stop giving me choices…

i think i may well have written this or something like it about a dozen times in the last 8 or 9 years.

that may not seem excessive, but when i add to that the fact that it’s running aound in my head pretty much every day, it gets repetitive.

almost everyone i know has found their one, with relative ease it seems. they’re all settled & happy, which is wonderful.
but i’m that desperate woman in her 30’s who’s womb is a time bomb.

and i get it, i’m not the most captivating prospect. i’m difficult. i’m too old & dated too many fuckwits to put up with even the tiniest hint of bullshit.

i’m mental. really, properly mental. if you’re in any doubt scroll back through a few posts.

i’m covered in scars. literally covered in them. that’s not a hot look in anyone’s book. actually, i don’t think that’s really the issue with the scars. it’s what they signify rather than how they look. they’re scary. i get that.

this isn’t a oh no, i’m a pariah, no one loves me thing. i know i’m not repulsive. i can be pretty damn sexy & on my better days i’m a cool person.

that may be part of the problem. i know who i am
and i undeniably know what i want.

try as might, almost, just isn’t good enough.

i have gone out with a fair few lovely men. smart, attractive, funny blah, blah, blah
but
they don’t set my world alight
to be as cliched as fuck, there are no butterflies.

i’m lucky. i’m grateful.
i have extraordinary friends.
a close, loving family.
a bloody roof over my head.
i have a lot.
i know.

i want more.

folk are so supportive. they tell me how fantastic i am. how much i deserve my happy ending. i’m sure you’ve all heard this stuff at some point.
it’s never too late
there’s someone for everyone
you just haven’t met the right person.

of course the glaringly obvious point is, i have.
i have met him.
i’ve known him
&
laughed with him
&
fucked him
&
loved him
for years. for forever, really.

i know he’s the right man.
he’s an integral part of my life. a person who gets me through some really shitty times in his own undemonstrative way.
the only man i could realistically see myself being happy with
the only man who ever made me feel i was in movie love.
the only man who didn’t tire of my weirdness
and
matches me pound for pound with his own variety of odd.

my friend. my lover.
the man i can not have.

there’s that biological clock
&
it’s deafening.
the desire for a child is all encompassing
time is running out
i’ve spent too long being crazy
&
dating the wrong men
&
trying to be brave enough to try again.

there aren’t any years left to waste.
i have to get my life in order
and
do it.

that probably means i’ll be having a baby on my own
i suppose that should be terrifying
it isn’t
i’m not scared in the slighest
raising a child feels inherently right
i can not comprehend of a life in which i am not a mother

he can’t conceive a future in which he is father.

i can’t have both
we talk abstractly about what we’re giving up
if we’d met earlier
if we both weren’t so damaged
how happy we could be together.
if. if. if.
those conversations occupy my mind
sometimes.
they circle my thoughts before i fall asleep.
but
that circle isn’t never ending
i can not have both
that’s were this love story ends.

i’ve made my decision.
i believe it’s the right one
it’s not simple
or
painless
it is unequivocal.

i think i have always held romanitc notions of fate.
it never occured to me that destiny would be so cruel.
that’s life.
you roll your dice
you make your choices.

everybody’s free to feel good…

we’re having a little bit of a heat wave.
it’s nice to have a burst of sunshine
but
as every self-harmer knows
warm weather is not our friend

so, I’ve been dealing with the tired dilemma
hide & boil
or
uncover & face the inevitable judgement

i don’t always cover all my scars.
i began to dress more freely a few years ago
and
for the most part I am very pleased with that decision
sure, there are times when I take fright & reach for that cardigan
there are also people I don’t feel comfortable around with visible scars.
it’s a mixed bag.

anyway, with temperatures soaring
my usual semi cover ups began to feel oppressive
the thought of going out bare armed & bare legged hovered
but
scared me

finally the heat
and the constant enquiries with regards to my wardrobe won me over
i would be brave
i could do this

last Saturday I went out wearing a maxi skirt with a split & a vest
i spent a lot of time looking in the mirror before I left the house
i wanted to really see me
i am so used to my scars that I often don’t really acknowledge them
i needed to know exactly what others would be looking at.
after much procrastination & with large sunglasses for protection,
stepped outside.

