Life

I'm still doing it, still living.

I spend my days in a stationary shop, working simply as a sales assistant.

I spend my evenings with my Mum and my sisters.

I spend every moment missing my William.

Having trouble getting cleared for September by Occupational Health. Please keep your fingers crossed for me.

Give me a chance to hold on

No, I don't want to talk about it. Any of it. For some time now I shall block out the events surrounding my 20th Birthday.

At the moment I am staying with my Mum. Getting back on the meds. Starting work on Monday.

Pain drifts in and out of our lives. Crushing moments and devastating pain keep us on our toes. Some of us thrive, some of us take a very definite dive. This time - again - I took a dive. I hope that some day these dives will be my education in keeping my head above water when I eventually crash into the suffocating depths, because it's going to keep happening - again and again.

The glowing tan of a seasoned and salted sailor is back with me. The call of the waves and the rustle of a spinnaker are humming to me gently. They want me back, they want to fix me to the bow of a Beneteau... to air out all of my pain, to bruise my legs. The foredeck of a large yacht is where I should be, with my beau sitting at the back. Feeling the wind, feeling the blackness trail behind us as we set off until finally it detatches and we are free again - to dance and sing in the skirt of a wave.

Each morning I go to the top of my Clos and I send a kiss to William, a smile to the glistening waves and the faint glimmer of hope that one day once more the sea will envelop me.

Secrets

Last week I tried to end my life again, because I thought it would get William a place to live for a while.

***

Sorry for not being around, I love you as always.

'ello

Sorry all, I am here... but in the background.

Thank you for lovely birthday messages.

Will let you know more, when I know myself!

x

You're so fragile tonight
Been up hurting all night
It's not trivial like they think
Yes you're desperate and you're hurt.

Thought about it so many times
Too afraid to open your eyes
To see the sadness that's inside
Just sit back and stop time.

You're tender and you're tired
You can't be bothered to decide
Whether to live or die
Or just forget about your life.

'You're Tender and You're Tired' - Manic Street Preachers

I posted those lyrics because I can't get my soul to speak to anyone at the moment.

Things are changing, rapidly - too rapidly for me to handle. As much as I like to deny it change unsettles me and it takes me a while to ease into things. If I am not afforded time with a change then I quickly become distressed. I can tell when this is going to happen but can't often stop it.

As you know I am currently without professional human support right now - it's just me, William and a hefty dose of quetiapine twice daily. Unfortunately with the recent changes and those yet to come I have become - unwell? I'm not sure that's the right word but I can't find an alternative.

I'm not speaking to William, I'm retreating into myself offering only "I don't know what to say" as an explanation. I swing from crying and depressed to hyperactive and restless at an alarming rate, and then back again. I know all is not well but I don't know what to do about it.

William too is finding it difficult with me not able to convey my trust through him to other people, who it feels are in control of our situation. It distresses him that he has to make decisions for both of us - but I in turn am distressed when it is highlighted that I am not helping matters at all.

In short, these are turbulent times. But I've been through it all before, right?

Cold, sharp security blanket. (For Kat)

I've told you my story, in dribs and drabs - here and there. A post on a bad Christmas, a few comments about my parents. But I've never done my story with regards to self harm, never taken you through my life as a cutter.

When I was 10 I stuck my finger in an automatic pencil sharpener, you know the ones - teachers have them on their desks. The day before this my Dad had taken me to Girl's Brigade in his huge red Volvo estate... he gave me 20p for sweets and just before I got out of the car he called "Pull that dress down, you look like a slut" Then he gave me one of 'his' winks and drove out of the car park.

I may have only been 10 but I knew what a slut was, and I knew I didn't want to be one. So at school the next day I put my finger in the sharpener. I can't remember what I felt, or what I thought it would acheive... I was just angry at myself.

It was a good few years more before I turned to pain to escape again.

Saturday 11th December 2004. I was fifteen years old. In the morning I had gone to my band practise and on the way home I stopped in on Dad (in the pub), when I got there he was mid-flow in a story about how he had screwed his girlfriend the night before. All his friends urged him to shut up - they were nice to me - they said I shouldn't hear things like this. But he said "Relax, no-one's ever gonna fuck her anyway". I smiled graciously and took a seat in the corner - I never had a bad word to say about Dad, I was his princess. (But that's another story)

I walked home from the pub to help my Mum and my two younger sisters put up our Christmas tree, it was the same one we used every year; a 4ft artifical one - Woolie's finest, plonked on top of a mahogany corner table to make it 6ft. I always put the tinsel on because no-one else could reach far enough up the tree.

