And the walls kept tumbling down….

yesterday i had to ask my best friend to walk me to the chemist.                            

it’s two streets away, but i just couldn’t do it on my own.

my friend is wonderful, but i still felt pathetic. 
today i had to get some blood tests. just routine tests that i have done regularly. 

but, it felt like an impossible feat.

i took a double dose of diazepam & was still overwhelmed.

i began to cry when the nurse was taking blood 

i found i could not stop 

and, so spent a humiliating half hour trapped in waiting room toilet,

desperate not to share my fragile state with strangers. 

now, i am home. Hating myself for all the things that i haven’t done. 

from housework to commissions. 

i don’t want to be back here,

frozen in panic

gobbling pills to survive another day.

i thought I was closing the book on blood

&

stitches

&

shame. 

not so. 

here i am once again mired in it.

even more frightening this time as i have more to lose.

and

because it’s a brutal reminder that there is no cure

this illness can crush me at anytime 

control is an illusion. 

all you need is me…

i have been cutting sporadically over the last few weeks.
it hasn’t felt like a complete return to self-harm as it’s been contained.
i had expected to feel guilt
perhaps a sense of failing
but
it has been gentler than that
it feels like returning from an arduous journey & climbing into my own bed.

this past weekend has been different.
my cutting has become more insistent
i’ve begun to make demands of myself
at some point in the early hours,
the notion of being in control again took hold.

as I marvelled in the restorative wonder of hot blood
i realised i could seize back power
i could watch my haemoglobin levels plummet
all the heavy, guilt ridden blood could be let
opening garnet stripes
as I reclaim my body

these thoughts were exhilarating
and
with them came plans
schedules of pain
strict timetables to be adhered to
rules that if obeyed would bring comfort.
finally, I can breathe

i want to feel every slice of my flesh
and
monitor every drop of spilt blood
i need the hurt
my body must be a battle ground
if my mind is to stand any chance of a lasting peace.

i’m in charge again.
i can’t tell you how much I have longed to sink into this well-worn mattress.

this is me.
this works.

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.

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.

what the hell am i doing here ?…..

therapy was another cry fest.
i have been struggling recently
and
as soon as I sat down in that room, it all came tumbling out

i am so frustrated with my current situation
my slide back into deep depression is soul destroying
and
incomprehensible.
why am I back here when I was making such progress?

nothing has changed.
all the recovery boxes were getting ticked
until it all started to fall apart again.

it’s such a cruel illness
there is no explanation for the sudden blackness crowding my head
i am trying so hard to fight it
but
every tiny little step is exhaustingly hard
it’s so difficult to believe I will ever emerge from the darkness

my psychologist believes that part of my problem is my inability to give myself credit
i do not feel that I should be congratulated for washing & dressing
having tea with a friend does not strike me as deserving of applause.
i struggle to connect with my compassionate mind.

i am critical
i consider myself pathetic for all the things I cannot do

guilt is another struggle
i don’t believe that I am allowed to have happy moments
it seems to me that if I can feel good for a short period of time,
i should be able to make myself ok
all of the time.

the only thing I see worth in
is my voluntary work
i have been donating some time to a children’s & youth initiative
engaging in an activity that is not about me feels good
however, my decline has interfered with this
overcoming me fear & anxiety to even manage the journey has become increasingly difficult
the pressure of Interacting with the other group leaders crushes me
hence, I am able to attend less
and
i am robbed of the one thing that allows me to consider myself a worthwhile member of society.

the battle goes on
i am cutting, but much less frequently
i feel i still have a modicum of control.
forcing myself to see friends & family continues to be a focus,
engaging in voluntary work has become a priority,
i have also begun a new anxiety med until I can see my psychiatrist.

i refuse to give in
with increasing frequency,
i want to.

constant craving…

i almost cut today.
i got out my box. lifted the lid on the intruments i have missed so much.
that tin smells of blood.
i like it
i selected a scalpel handle & fitted a sharp new blade.
i spread a towel for the much anticipated blood.
i took my time finding the perfect spot.
somewhere soft & inviting.
a patch of skin eager to submit.
i sterilised my skin
and
sat there for hours.

i wanted to make that cut almost as much i wanted to be alive.

opening that box felt like coming home.
breathing in the aroma
feeling that scalpel in my hand
i was back where i belonged.

the thought of that first incision
the crimson emerging,
slowly sliding down my arm.

my heart is racing now at the thought

i want it.

i want blood
&
gore
&
pain
&
scars

i want stitches
and staples.
nerve damage
and infections.

i crave it so badly that i can hardly breathe.

i nearly cut today,but i knew if i started
i wouldn’t be able to stop.

i thought about the life that might be possible
and of all the people i’d be letting down.
i thought of athena
and
i put that box away.

everybody’s talking at me…..

this morning i got on a bus.
i paid my fare
smiled politely at the other passengers
sat down quietly.

i wasn’t in anyone’s way
i wasn’t rude
or
loud
i was just minding my own business, getting to where i needed to be.

apparantly,
my mere person was offensive.
my exposed arms
somehow enough to warrant censure.

a complete stranger took issue with my scars.

i was aware of her noticing & staring at my arms,
i’ve grown used to this sort of behaviour
& tried to dismiss her rudeness.
but
the stares became glares
and
she was visibly annoyed.
i felt uncomfortable, but was able to zone her out.

alas, she felt compelled to express her judgement
as i walked past her to leave the bus,
she hissed that i should be ashamed of myself.

i reacted by asking her if she was ashamed of being a cunt.

this is how i usually respond to such comments.
i make an angry, sometimes comic retort
&
quickly get on my way

i don’t want these people to know how much they hurt me
or
how the shake my confidence.

most of all,
i never want them to be aware
of just how ashamed i am

i’ll never know why my personal struggle anger others
or
why strangers believe that my body is their business.
i do know that shame is a common theme. they want me to cowed
&
hiding
&
sorry.

i hope one day i will be unconcerned by these encounters
today is not that day
i came home & stayed home.
i doubt i’ll go out tomorrow either.

because shame & guilt are what make my world go around.
i don’t need the negative reinforcement.

here comes the fear again….

143 days.
i know i should be proud
maybe a tiny little part of me is
i can recognise that this is a huge achievment for me
unfortunately
the bigger part of me feels guilty
and
ashamed.

i’m a fraud
i still think about it everyday
my mind conjures up the most horrific images.
i deserve it.
i should be atoning for my mistakes.
i should be tearing my body apart
the guilt of not hurting myself,
of deceiving those i care about most
is killing me.

i do not feel better
i miss the blood
i crave the blood
i imagine it flowing inside me
i’m scared there is too much
i feel unnatural.

i don’t know who i am
without
blood
and
pain
and
chaos.

i’m so much lower without the release
i have no escape from these intolerable emotions
the fear is overwhelming
i’m scared this is never going to change

i am always going to want it
i will forever be ruled by insane desires
uncontrollable lows
and
i’m too ashamed to admit it.

even if i quit, there’s not a chance in hell i’d stop….

25 days.
you can not imagine how long that is.
25 days without picking up a scalpel
without that first cut
without blood
without pain
without causing harm.
25 days wihtout being me.

i don’t really know how to live this way

my mind is constantly thinking of new ways to hurt myself
not hurting myself feels unnatural
wrong
i’m not losing blood
i miss the sight of it
and the knowledge
that the blood is gone

i like to know that i’ve suffered
that i’m not getting off lightly
i deserve the pain
and
everything else that goes with it

i don’t know who i am when i’m not punnishing myself

it feels far from permanent.
the lure of the blade is still so strong

it’s 25 days of crushing guilt
and
just
a tiny bit of
hope.