I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed….

I got a new tattoo last week. It’s a small poem that I wanted to have with me permanently. Six lines of simple typewriter script that embody an important part of my story. A tattoo seemed the perfect way to mark the progress I have made with my mental health. It is important to me acknowledge that yes I have struggled and I have used my flesh to illustrate those troubles, but they don’t define me. I have hope.

  

If I were writing this for a one of the mainstream mental health organisations I suspect this is where this piece would be cut. It would be a neat little story of redemption; unfortunately mental illness isn’t that tidy. The above is all true. I have made strides into a new life. I did want to commemorate my evolution, but I was also making a declaration of defiance. The fight isn’t over, you see. I am fairly certain it never will be. The urge to hurt myself has never completely left me. 

I have been doing well. I am working on some business ideas. Trying new things, stretching myself. I haven’t cut for quite some time. I had begun to feel that I was wrestling back some control. 

It’s never that simple though, is it?

A few weeks ago my nightmares returned. I cannot discern any trigger. Nor can I find any way to calm my subconscious. The disturbance has crept into my waking hours. Flashbacks have begun to plague me & with them come the overwhelming desire to spill my blood. The compulsion to cut is so strong that I see images in my mind, tiny little slasher movies starring me. Even worse though is the fear these symptoms bring. The sheer panic that my life is about to be shattered again. I am overwhelmed with the need to be swallowed up by my crazy. 

The glimmer of hope is that I have not cut. However, I can make no guarantees that I will not reach for my blade at some point in the future. 

And

This is the reality of mental illness. 

I fight to reclaim my life every day. I never have the luxury of being cured.  I just keep breathing and pushing forward. This is my ‘recovery’. This is story I want to tell.

you win again…

I had yet another hospital appointment.
this time with an orthopaedic surgeon.
for the last year or so i have been having difficulties with my left hand & arm.
my gp thought it might be related to my b12 defiecency as i also lose feeling in my toes.
apparently that is a completely separate issue.
my problem is in fact, nerve damage.
damage caused by me.

i have a splint to wear and have injections for the next three months.
the consultant will then decide how to proceed surgically.
i’m not thrilled about having another procedure
but
there is so much more to it.

i feel so very guilty.
i am entirely responsible for this.
most of me feels i don’t deserve to have this impairment corrected.
i feel unworthy
i unnecessarily deplete resources.

worse than that,
i feel that this will never be over.
self-harm will always be with me.
whether it’s the constant desire to hurt myself
or
the ongoing consequences of what i’ve done to my body.

all those years of people telling me how dangerous my cutting was
it never felt real to me.
it’s real now.

i’m living with the damage i didn’t believe i could do
my heart
my hand
perhaps this is my punishment

i should be happy
i always wanted to castigate myself
i’ve succeeded

all i have achieved is becoming even more of a burden
now people i love have another reason to worry about me
i require further medical intervention
i am a drain.

even now, I’m whining.
i’ve done it
i need to live with it.
i could
if other people didn’t have to be involved.

i’m comfortable with pain
i still seek it out.
i am beginning to wonder why i keep fighting the urge
if the shadow of self-harm is going to hang over me forever
why not just give in to it?

the shame
and
the guilt
and
fear
are constant companions

so, maybe i let it win.
isn’t it winning anyway?

still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away….

i’m not cutting.
partly because I simply lack the energy it requires
and
also because, damn it, I need to beat this demon.

it’s hard
so hard

i am still awaiting the day when I do not feel the urge
to be honest I’m losing hope that it will come.

there is still a daily battle
the constant guilt haunts me
i miss the pain
and
the blood
Oh god, do i miss the blood.

my emotions are so overwhelming
it becomes hard just to sit in my own skin
an assault on my flesh would be so welcome
the relief of a savage limb would be intense.
blood would wash my sins away
like a baptism.

i have an intermittent slide show playing in my head
of all the glorious destruction I could wreak upon myself
this is would be so much more bearable if I had a deadline
if I knew this would stop one day
if I knew I would win
i could stand the pain.

but we’re never gonna survive,unless we get a little crazy…….

i used to have this passion burning inside me.

i believed in myself,

i knew i could achieve anything if i worked hard enough.

i wanted to change the world.

no,

more than that,

i believed i was changing the world,

that i was playing a small part in positive alteration.

i wrote

i danced

i worked

i loved

i studied

i sang

i marched

i lived.

i relished a challenge.

i was someone who had the answers.

when i thought of the future, i felt excitement bubble inside me.

i couldn’t wait to jump in.

i was so very sure that life would be good

and kind

and happy.

was that just naivety ?

i still want to change the world.

it just strikes me as a bit of stretch these days

i have yet to instigate meaningful changes in my own life,

the entire world seems a little out of reach.

i don’t understand where that girl went.

she was so robust.

i’d never have guessed that she’d fold.

i suppose she had to protect herself.

it seemed like the wisest thing at the time

anything in the name of self-preservation.

she had to shed some hope

and

build some barriers to survive.

now that she’s gone

i wonder if it was worth it.

the truth is,

i would give anything to be her again.

the problem is,

i don’t know if she exists anymore.

what is it good for ?

i’m waging a war
with myself.

there are ceasefires,
but i am currently fighting a battle on two fronts.
there are bound to be casualties.

part of me knows it is time to quit.
i can’t hold this front forever.
it is not possible to make him love me
equally,i can’t make myself stop loving him.
it’s painful to look at someone & see a future i can’t have.

half of me is ready to wave my white flag
and
the other half is prepared to dig in.

and there is the ongoing, dirty squirmish.
CUT
DON’T CUT
emotions lined up on each side of the barricades.
guilt & pain ready to face fear & sadness.
there is no victor.
i lose everytime.