Handle me with care….

I saw one of those annoying self care lists earlier. 

They irritate me because it’s beyond my comprehension that anyone believes a hot bath & some candles will stop the war in my head.

As I scrolled through the ridiculously naive advice, I realised I had my own version of self care. 

I was in fact, in the midst of a session. 

Self harm is my self care. 

It ticks all the boxes. 

It helps me feel calm 

in control

quiets my mind.
The ritual of setting up keeps me busy

Peeling back the foil to reveal a pristine blade

Arranging my towels 

Carefully selecting where I will begin

All of things offer distraction from my despair

panic 

loathing.

They provide comfort 

&

root my in the present moment. 
The bloods feels good; hot & slippery on my skin

The release gained from it flowing out it a weight lifted.

It’s so much better than crying.

That first strike that slides right into my flesh,

When I’m through the skin & my fat offers no restistance.

That wipes my thoughts clean 

It’s just me, 

my scalpel 

&

my blood. 
That’s what compassion is to me. 

It’s stainless steel disappearing into an open wound,

the instant when my cut starts to frighten me

But

I just keep going. 

guess what? I’m not a robot…

it has been a bleak weekend

there are reasons

and

no reasons.

 

predictably, when I couldn’t decipher my mind

I turned to my scalpel for answers

you know the rest.

 

perhaps the break made me clumsy

or

thirsty

in any case I made a tad too much mess.

 

with no option, but A&E to stem the blood flow

i wrapped my arm in a towel

and

mustered as much calm sanity as I could 

 

my local hospital has undergone quite the transformation

a swanky new uber hospital has sprung up in place of its crumbling victorian predecessor

within its walls the attitudes were more in tune with its origins.

 

The dr I saw was pleasant, he didn’t say much, but everything he was accompanied by a smile

this disarmed me a little

i wasn’t prepared for him to be a dick

he worked at speed that belied any concern for me

his method could only be described as slap dash

he did administer local anaesthetic

just not enough to actually prevent pain

a small part in the centre of each cut was numbed

the rest, I felt.

 

he closed the largest (10cm) gash with four stitches

I had cut clear through the fatty tissues

causing the resulting wound to gape alarmingly

obviously, I am not a professional

but

i have had less serious injuries closed with both internal & external sutures.

this time the dr just yanked together the edges (with some difficulty)

unsurprisingly the stitches had burst 10hrs later.

 

i didn’t challenge him

i just sat there

apart from wincing when the initial stitch went in

i didn’t say anything at all

 

i sat there and let him stitch two deep cuts without proper anaesthetic or care.

 

at the time i just wanted to get home.

later it occurred to me that the way I was treated probably wasn’t ok

i wondered why I didn’t request more local

or 

enquire about his technique.

the only answer I could summon was that I didn’t think I had the right to ask for better

for all my campaigning, 

in that moment my usually vocal defence of my rights was silenced.

it felt that pain relief for me, was a luxury rather than a necessity

the shame is so ingrained.

 

the voice in my head that tells me I deserve the pain is strong

the part of me that shrieks that I’m worthless

 renders me compliant

content to take whatever semblance of treatment is given.

 

afterwards, when these thoughts started to emerge

i even questioned my right to question

 

every day, i fight the thought that I’m nothing

i battle to recreate a life

i push myself to do terrifying things

partly to make me feel like a person who is capable of succeeding

and

partly to stop this shit happening to other people.

but

the truth is

no matter how many people I present to

or

how much they pay me

 

regardless of how better everyone thinks i am

or 

how many days pass without cutting

it still only takes one bad day

and

one cruel person

for it all to come crumbling down.

i’ve tried everything….

i have fallen into another slump.
i rarely know why this happens.
occasionally there are clear reasons for my depression worsening.
but, not this time.

life is struggle at moment
the urge to harm myself is overpowering
i am told the desire will leave me
i continue to wait for that peace.

in the mean time I try to live
i feel as though there is something inside me trying to break out
i can’t relax
it is impossible to just be.

i have resorted to doing, doing, doing
i do housework every morning.
i’ve cleaned out drawers & cupboards
organised my wardrobe
i’ve scrubbed every surface in the house
everything I eat is cooked from scratch
i bake
the next three months have been budgeted
i am keeping a detailed food diary
my life has never been so regimented.

i force myself to socialise
close friends are invited for dinner
i see films with my sister
plans are made with friends in other cities
i volunteer
i’m reading voraciously
my writing output has gathered pace
self-manicures have become works of art
my hair is styled, my legs are smooth.

from the outside i seem to be doing great.
my productivity has soared.
i appear to be creating order.

the truth is my drive is desperation.
a constant need to escape an unbearable internal chasm
if I don’t keep moving
i will butcher myself.
my increasingly despairing attempts to grasp control are failing.
i am left sore
&
sad
&
exhausted.

i long to curl up in my bed and hide
but
my spiteful inner voice will not allow it
there is a constant coaxing to shed my blood,
a continuous stream of gory images.
all accompanied by heavy hopelessness
&
the suffocating knowledge that it will return.
no matter how much progress I make
or
what heights of contentment I reach
i will feel this way again.

it’s got to be worth it….

