Who knew that Q‑tips could be so deadly? I certainly didn’t. Q‑tips, like knives, are neutral in themselves—beneficial, even—until they fall into the wrong hands. Apparently, one of those hands is mine. As questionable as my relationship with knives has been, so too has my relationship with Q‑tips. In fact, I’ve had more problems with that sprig of cotton at the end of a stick than with any knife I’ve owned, if you can believe it.
I spent seven hours in the ER of a local hospital this week because of symptoms—so I thought—of my judo injury two months ago (cf. Sayōnara). I had spells of dizziness so severe that I almost collapsed and a chronic, low‑grade headache that made me more irritable than my usual get‑off‑the‑lawn self. Turns out, I must have several selves, because one of them conducts acts of sabotage against me. These acts are the psychic equivalent of blowing up bridges and railroad depots.
Whoever this self is (some have suggested Bobby Bronco of Tales from the Hood), he jammed a Q‑tip into my right ear for the purpose of—what, exactly? In hindsight, I’m not sure. Did the ear really need cleaning? Was it getting stuffed up so much that I could hardly hear out of it? No on both counts. From what this other self has disclosed to me in whispered moments in the dark, it sought to “make things better.” And therein lies the rub.
While waiting for the radiology tech to take me to the penitentiary‑looking MRI room, I caught a poster that said that to be human is to strive constantly to be better. I thought of Garrison Keillor’s “Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility.” What more fitting picture of endless suffering and frustration could there be? For if you strive constantly, there can be no end to striving. You can say it’s all about the journey, but just as there is no merit in suffering for suffering’s sake, there is no merit in striving for striving’s sake. It doesn’t take long before both become idols.
I can tell you that the jamming led to dizziness, which led to headaches, which led to the ER, which led to more CTs and an MRI, which led to the conclusion that my judo injury was healing nicely, thank you very much, and that I had caused another injury completely unrelated to it. You see a pattern here? My Rorschach test shows self‑inflicted wounds that could have been avoided with forethought, reflection, and—most important of all—pausing to ask not whether improving myself would be a good thing, but whether this particular forward roll or Q‑tip jammed into a perfectly fine ear canal would do anything other than cause misery.
The shin bone’s connected to the ankle bone, so praise the name of the Lord. Actions have consequences. But actions and their consequences are not created equal. Some are grave, others not. And they don’t all end in expected outcomes. I did not think that jamming a Q‑tip into my ear would lead to a seven‑hour hospital visit. But I could sense degrees. I knew this other self had pushed the Q‑tip in more than he should have. He crossed the line. I could feel it, but by then it was too late. Les jeux étaient faits. Now I know how my granddaughter felt when taken to the ER for stuffing a toy caboose up her nose. What can I say? Guilty as charged.
These forms of self‑harm are minor compared to more obvious ones like binge drinking or carving up your arm, but they led me to consider other forms. Like not setting emotional boundaries with people who, if given the chance, will treat you like a yoga mat—not that I do yoga. Often, these are the same people who only play home games. That is, they make you go to them. Even worse, some will do the emotional equivalent of dropping their pants and doing their business in the middle of your living room, then exit stage left. You’re left having to clean up and get ready for the next visit.
Self‑harm, then, comes in different forms. Some are inconsequential and can be shrugged off; others affect lives at the deepest level. Some are active, as in things you do to yourself like jamming a Q‑tip into your ear till it hurts. Others are about not allowing others to harm you, whether emotionally, spiritually, or physically. What does it take? It has to start with the self, which is the hardest thing to do. But it has to be done. I have to convince this other guy to leave me alone. If I do that, I should live to a ripe old age.
If he doesn’t kill me first.
Images: Compagnons, Zyanya Citlalli. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.”
