Nothing But Blood and Tears.

I've got a fresh cut on my arm. I think it's to punish everyone who hurts me.
I had plans to take Jackie with me to a progressive dinner tonight which would be hosted by three of BYU's museums. Tickets were required by free and available at the door. Then I read this morning that tickets were all taken. So I resolved to take Jackie to the Museum of Paleontology during the day instead. Right on!
Mom said we couldn't go until she had a chance to ask my dad if he wanted to take her anywhere today. [me: I don't appreciate her making my present-but-absent dad a priority]. She said we could just go tomorrow if they ended up going out today.
Strike 1.

When we get home from picking up Jackie Dad is showering. And when he's dressed he makes plans with Mom to taker her and Jackie to a buffet where they get an old person discount.
While I'm putting Jackie's freshly brushed hair into pigtails she moves past silly and starts scratching and biting me. I try to insist that her behavior not be rewarded with a trip out with her grandma and grandpa but Mom wrangles Jackie into a coat and out the door saying that I get a break! [me: awww you shouldn't! Seriously, you shouldn't reward her behavior. Make her stay home!]
Strike 2.

I proceed to turn over the end table next to me that is covered in hair accessories and who-knows-what. As I storm off, I have to go back to get my iPad and jacket (with phone in pocket) and take the liberty of knocking over Jackie's little plastic lawn table covered in plastic food. At the landing by the front door is Jackie's little backpack of toys and snacks, so that has to be thrown, too.
Once in my room I slam the door, lock it and start crying aggressively on my bed and grab a razor from the top drawer next to my bed and push the razor hard into my arm. Of course that does diddly squat so I cut myself properly and then again in the same line to get some blood.
I'm crying so hard and it isn't even cathartic. I'm just angry and messed up and there is no way to help people treat me better. Anyone who knows me can attest that I'm kind and giving and warm and loving. So why the hell doesn't the Golden Rule work here? Did I forget to sign up for that plan in Heaven? Did I miss open enrollment?

Shortly after I stopped crying, and while writing this entry, my brother came down.
"I couldn't help but overhear, with my ear to my door, that you yelled something about scratching and biting. Is there blood?"
"Not from Jackie."
"Are you okay? Do you need a noogie machine?"
"For Jackie?"
"Yeah."
"...doesn't matter..."
"Okay, let me know if you need anything."

So then I started crying all over again, because I love my brother so much. Despite his lack of affection, he really does love me.

I can't believe people in my condition can't get proper care.
See this great article from Cracked.com about what's wrong with America's mental healthcare system.