Laying it out there

Well, I did end up going to therapy. If nothing else can be said about me, it can be at least said that I keep up with my committment to attend, whether I feel up to it or not. And I did actually tell her what had gone on over the weekend, as much as I didn't really want to. This weekend past has really been quite a kick in the guts... I have had to wipe a whole lot of 'at least I don'ts' off my list, and it has made me feel like an epic failure, amongst everything else. I used to be able to say, things are f*cked up but at least I....haven't been back in hospital, am not in therapy, am not on a bucketload of pills, am not case-managed, am holding down a job, am not on disability payments, am hiding it well.....but in the last 6 months, I have no longer been able to say these things any more. But then I was still able to say, things might be f*cked up, but at least I....haven't self-harmed in nearly four years, haven't given into crazy impulses, haven't taken more medicine than prescribed...... but after this weekend I can no longer say these things either.

The self harm is a major blow. Nearly four years! I don't know about for others, but for me SI is like an addiction, and blades my drug of choice. Even after nearly four years of abstinence, I still regulalry had to fight the temptation. Kind of what they say about alchoholics, I guess. You will always be an alcoholic, you are just in recovery. I will always be a self harmer... that instinct to turn to the blade will always be there, so I need to be ever vigilant, and not feed the addiction. And dammit, I have done it, I have stoked the fire, I have crossed the line that I drew in the sand, and once I put a foot over that line, it doesn't see such a big deal to step over completely. But it is a big deal. This is not how I want my life to be. And I made the choice to do it, I can blame it on the fatigue and depression, but I made a concious decision, to crack that razor, to set up the towels and betadine and steri-strips, to put the blade to my skin... that was all me, and I could have stopped it at any time. There was a time when, even though I kept my self harm hidden from others, in private I would look at it with an almost peverse pride. I did that.. I am in control of that... I control the pain and the damage, nobody else... and look, I bleed, I ache, I am still here, still alive. Now I look at these pitiful cuts on the skin of a 27 year old, who should f*cking know better, and I am filled with nothing but immense self-loathing.

What I didn't say about my haircut on Friday was, it was necessitated by a very bodgy at home job that morning. I had a flashback, and then when I looked in the mirror, all I could see was me, and I didn't want to be that person, that person that I recognised and weak, pathetic, contemptible and stained. So I grabbed a fist full of my hair and just cut. I dyed my naturally red-brown hair, the darkest shade of black-brown I could find. Gave into my immediate impulse, and consequently ended up having to a) come up with a good story to explain to the hair dresser the state of my hair b)grimace through people commenting on hair, that I of course now absolutely hate (although, really what does it matter?)

I'm just so freaking mad at myself, and disgusted by my complete lack of control. Therapist (D) contends that I am not giving enough credence to the exacerbating stresses in my life right now, instead trying to down play them. She really thinks that the home environment is too toxic. And finally, she posits that I use her and therapy, (M) Case Manager, school and work to ground me, and as all these things will be absent for the next two weeks, that this could be the reason I am fraying around the edges. She repeated several times, that she WOULD be back, and that just because I wasn't seeing her, didn't mean I would be forgotten. I really don't know how much this upcoming absence is impacting all of this. I mean, I am concerned about it, as I have mentioned previously, I have become used the containment of it. As I said to her, 'I am less worried about whether she would come back, and more worried about whether I would'.

On an interesting note, she also told me that whilst she would be there to support me through these feelings of hopelessness, she would not engage in the feelings of hopelessness herself. To which my immediate thought was, I should hope not! Somebody needs to see a light at the end of the tunnel in this situation. But then when I started wondering later, why she had felt the need to say this, I began to wonder if she thought in some way that I needed other people to agree with me on how shitty things really were, in order to validate my own feelings. Or that I was wasteing energy trying to get people to see through the same dark vision that I was seeing the world, rather than putting that energy trying to see instead, how they saw the world, and fix my issues. Have I become so safely ensconsed in this negative world view, that I am avoiding anything that challenges it, and trying to drag people into my own pity party, rather than stepping out into the world and something different? I don't know... I hope not.

So anyway, still residing in a pretty dark place. Still fighting even stronger urges than before (once that taboo has been broken, SI and misuse of medication doesn't seem to be such a hard step to take....sigh) Still living in bombshell of a house, as I haven't the energy or motivation to clean. My friend (S) is supposed to be coming down from the coast tomorrow night and I really should do something about the house... but frankly, I just mostly wish she wasn't coming. I am a terrible friend. My assignment (due Wednesday) is nowhere near done...but once again, I don't really care. I will care, eventually, just not right now. And on top of everything else, I am getting the flu. My throat is so sore, and when I cough it feels like my chest is on fire, and I wheeze for the next 5 minutes. Funny, I went to work with a dislocated shoulder, and later with a fractured wrist, and it didn't bother me, I had to be told to leave work and go and get them checked out by a doctor. I can cut and burn myself and it doesn't bother me. I have a pretty damned high tolerance for pain. But I CANNOT stand flus. Something about having my head all stuffy and blocked up, and fighting to breathe through the grossness, makes me want to die... which I guess, is quite fitting now.

So there, just laying it out there.