While out and about yesterday, for some reason an old memory of an incident with my ex-husband popped into my head. I was thinking about when we moved from South Carolina to Carrollton, GA, in 1997. We had owned a set of end tables and matching coffee table that had the glass tabletop inserts.
He was naked (I have no idea why, as I had on clothes), and we were arguing. I don't recall if I was pregnant, or if this was after Steven was born, but I know this occurred in our trailer in Hopkins, SC.
He decided to slam his fist onto the surface of one of the end tables, and of course the glass shattered. He cut his arm, not too severely, and he strutted around the house like a rabid peacock, opening and closing his fist from the apparent pain he was experiencing. He likely could have used a stitch or 2 but wouldn't get it looked at for fear of having the tell the truth about what he did to himself.
Looking back, I think he was so desperate to have an excuse to go to the hospital for pain medication that he did it on purpose but then realized it wasn't really an emergency, so he shut up and let me clean it up and bandage it.
How sad is it that a human being behaves that way, to intentionally cause harm to themselves in an attempt to score prescription pain medication. I know, junkies do it all the time. It took me years to figure out that he was in fact, a junkie.
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