self-harming (magazine)...

i read this recently in the fabulous magazine... WOAH!


"With shaking hands, I carefully unscrewed the bare light bulb hanging in my room and smashed it to the floor. Carefully, I picked up the tiny glass shards and swallowed them down with a glass of water. I expected to feel intense pain, but I didn't, and instead I was swamped with a sense of relief. I'd needed to slash my arms, but, locked in the bare room of a psychiatric unit without even a hairbrush, the light bulb was the only way I could hurt myself.

Luckily, I didn't sustain any serious injuries. But I knew I'd reached the lowest moment in my self-harming history.

I'd started hurting myself when I was 11 years old. My Nan had died and I'd just started secondary school. Upset, confused and lonely, I went to my bedroom and started to pull at my hair. As I tore each strand, it was a sweet release from all the churned-up emotions inside me. Pulling my hair helped distract me from the upset inside. No one noticed, not my mum Kathy, or my older brother, particularly as I was always careful not to pull clumps from the same area.

Soon hair-pulling wasn't enough. Aged 12, I used compasses to scratch at my skin until I bled, then broken rulers and scissors. Cutting myself was the only thing that made me feel normal and able to cope with my life.

I thought I was helping myself and dealing with the pain, but soon the need to self-harm was controlling me. By my 13th birthday I found it impossible to get through the day without hurting myself.

Mum noticed scratches on my arm, but I blamed it on my pet rabbit and she believed me. Well, why wouldn't she? To all the world I pretended I was happy and normal.

A few months later, a friend found me huddled in the school toilets gouging my arm with a compasses. She marched me to the head teacher who called my mum. She was devastated at what I'd been doing. I was referred to a child psychiatrist, and even though my arms were a hideous mess of scars, I denied I had a problem. I went to the counselling sessions, but only to keep Mum happy.

Then the school bullies found out and made my life hell. They'd say things like: 'If you're going to kill yourself at least do it properly.' Even the few friends I had turned against me.

Mum felt responsible - she locked away sharp objects and watched me like a hawk. She pleaded with me to tell her why I felt the need to self-harm, but I clammed up - cutting was my secret.

As the bullying at school got worse, my need to cut became overwhelming. I bought razors and cut myself even deeper. Mum found out and I was sent to a teen psychiatric unit.

Once there, depression kicked in and I withdrew even further into myself. I needed to cut myself more than ever, but instead I was taken to counselling sessions. We were encouraged to share our problems, but I kept quiet - I wasn't ready to let anyone in. I'd listen, but hold my own emotions inside.

After a month, I was allowed to go home and began cutting again with a vengeance. This time I couldn't hide it, as I cut so deeply, I needed stitches. Mum rushed me to hospital, and when I saw her tears and the pain in her eyes I was disgusted with myself.

But she didn't know how to help me, as I'd always find ways to harm myself. By 18, there wasn't an inch of my arms that wasn't scarred. When I cut myself, my body now took longer to heal.

In November 2006, at a particularly low point, I slashed myself six times and needed a two-litre blood transfusion to save my life.

Medical staff thought I was trying to kill myself, but it was never about suicide or death. It was quite the opposite - self-harm was my way of staying alive. It was the only way I was able to cope with life.


I eventually agreed to go to an adult psychiatric unit. I was on an open ward so was free to come and go. But this meant I could bring things in from outside that I could use to harm myself. I kept threatening to leave for good, so in early 2007 I was sectioned. Nurses had complete control of my life. They could search my room, confiscate my possessions and, if necessary, stop me from leaving the unit.

But even then I'd find a way to self-harm - I'd 'accidentally' smash a plate then hide broken crockery down my bra, or dig around in bins for a Coke can to rip up. I'd even make ligatures from pillowcases and tighten them round my neck until I blacked out. Finally, the hospital confiscated everything I owned - CDs and even my room keycard. That's when I saw the light bulb. It was the only thing I could use to hurt myself.

I was very lucky though. The doctors in A&E said I could have caused permanent damage to my internal organs.

With my treatment clearly not working, a new consultant recommended a different approach and referred me to the Bethlem Royal Hospital Crisis Recovery Unit in south London. Here, I was given permission to self-harm within a safe environment. I was admitted for a six-month stint last September.

Instead of taking away my self-harm tools - which only made me panic I wouldn't be able to cope with life - I was given a choice. If I self-harmed, I had to be honest and write a report on what happened within hours. If I felt I wanted to self-harm, I had to talk about alternatives first. For the first time I understood it was OK to talk about my feelings and ask for help.

This approach made me feel much less stressed and within weeks I'd reduced my self-harming from twice to once a day.

By March I was well enough to be discharged and I've been back home for three months. It's still early days, and I'm not cured. I still self-harm from time to time, but I know these are just occasional lapses. I know how to control it, rather than letting it control me.

I feel as though I've got my life back. I'm more positive and feel almost normal again. I've even been able to take part in a TV show about self-harm. I still attend the Bethlem unit once a week for counselling sessions, but in time, I hope I won't need them at all.

Now I'm looking forward to starting a nursing course at college, where I hope to make some friends, and maybe I might meet a boyfriend. I know that people might view me with suspicion. My arms are so badly scarred it's clear I've had issues, but hopefully, people will look beyond those and like me for who I am now."


shocking!

i h8 grebos and goths

why do ppl do this

sure there are ups n downs but now need 4 this :@