Wednesday, March 14, 2012


I was talking to a friend last night about my little accident and he asked if it could have been prevented. This question really made me think. In the heat of the moment can self-harm be prevented? Or is it something which once you've made your mind up, it's going to happen no matter what?
For me the other day it wasn't an idea which popped into my head and then I thought it over, it was a 'spur of the moment' thing. I saw an implement, I felt disgustingly bad and so I did it. I did it more than once, in a rather stupid place for the upcoming summer season, and for the moment I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the punishment and the hurting because once it was happening I realised that it had been building up for quite some time.
Maybe I'm kidding myself and saying that it was inevitable because once a cutter, always a cutter. But really it did feel like something I should have done to myself. I'm full of self-loathing most of the time that to actually feel that was almost a relief.
Until afterwards of course. When I was disgusted. When I took Alfie to the park and his cousin and my mother and sister-in-law were there. All I wanted to do then was go back to being a good mum and fiance, or at least my daily struggle to be both of those things!
Everything has settled down now. Dressings are off but sleeves still firmly on. I still feel like a gaping black hole of nothingness, but y'know, who doesn't?

Monday, March 12, 2012

In Remission

Things had been going so well. I made the transition from one anti-psychotic to another with limitless finesse - you'd think I'd done it before or something - and I was even more awake, losing weight and generally being a poster girl for "Bipolar: In Remission"
Then I got ill, well not drastically, I got tonsillitis. Anyway it knocked me and made me sleep and sleep and sleep. It made me snappy and grumpy. Nobody knew where they stood around me. I didn't know where I stood about myself.
So then today we argued, William and I, about something silly. It had been brewing all day but just culminated with a few choice words and slammed doors. Mainly my words and doors.
And that was it; the closest pocket-knife was mine as soon as I laid eyes on it. And I did it. Again and again. I'm not even sure how many times because I ran to the bathroom for toilet paper and then put a black cardigan on.
Then we made up, cried and took Alfie to the park. Later William dressed it for me and I haven't looked. I can't look. I'm dreading the shower tomorrow morning.
And there we have it.