i was prepared for stares
and they came
every second person I passed,
did a double take
i felt exposed
and
free

I
i didn’t stay out long
it was difficult
it was worth it to be out in the world as me
no lies
no shame
just me.

thank you for you pity, you are too kind…

I had a bout of ill health last week & once again found myself lying on a gurney in A&E in considerable pain. This has become a feature of life, one that I have reluctantly come to terms with. With the exception of one thing, I cannot bring myself to accept the constant focus on my self harm. No matter what I present with or how much pain I am, there are always the questions. I am quizzed about my scars by nurses, Drs & auxiliaries alike. The same questions over and over,
Does it hurt?
Why?
How?
How long?
And with the questions come the judgements. I’m told I’m making it harder for anyone to love me, I’m ruining myself, I’m smarter than this, It’s dangerous. My body somehow becomes their property. The paw my scars. Yes, the touch me and are chagrined if I object. The scars blind them. They no longer see a patient. They see a crazy woman. Everything I say is now doubted. Despite my long and well documented medical history, Regardless of the fact I am mostly presenting due to a flare up of an already diagnosed condition, my mental health is called into question. I am asked humiliating question. Have I poisoned myself or hurt myself? How is my mood? Do I need them to call a carer?
I am no longer me. My symptoms are not simply diagnosed and treated. First they must discover if I am just crazy. All the while, I am suffering. The conversation is repeated with each new dry and nurse. Sometimes the cleaners and auxiliaries give their opinions too.
Mostly they branch into two camps. Firstly, the people who pity me. Who think I am some pathetic little girl. They pet me and treat me like a 5yr old. They offer platitudes & some frankly stupid advice. They are desperate to call someone to be responsible for me. They do a lot of touching & exclaiming. They can’t conceive that I am a strong, intelligent adult who is capable of looking after herself. So, they reduce everything I am into sad little bundle & except me to be grateful for their characterisation.
Now, we come to the haters. They think I am a waste of their time. I am stupid, self-indulgent, and stubborn. They grudge treating me, they especially dislike administering pain relief. Obviously if I have self-harmed, I must also a drug seeker. I’ve waited in A&E for hours with pancreatitis with nothing more than paracetamol because some dr objected to me having a history of mental illness. This group can’t separate the psychological from the physical. One must always be in some way linked to other. I have caused this. I am definitely to blame & they spare no time in telling me so. They believe nothing I tell them & never apologise when my records show that everything I have said is accurate. They have indiscrete & unflattering conversation about me. Meaning that other patients can now join in this judgy little game. They say ugly things & when they finally grudgingly have to offer some treatment, they make sure I know that I don’t deserve it.
Occasionally I come across someone who treats with compassion & respect. I am so utterly grateful. I shouldn’t have to be.

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.

searching for answers

i get a lot of similar sesarch terms on this blog. often they seem to be people looking for answers. i have tried to provide some. hope they help some of you.

what can my psychiatrist do if she sees my scars ?
i think you’re asking this question as you are scared she will do something drastic. in my experience this will not happen. as scary as it is you hvae to be honest with her in order for her to do her job. she is likely to be concerned that you are self harming, but she is not going to have you locked up. she will be able to help you by looking at what leads you to self harm, what puporse it sevres for you & how can develop better coping mechanisms. it’s not an easy road, but infintely better than continuing to hurt yourself. i don’t know how old you are or how long you have been cutting, but i can say that the quicker you get help, the easier it is to stop. good luck.
how do people perceive scars ?
i have had so many different reactions to my scars. i used to be very scared and ashamed & always hide my scars. a few years ago i decided i would beat the shame by wearing what i wanted to. it was very hard to begin with, but has gotten easier. there are still times when i feel the need to cover up. you’re probably wondering when i will get to the point. so, here goes.
people can be cruel. lots will stare, but much fewer will actually comment. the most common question is what happened ? which i choose not to answer. you will come across some folk who will make unkind comments, but nearly as often as you imagine. lots more people will show no visible reaction or display some compassion.
try to remember that you have nothing to be ashamed of. your are beautiful as you are.

