Suitcases and self injury

drinking: still on the dilutant juice / squash. Liver is happy, brain is not.
listening to: Fiona Apple - Window
choice lyrics: "So I had to break the window / it just had to be / Better that I break a window / than him or her, or me"

[warning: by part of the title, I'm sure some will see this could trigger].

“There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery”
- Dante

Today started off badly, despite my best intentions.

Bear with me for just a moment so I can fill you in on the events of Tuesday. I got a call on my phone from an unknown number, so ignored it. They left a voicemail and it transpired it was a policeman from a station regarding a suitcase that had been found in the street and had a luggage tag with my name, phone number, and and old address on it. He needed me to call them back and come collect it from the Lost Property place.

Slight problem - the suitcase belongs to ex boyfriend from 2+ years ago. The suitcase was found at the back of the street he moved to. The address on the luggage tag was for the flat we shared 2 years ago. Therefore - bugger all to do with me. And I called back and told them so, and even gave them ex's name and contact number (which I knew should still be accurate after my unwanted inclusion in a mass 'Happy New Year' text I got from him). But they called me back AGAIN about it an hour later, and I had to give the same info again but the policeman was very kind and said he'd call ex AND put a card through his door since clearly it wasn't my suitcase - nor did the 'male clothes' and Xbox inside belong to me. Needless to say, I was so stressed and wound up about it - an overreaction, but it's the kind of thing I don't need right now.

And then this morning happened. Woke up by a phone call about the suitcase. Apparently there's not much communication between those folk and clearly ex hasn't dealt with this, but because he for some fucking reason left a luggage tag on it with MY details, I'm the one who's getting called about it. AGAIN!

It's unwanted stress, I have no desire in contacting ex myself about it - because if I do then I'll be sure to unleash a torrent of abuse at him, along with 'You wouldn't let me go to the doctor's when I was depressed in case it reflected badly on you, and now I'm ill again and you're STILL managing to fuck up my recovery'.

I was so stressed out and so SO angry, that I posted on Facebook about it, asking for volunteers to contact him instead about it so I get left alone.

So stressed out and so angry that I was sitting cutting myself with a razor. The first time since November that I've deliberately hurt myself. And in the middle of doing that, the post came.

With a Get Well card from my office.

And a book about a girl who challenges life to prove to her that it's worth living or she'll end it all.

Good timing, or perverse?

I can't decide, and I'm not one for coincidences.