In the evening we watched some TV, my Mum and sisters went to bed early so it was just me sitting in the lounge next to a multi-coloured lit Christmas tree. I was hit by these unbelieveable wave of sadness. I didn't want to go to bed because I didn't want to wake up in the morning. I cursed myself for feeling like this, for doubting the healthiness of Dad's and my relationship. I found a safety pin and I started to scratch. Side to side, faster and faster across my left wrist. I liked how it burned, I liked how the blood was coming out - I had done it all by myself, for myself.

This carried on for a fair few months, I would sit in my top bunk listening to Manic Street Preachers with my little safety pin. Always in the same place, always with the same pin. It used to hurt a lot when my wrists rubbed on my grey wool school jumper - but I liked that, a little reminder of the pain when I was away from my pin.

We soon moved into a bigger house and I had my own bedroom... this is when I switched to packs of ten razor blades. I fell in love. The harm was quick and afterwards I could watch the blood seep through the fat and spill onto my skin. Pretty soon I ran out of room on my wrist, so I let loose... I cut anywhere and everywhere on both arms, I took my blades to school in my purse and used the school toilets to get some release. I branched out into buying first aid supplies... menolin patches, micropore tape and steri strips - I rarely went to get stitches but when I did I was in and out of A&E like a rocket. Dealing with the consequences during my weekly trips to a CAMHS psychiatrist.

When I moved to Uni I continued to hurt myself but less often than before. I had William with me so I couldn't always find blades... I used whatever was next readily available to me, from sandwich ties (with the wire in the middle) to tweezers. Anything to ease off the pressure for a while, give me chance to breathe and get some control - punish myself for whatever affliction is assaulting my self confidence.

I don't know how to end this story, because it hasn't reached its end yet. I haven't touched on ODs, scars or therapy, I haven't told you about my life since 2004... this story is simply the beginning (I fear) of my journey with 'Deliberate Self Harm' - I continue to wrap myself in that cold, sharp security blanket... albeit less often than I once did.

Doctor-Patient

Hi you lot. Not doing brilliantly. Be gentle with me.

Went to register with GP today. I really just wanted a new script - but he insisted on a BP check, weighing and an informal 'chat'.

Am pretty cross with myself because I basically told him that I was doing fantastic, I practically told him I was in remission - and he bought it, wrote it in the notes - congratulated me.
I told him I'd had excellent treatment in the UK (not true) and that I had no feelings of hurting myself. He gave me two months Seroquel (168 tablets) - then he checked I had no plans to OD. I told him 'Not for a long time!'... this is true enough, it has been a long time since I've thought of it. But lately it's been creeping into my mind again. I'm trying to push it right back out - there's enough crap going on in there as it is.

I mentioned my abnormal liver function and he suggested a few things it could be - possibly Gilbert's Syndrome - which is fine as that's practically harmless. He's going to do some more blood tests next month as he says it still could be the Seroquel or even still the effects from the OD I took all those years ago. Hope it's not the Seroquel as don't want to stop it.

Anyway. So I lied about how I felt to the Doctor.

Let's see if I can pull myself through this one with no further damage.

A World of Pain

Just wanted to do a quick post on a documentary I watched last night with William. It was about Self Harm and was presented by an actress and writer called Meera Syal.

I thought it was pretty good.

Have put the link at the end of the page - but unfortunately if you're not in the UK I don't think it'll play for you. There is however a link to the programme information, if you're interested in what it was all about.

Trying to raise some more awareness.

If anyone out there is struggling with self harm, please contact me and I would love to try to help you.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00l17tq/A_World_of_Pain_Meera_Syal_on_SelfHarm/

Bear with me

Please.

Not entirely sure that I'm entirely well. Right now. But I can't seem to tell anyone.

Tweezers? I mean, fucking tweezer? THAT's what I picked... Knife wasn't sharp enough. Chemist too far away.

So Nikita, in her infinite wisdom, decides to carve out bits of her ankle with a pair of black Primark tweezers.

This is really living, my friends.

Pourquoi?

Secretly one of the reasons I want to go into Mental Health Nursing is because I want to learn to understand self harm. Not for myself, just because it has always astounded me - it did before I even started to do it myself.

Currently nursing 10 new wounds. It's painful in a way it never was before.

I need to understand.

SH

It wraps you up
In pain you love,
It draws you in
It makes you need
You think you are -
In control.
You use it
Daily
Weekly
Whenever you feel wrong
It makes you feel
Just right.
Pain as a reward
As a punishment
As a life-saver
As a lesson
You thought
That you had learnt.
Years
Or months later
You've moved on
Found other ways
Grown up.
But no,
Sweet fool
There will be a day
When it comes knocking
You do it again
And again
Just like before.