my therapist pushes me to do things i don’t want to do. is this ok ?
without specific examples it’s hard to be sure. therapists do often have to suggest and encourage things that you don’t like. the fact that you are in therapy shows that you are having difficulties. sometimes a therapist has to push you out of your comfort zone. therapy often feels worse before it feels better.
having said that, if you are seriously worried or very unhappy with you therapist, you can stop seeing them. it is ok to request another therapist. you could also seek advice from gp, cpn etc.

my scars are not from drugs.
i have had people think some of my scars are from drug use and it can be very frustrating. i don’t have an answer for you, but i understand. your scars aren’t anyone else’s business. it is perfectly ok to tell them that.
can scars seep
my fully healed scars don’t seep unless i pick them. however they do sometimes develop little blisters or balls of hard tissue which can burst. scars do al lsorts of weird things. i think everyones behave differently. best advice is if you are concerened ask your gp.
why should you be proud of scars
i don’t really feel proud of my scars, but i try not to be ashamed. i suppose they are a sign that you have survived, which is something to be proud of.
i don’t want to live with scars

my scars make me want to die
this is the search that most made me want to reach out. my heart aches for you. i know scars can make you feel so many negative emotions. it is scary to let people see them. it’s is incredibly upsetting to be judged on them or deal with unkind comments. i don’t know how you got your scars, but i know you can learn to live with them. you are beautiful, scars don’t change that. nor do they change who you are. believe me, you can still be and do everything you want to. you have survived whatever caused your scarring. you are strong. you can live with your scars. i hope these words can have some impact. don’t ever give up.
can you have a blood transfusion for cutting ?
short answer, yes.
if you get to the stage of needing a transfusion things are pretty serious. i would urge you to get help ( if you aren’t already). i’m a huge hyocrite, but please be gentle with yourself. give your body a break. most of all be careful.
why does therapist asked to see si scars ?
usually so that they can assess how severe your sefl injury is. it’s their job to keep you safe and they want to see how much risk your self injury is putting you in.
you don’t have to show them. if you feel uncomfortable you can say no. it’s your body.
you use the word scars. if you are no longer self harming, there seems little reason to expose old scars. unless you want to or can see a useful reason for doing so.
can you work in mental health if you have sh scars ?
short answer, yes
i know several people who have gone into the mental health field after having their own difficulties. their scars haven’t prevented them from doing so. i do know of one person who was asked to cover their scars at work. i’m not sure of the legalities of that, but it doesn seem to be rare.

say what you mean to say….

i had to have another transfusion.
and
it made me think about my strategies for coping
with
other’s view of me

i try to hide my shame
if people knew
just how revolting i feel about
neeeding
&
using
that generously donated blood
i would become an easy target.

they wouldn’t hide their revulsion
as i would have given them a signal
that
they
were
right

a huge part of me believes that are correct
i didn’t deserve it
i am selfish

that doesn’t mean i am brave enough to face their judgement
head
on
self preservation kicks in
i don’t want to be publicly censured

even though
i
know
i am not worth the comapssion of others.

i try to get in there first
i will insult myself
say what i am sure they must be thinking

or i’ll blazen it out
if i act in control
people are more likely to treat me
less
like
a
nutter

there is a little voice
that
screams
you are ill
you don’t want this
but
i don’t hear her

i don’t want to feel constantly
guilty
& ashamred

but my attempts not to
backfire

i try not to be ashamed of my scars
i don’t always hide them
i’ve even used pictures to illustrate this blog

i am critised for it
it’s showboating
attention seeking

if i talk honestly
and
show you what my life
and
body
are truely like
you reject me

my defense
garners more scorn

if i let my weakness show
i am ripe for attack

i don’t know how to protect myself

i don’t want to be ashamed
but
every single outside opinion
tells me i should be

my vicious circle continues
i feel
battered
by my own “community”
yet
i suspect admitting this
will be frowned upon.

as pathetic as it sounds
i think i just need a little validation
none is forthcoming.