I go home for lunch early, as we are meeting the solicitor later to sign contracts for the house. Unusually, my mum arrives home five minutes after I do and sits down at the kitchen table. Instinctively, I knew something was not right, and that she was going to say something that I was not going to like.
She starts by telling me she went into my room to put some of my things in there. As soon as she says it, I know what is coming next. She tells me has seen bloody tissues and bandages in the bin and wants to know whether I have been cutting again. Immediately, I deny it, an automatic reaction. I tell her I had a nosebleed and it was the only thing I could find to stem the flow.
She doesn’t look convinced, then goes on to tell me she has seen a picture on my e-mails at work, of my arm. I really need to delete my work account from my phone. For some reason, when I sent the picture of my arm to the blog on the last post, it sent from my work account not my personal account, and therefore was saved in the sent items. She says she was looking for a specific e-mail, but I suspect she was just looking for evidence.
I tell her it was an old picture, then I was sending an email to someone and needed to include it for their benefit. I stuck to what I know, if in doubt, just deny, deny, deny, even if what you are saying sounds completely stupid. Never admit the truth to her, she can’t handle it, it is damaging. For a fleeting second, I considered telling her, but quickly decided against it. I remember vividly what happened last time I opened up to her, how much it hurt.
She tells me she doesn’t believe me. She tells me I’m a liar. She asks to see my arms and I refuse. I pull out the big guns; “Don’t you trust me? You should trust me enough to believe me rather than looking at my arms”
She tells me she doesn’t trust me. Oh shit. I begin to wonder whether I will be able to talk my way out of this one. I start smiling, telling her how happy I am, how excited I am about the cottage. These aren’t lies, I really am happy, I wish I hadn’t cut again, I just want to forget it. I don’t want to go through this again. I wish I could just be better without them knowing I was bad again. She says she won’t say anything to my Dad, I just need to stop lying. I tell her I’m not lying and I go and sit in front of the computer, trying to signal the conversation is over.
She tells me that I always lie to her, picks up her keys and goes back to the office. I follow back ten minutes later, and try to act normal. I feel sick. I can’t open up to her again. Last time it nearly destroyed every single shred of self esteem I had. It left our relationship that was non-existent anyway, in tatters, and me in hospital with 30 stitches in my arm.
I know now she is going to be eagle eyed, trying to see my arms. I wish there was a way I could peel off the cuts just to show her they are clean, then she could get off my back. God, I need valium.