I have had a couple of emails & lots of search terms on the topic of self-harm & dating. I can’t claim to be an expert, but I do date & I’m happy to share my tips.
I’d like to start by saying no one has ever flat out rejected me solely on account of my scars or my cutting. That is not to say that self-harm has never caused a problem in relationships, but no one has run away screaming.
I find that being upfront and forthright has worked best for me. On a first date with someone new I will wear something that allows a little bit of scarring to be seen. This is scary, but less scary than getting to know & like someone all the while worrying about how and when to tell them your secret. It also gives anyone who can’t handle scars or their implications a chance to bail before anyone gets attached. Be prepared for some lingering glances when they think you aren’t looking. It’s also possible that they may ask questions right away, whenever they do ask, I always answer briefly, but honestly. If you develop a relationship with this person any lies you tell will be uncovered. Again it allows either party to walk away if they aren’t comfortable with the route the conversation takes.
I have been internet dating & I deliberately uploaded one picture that shows some scars. I think this is a good idea as wards off anyone who has a real issue with self-harm or scars. As we all know, people can be crueller online than they would be in person, so weeding out the bastards early can only be a plus.
I think once the relationship progresses & people start to care about each, the scars are less of a problem than they actual self-harming behaviour. I’ve had men admit that my scars disturb them a little, make them feel sad or protective, but never enough to stop them wanting to have a relationship with me. I know a lot of people worry that their scars make them unattractive; I use to be scared that mine robbed me of any desirability. I have been reassured by men that I’ve dated that after the initial shock; they mostly cease to really notice them. Certainly no one has ever found them so distasteful as to be turned off.
If you are still actively self-harming relationships can be difficult. Obviously it’s distressing to know that someone you care about is in so much pain. There is no easy way around that. I’m not relationship expert or counsellor, but what I can tell you is be truthful with your partner. Open up, let them support you if they able. Love & self-harm (or any mental illness) are not mutually exclusive. When you meet the right person, it can work.
Having said that, there are pitfalls. Don’t be afraid to walk away, if the other party is detrimental to your mental health. Please don’t feel that you have to change or ‘get better’ for someone. Recovery is a personal journey. It will only work if you’re doing it for yourself. You don’t need anyone in your life that makes you feel guilty. Nor do you want someone who is ashamed or embarrassed of your problems. Remember you are worth just as much as everyone else. Be brave and stand up for yourself if needs be.

In conclusion I would say, go for it. There are kind, decent people out there who will see the whole you. The right person will try to understand. There are lots of wonderful men & women just waiting to meet you. You can have lots of fun trying new people on & seeing who fits best. You’re good enough as you are. Keep telling yourself that until you start to believe it.

i keep bleeding….

one more cut
i need it

i’m drowning.
in desire
i feel it fizzing in my stomach
i am overwhelmed by the complusion to bleed
to drift away on that peaceful tide.

i long to tear myself apart
savage
searing
carnage

i have an obligation
to administer the punishment i deserve
i must bleed

blood on the rise, it’s following me….

i cut.
265 days. Void.

in the end there wasn’t any particular trigger
i had bad day
no worse than the few that went before it
a flip just switched
i started to feel like I could
like I should
and
that was that

i had been so scared of forgetting how
i thought I might get rusty without the continuous practise
i needn’t have worried
it had never been easier.

I intended to take my time,
make a small cut
dip my blade in
but
the blood flooded my senses
i was in deep before I was even properly aware of it

it felt good.

the blood under my fingernails
the little globs of yellow fat on my hands
the pulsing blue network
the pain
the calm

i expected to feel worse
i’m a little ashamed
i don’t want people to know
but
if this could be my secret
i’d happily dive back into the self-destructive depths.

i hurt myself today…

i haven’t cut in 175 days.
i couldn’t say with complete confidence that it’s a good thing.
the last few weeks have been bad.
i feel as though i’ve taken a thousand steps back.
i am so lost
and
scared
and
desperate to hurt myself.

the self imposed ban on cutting was supposed to improve my life
i was told i’d despise myself less
i would discover i had some worth
the need to destroy myself would disapate.

bullshit

last night i beat my hand with a marble pestle
i’m fairly certain i’ve broken some bones
but
i can’t stop
i watch it puff
&
swell
&
bruise

i finally win a little peace

i can escape from the fear
there has been so much fear.

someone knocks my door
& i find myself hiding in the office
heart racing
hands sweating
terrified

of what, i have no idea.

