. Granted, I didn't give it very much thought. I have this bad habit of realizing that what I'm planning to do isn't intelligent, and then trying to stop myself from doing it. Why is this a bad habit? I'll tell you. Because then my fun side decides that this HAS to happen, and ignores all logical thought. Not just the logical thought that's telling me why I shouldn't do this, but logical thought in general.

So, from the point that I make my brain logic-free, to the point that I'm doing whatever it is I've set out to do, I become temporarily mentally disabled.

So, needless to say, I make stupid decisions during this period of time, because EVERYTHING seems to be a logical and understandable decision. But anyway, back to this story. I pulled everything out of my ass that my ass apparently contains in order to sever a limb. I figured a knife and a tourniquet made of a shirt was enough. Again, logical thought was out of the equation.

So, I sat there on my bedroom floor chopping away at my ankle.

 Logical thought is a sneaky bastard, and manages to sneak in there right when you suspect it's gone for good. My brain managed to pull itself out of my ass and return to normal function, just as I hit the bone. Needless to say, when my father walked in and found me sleeping on the floor with blood stained on the carpet, it was a disturbing scene.

Needless to say, my father panicked and when you find your son laying in a bunch of blood, you call the police. So, the police came, asked me something along the lines of "How fucking stupid are you?" and sent me straight to the hospital. The cop was a decently nice guy, but he had a thorough disgust for my trench coat. Granted, it was bloody and dirty after staying with me for so many months, but I LOVED that trench coat, damn it. He, however, felt the need to crack jokes about its mangled appearance.

Then god decided to play a joke on all of us for his own amusement. Try to grasp the fact that these people had never met me and knew practically NOTHING about me. This is necessary, because I need you to understand that the ONLY thing these people knew about me, was that I had attempted to sever a limb. Not only that, but I was pretty damn close to success. So, when the doctor decided to lay this on all of us, my reaction was amusing to everyone but myself.

So, moments later, the cop came back with the syringe to take blood. I made quite a scene as struggling, begging, and whining through the whole preparation. Personally, if I were a doctor, I wouldn't make the kid WATCH as I prepped the needle. I would prep it when I left to go find it, then come back and just got it out of the way. Well, he was probably trying to make me learn from my stupidity. And honestly, it worked. The only reason I haven't convinced myself to go back into chop-mode is that I'm scared to get needled again. Anyways, they finally stuck the needle in me, and I was not even remotely okay with it.

 "Dont? Don't you mean 'done?'" Yes. I do. Fuck you, I'm not drawing this again.

Yes. I cried. I honest to god broke down and sobbed like the little bitch I am when they put that needle in me. I fucking hate shots. 

Point is, the cop began to make fun of me by saying things like "So... You can chop your foot off... But stick a needle in you, and you're sobbing like a baby?" 

Also, at one point, the nurse asked me if I had any surgeries lately, and the cop felt the need to say to me, "Not the ones you've performed on yourself." Douche.

Anyways, I didn't know WHY he was taking my blood from me, it's not like I had too much. It wasn't as if I had been bleeding all day or anything. So naturally, I asked him what he was doing with my bodily fluid. He told me that it was to make sure I wasn't under any influences. Luckily, I was not. I was just stupid. Anyways, he came back and my bright self decided to ask a stupid question.

Obviously, they explained to my stupid ass that that's not how this works. For some reason, I became belligerent, and DEMANDED that they return my bodily fluids to their rightful home. They declined. 

Anyways, long story short, I was in therapy for about a year a two months afterwards, and went to live with my grandparents, because they deemed my father's home to be unstable.

My grandparents' place didn't work out, but that's another story. I'm alive, healthy, and have a fucking SCAR on my leg.

^^^Actual leg. So yes, this is a true story.

So, I'm fine now, and all is well. Plus, I get to tell people I kicked a shark to death. Life is good.