Hi everyone… I’m sorry I wasn’t on here yesterday, things got very messy.
I hate my illness.
So yesterday was supposed to be a new start for me. I got out of bed, determined not to cut, got in the shower and got ready without a single slice on my skin. Mum drove me to my appointment and I went in, pretty nervous but nonetheless ready.
I wish I hadn’t got the memory I have. I’d mixed up the times and I had missed it- I thought it was nine thirty when it was actually 9. I made a new appointment, the disbelief and disappointment welling up, coupled with overwhelming panic and despair. I left the offices, knowing that I’d fucked up.
I had been setting a lot in store by this. It was only an assessment appointment, but I wanted to be on the first rung of the ladder so badly. I wanted to start getting better. I wanted to try and beat my sickness, but equally I just thought that this might be the start of me being able to stop living in my own head.
I ran away from the offices crying and ended up down a backstreet somewhere. I had left my phone at home so I didn’t have it as a distraction, and I was so sick and tired of wrestling with my own head that I just didn’t want to keep going. I sat on a wall, that emptiness filling me til there was nothing else left.
A rather strong reaction you might think, but I’ve been desperate to stop this for so long that it was a snapping point. I had a blade in my bag.
I was sitting there in the sun, several minutes later, no longer crying hysterically but watching the bright blood pour down my arm. And still it wasn’t enough. I cut again, the blade flashing in the sun. So deathly beautiful. I didn’t feel pain, and the first red drops hit the floor with such rounded beauty I had to slice again.
After a while I looked up, and there, across the way, was a set of train tracks. Oh how I wanted to go and jump. The slam of the train hitting me wouldn’t have lasted long, and I would have been a memory. No longer flawed, no longer causing pain to anyone, no longer the weak link, the disappointment… All pain would be gone.
I don’t know what made me do it. I got up, sat back down again, cut some more… There was an inquisitive fly that buzzed around my head, then flew away. I stood up eventually, bloody arm dripping a bit down my hand, and staggered into the street.
I think I’ve mentioned before how no one gives a fuck about a crazy girl wandering bleeding around town. This time round was no exception, even up North where people are friendlier. I was bleeding. I was freezing cold and in shock. I was flinching away from every man I walked by, and I was shaking obviously. No one stopped to help. No one even asked if I was ok. No one cares about a crazy girl. An old lady stared at me as I emerged shaking into the street, and when I was sitting on the wall, a guy actually watched me bleeding, blade in hand, and didn’t even ask if I needed help.
Walking back into the office was the hardest thing I have ever done. I had to actually go back onto a main thoroughfare to get inside, and people were walking by as my lacerated arm was still bleeding. I ran into the office, and the receptionist looked up.
She asked me if everything was ok, not having seen my arm yet, and I broke down in floods of tears at her kind, enquiring face, and showed her my arm.
She whirled into action, ringing people who could help, and gave me a tissue. I stood there, those awful sobs that rattle your chest forcing their way up, as she got me to sit down, and gave me another tissue to get a bit of the blood off. Eventually she took me behind the counter, and started the business of cleaning my arm whilst I spoke to a clinical psychologist. She was very calm and kind, and helped me calm down at least a bit. They were all fantastic in there, and after a while the prospect of A and E came up. I knew my mum was supposed to be picking me up, and I was meant to be ringing her to come and get me when I was finished. Instead, I was on my way to A and E, and I knew she would be so upset and angry. I hated the thought that I’d let her down so badly. Thoughts of the rest of my family, my dog, my sister, my auties and uncles, flooded my brain, and I just felt ashamed.
There was talk of sending me to A and E in a taxi, but I actually surprised myself yet again by asking not to. I said to them I couldn’t stand the thought of being in a taxi with a male driver, and I said to the receptionist that I’d been raped by my ex boyfriend, and that was why I couldn’t do it. Whilst waiting for the ambulance, the receptionist cleaned up what she could of my arm and kept talking to me. I was surprised when a family friend of ours turned up at the desk- he was one of the psychologists who worked there. He sat there, chatting to me, and after a while the paramedics turned up. Amazingly, they were two women- clearly they’d taken note of my anxiety. As I left, he wished me well, and the receptionist gave me a hug.
I was showed into the ambulance, and they sat me down and I waited for the lack of sympathy. After all, I was wasting their time, and I wasn’t bleeding to death. What a waste of space.
“Look what you’ve done to your beautiful skin!” the younger one said, and I had to laugh. She was lovely, and the two of them took my pulse and temperature, they bandaged my arm and kept talking kindly to me. I was wheeled into A and E, and I sat on an uncomfortable blue chair and waited.
I heard a voice and turned round- it was my mum. She flung her arms around me and said, “Why didn’t you call me?!” Tears streamed down my cheeks as I blurted out “Mum, I’m so sorry!!!” She just held me close, tried to warm me up and stop me from shaking.
I ended up in Triage, where they assessed my bandaged arm and my mental state, and my faithful mum was there all the way. They cleaned my arm again after removing the bandage, and then re-dressing it. Crisis team were called, and I told them once again that I felt suicidal. It’s true. Taking my own life still seems like the best option.
Life seems like it’s a long road with far more horrible shocks along the way than I ever anticipated. I never thought I’d get this bad- that urge to cut that much has always been there, but I have never been that low that I’ve acted on it before. Somehow I’ve always been able to pull back from that edge, and I just couldn’t. I was exhausted and worn out with fighting my head and my urges and my whole life, I’ve always wanted to keep on cutting, and that moment with the blade in my hand proved to me that when I think I have control, I don’t.
Crisis team are coming to see me tomorrow, and they came to see me today as well. They are tiding me over til I can see the psychologist on the 1st of July.
I’m really really sorry everyone. I have let you all down, and I have failed again. I am so sorry.