Cutting Ties
And Trauma’s Lies
The night my music manager called me to tell me that I had been nominated for a Juno award (against Alanis Morissette, no less), I got off the phone and cut the inside of my forearms. I didn’t bleed too heavily because, even though I’d cut properly lengthwise, I missed the main veins.
Once I saw the flesh spread wide open with fat and blue, ropey blood vessels exposed, I couldn’t bring myself to cut again. It wasn’t my first cutting incident. It was my last.
That was 31-ish years ago. So much happened during that time. A head-on car accident that ruined my spine and jaw. The Rodney King riots. My first real heartbreak. And then a Juno nomination for a record that was, essentially, a suicide note.
It’s weird to see my younger self acting like a sex kitten while singing a suicide note.
If you intentionally cut yourself in the state of California it’s an automatic 5150. That is a mandatory psychiatric hold where they ask you questions to ascertain whether you can be trusted in the wild.