the fear doesn’t actually need a trigger.
i wake up afraid
scared of having to get through another day

there are so many days
most with no purpose
no joy
no meaning

pain has meaning
inflicting pain upon myself is natural
it’s right

so, i haven’t cut in 175 days
but
i’ve hit myself with a hammer
torn off toenails
pierced my flesh with needles
pressed salt & ice in my skin until it blisters
broken finger bones….
the list will go on
i will always find new ways

” i cherish the revolting thought,
that even i quit,
there’s not a chance in hell i’d stop “

do you know where you’re going to ?……..

this is my 54th cut free day.
i still have no idea how i feel about it
i know that everyone else is happy
them not having to worry so much is a relief for me
i feel better about myself
i feel less of a burden

other than that
i don’t think i feel anything
not proud
not happy

am i numb ?

i miss it

the blood

and

gore

i worry that i’m losing my ability to cut

it took years to get this “good”

as ridiculous as it sounds

that’s important to me

it has to be extreme

otherwise it doesn’t mean anything

is this recovery ?

why am i so scared ?

why does it feel like i’ve lost myself ?

　

try to comprehend that which you’ll never comprehend…..

i had another little crisis

despite transfusion in late december,

haemoglobin had again dropped to 7.6

causing doctor’s to get jumpy

&

start talking about another transfusion

this set me off in a panic

i do not like having blood transfusions

i feel very guilty

other people are more deserving of this blood

that someone selflessly donated

i know i will waste it

i know i will feel horrendous with it inside me

i do not want it.

i don’t really have the option of

saying

no

they will call in a psych consult

which could lead down a road

i can’t

even

think about

my first stupid reaction

is

i must cut

whilst the dr’s decide

i will blood let

i know it doesn’t make sense

to most

but

there is method in the madness

my hb is already low

i may as well be hung for sheep as a lamb

i will hate myself less for shedding my own blood

if i lose enough blood

do enough damage

i may feel sated for a while

with this in mind i set to work

after two disappointing nights

of

slicing

&

producing inadequate wounds

i got angry

with myself

on the third day,

the gp called to say the decided to go with

an iron infusionth e following week

i considered myself free

to

paint the town RED

i felt it couldn’t be that bad

if i didn’t need a transfusion

i had still better fit in as much damage

before treatment

&

truthfully

after two pitiful nights

i needed it

so,

feeling enraged with myself

i set to work

i chose a spot on my slightly less scarred right forearm

i cut vertically

downwards

towards my wrist

everytime i reached a depth i could live with

i elongated the cut

&

started to work down into it again

i got into the most dangerous mindset

where

i can just can’t resist

a little

bit

more

i ploughed through the layers of my flesh

fascinated

with what lay beneath

i watched three distinct fountains of blood

flow into one

sticky

hot

pool

i pulled the wound apart to make the blood spurt higher

i sawed through

some

tough,unknown inner material

and

thrilled

as the spray soared out

and hit my face

when i was finished

i watched

for

i don’t know how long

long enough to become dazed

i had created a a gaping trench

the entire length of my foream

that continuosly filled with blood

and

spilled over the top

i could not stop the blood

nor, could i think straight

i wrapped a towel around my arm

put a huge jumper on top

and

took the bus

yes

the bus

to a&e

i trailed blood into reception

& collapsed in the triage room

i was so ashamed

dreaded trying to explain myself

lay in a cubicle

crying

i had done this many times before

but somehow

i couldn’t control my fear or self loathing.

i received 21 stitches

a transfusion

and

 was hospitlised again for three days

the following week

requiring

another

two units

&

suffering from severe pain

i spent those 3 days in & out of a morphine

induced altered reality

student dr’s were too scared to take blood from my arms

apparently experience is required

to find a vein in this network of scar tissue

the consultant was overly kind

fellow patients

stared & whispered

i lay there in

shame

pain

fear

all of which added up to

another attempt

to stop

11 days

and counting……

makes me want to give myself a beating….

the last few sessions with my pyschologist have been revealing.
i have admitted things
that i’ve never
voiced
before

i’ve also been confronted with ideas that i had previously rejected.
but
cannnot now discount.

the most troubling of these
is
punnishment
i have always railed against the idea
that i self harm to
punnish
myself
yet, through our recent conversations
i found myself saying things
that are usually kept within my head
and
when i voice them
it is hard to dismiss the facts
i’m doing penance.

i feel i must atone for the sin of
failing
i have fallen far short of my expected reach
i have not fulfilled expectations
my foolish decisions
and
weakness
impact on others

i am not as good a person
as
i should
be

i must make ammends

i deserve what i do to myself
i’ve always known that
i now realise
that
there is a part of me
who believes
i mustn’t be allowed to get away my shortcomings

i am not up to scratch
it is not ok to
allow a man to destory you
to fail your unborn child
to sink into depression
and
let
your life
fall apart

there should be consequences
and until i prove myself worthy
i must exact retribution
upon myself

how do you make something of value from your life
when you consider yourself to be
valueless ?