So after the overdoses, and the problems at Lyns, I moved home to live with my parents. It is not an ideal situation (I am still living here now) as they do not understand about my problems and can be very insensitive, also they do not think about the fact I may need support, and do all they can to block out the fact that I may have a ‘mental illness’. That said, they provide me with a roof over my head, and food in my belly, so who am I to complain.
For a while, I was doing ok. It took me longer to feel ‘well’ again after the last overdose, but i gradually got there. I was harming on my legs, particularly when times got stressful and I was feeling bad about myself, but there were only scratches.
Notice the word on my leg. This is another strange thing – I don’t understand my motivation for writing words – I wish I did though.
After this, for a little while I managed not to harm, and I had returned to work on a part time basis. My parents decided that they were going to take a holiday, and I didn’t think anything of it, until they actually left and I found myself alone in the house. It was almost as if it triggered some meltdown switch, and I found myself unable to think clearly enough to get up in the morning, to attend work, or even to feed myself. The simpliest decision such as toast with cheese or beans became impossible and I spent many hours simply lying on the living room floor, too exhausted to move. (I have mentioned this before, I do not believe it is exhaustion, merely a mental state).
One night, I found myself with the overwhelming desire to cut. But, for some reason, I had the presence of mind to think to myself, if it was so bad to need stitching, I wouldn’t be able to get myself there without calling an ambulance and drawing attention to myself, which the neighbours would surely relay back to my parents on their return. So, I took a kitchen knife, got in my car and drove to the hospital. Then, sat in the hospital car park I sliced my leg open, before walking into A&E and asking to be stitched up.
Now, I know how crazy that is. You don’t have to tell me it’s crazy, and attention seeking at it’s most finest. But my point is, WHY did I do it? There MUST be some reason? Perhaps I enjoy the attention I receive from being looked after in A&E? Possible – but not likely – because they is a lot of stigma attached to self harm and it’s quite common to be treated with contempt. I obviously didn’t NEED to do it, because I was quite happy to wait until I drove to A&E (a 20 minute drive) so I wan’t acting upon any desperate urges. BUT… there must be some reason. I firmly believe everything has a reason, I just haven’t worked it out yet.
Take care. x