I used to self harm.
It started when I was doing my degree. My mum hadn't quite achieved the heights of alcoholism she would later reach, I was living at home and thought if I could be the best daughter ever that everything would be OK. When the pressure got that little bit too much I got a pair of scissors and, well, the back of my hand was the best target I had.
Later I managed to move out, got my own place, but that was worse. I couldn't keep an eye on my mum or make sure my dad was OK and I was completely exhausted from trying to be the best daughter ever and get my degree and to top it all off I had the worst neighbour in the world.*
So I started on my arm, with a piece of sharp glass. It's amazing how much better I felt as the blood flowed, like I had control over that small piece of my world.
The worst was when I ended up cutting so deep into my upper arm that it wouldn't stop bleeding. I patched myself up, tissues and tape, and went into work. I didn't realise as I was giving a presentation that the blood had soaked through my shirt and was running down my arm. I ended up in casualty having stitches, telling my friends and the doctors that my aunt's cat had scratched me, and telling my parents that my friend's cat had scratched me. That's my worst scar.
I decided to stop at my grandfather's funeral.
This was just after I told them to fuck off and leave me alone, that I was going to move as far away as I possibly could. Which I did.
My new life, my new resolution.
It's pretty much worked since then. I've only harmed twice since in the nine years I've been down here which is an average I can live with. I'm hoping never to do it again.
*More on my evil neighbour later...
