I did not see that one coming

Okay, so the first thing I should say is that this post discusses self harm. If you think that might put you in a dangerous place please look away now, because it’s important to everybody that everybody stays safe.

{Pause to allow people to look away now}*

The second thing to say is that I’m currently on step number three of the safety plan**. I used to have three ‘real’ people I could communicate with if I thought I was in a risky situation: Mr Wise, Mr Hilarious and Mr Friendly, but now I’ve added my blog to the list of ‘people it is safe to communicate with’. The aforementioned Mr’s*** are otherwise engaged, and (as daft as it sounds) I’m not in the right place for crisis intervention so I’m writing this post in an attempt to communicate all this crazy stuff out of my head.

{Pause for a few deep breaths}

Here’s what happened. I sat down to write a post (it’s a funny story about me at a party so I’ll probably get round to posting it another time) and then I had a nosebleed. A proper, massive, wouldn’t stop nosebleed.

I don’t think I’ve had a proper, massive, wouldn’t stop nosebleed since I was about twelve years old and although I know it should have been a tad distressing, I actually really liked it. I liked it because all that bright red blood on a white tissue felt like the most sensible, meaningful thing on earth and I thought to myself that if my nose stops bleeding there would still be lots of other ways to get back to the most sensible and meaningful thing on earth.

I haven’t cut myself since last November. I didn’t really remember doing it but the evidence suggested that I made a pretty serious attempt to actually cut one of my legs off. To be fair, that was an isolated incident and it’s a very long time since each morning has been about working out what I’d done the day before with reference to the bloody rags and sharp implements scattered around me. I was in an awful, painful place, I have some pretty hideous scars and would do anything, anything, anything to go back in time and make it not happen. So why should it make any sense whatsoever to think that slicing myself open and watching the blood ooze out is the answer to a question that I haven’t even worked out yet?

Nowadays, I tend to work on the assumption that I am a grown up, and that I have therefore found grown up, subtle ways to hurt myself. As if that’s some kind of achievement! I know it’s a load of blinking rubbish, because most grown-ups don’t spend any time what-so-bloody-ever thinking about hurting themselves. What’s this thing about hurting myself even more than I’m already hurting? What’s this thing about bright red blood on white tissues? Roar, roar and triple roar. Can I start again please?

I’m sorry if this one is a bit rambling, but it was more about getting thoughts out of my brain than achieving a coherent post…..

Meanwhile in other news I have managed three meals and a trip to the outside world today, and my cat has just about got used to the new voile panel in our flat. Oh. And I went to a party yesterday.

Take care, Wee Gee x

*I hope you won’t think I’m being flippant because I’m really not – it’s just my way.

**At the moment my number one mission in life is to be well enough to be able to cope without a safety plan.

***I know perfectly well that Mr’s is not an ideal use of the apostrophe, but according to the OED style guide it is acceptable to use an apostrophe to ensure clarity of meaning. If I’d put Mrs it would have looked like I meant a married lady person, rather than the plural of Mr. (What can I say? I’m the grammar police so I’m getting my alibi in early….)

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6 comments

  1. Difficult to say anything about the horribles – but I’m glad you are remembering to give yourself points for the achievements, which are very real. And give yourself the point for writing a witty and illuminating post from an extremely difficult situation.

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