So, self harm had become my life. I couldn't function (or, felt I couldn't function) without it. Not only could I now not get to sleep if I'd not harmed myself, I felt I couldn't start the day without it. Then, I felt myself wanting to harm myself throughout the day. That question that once baffled me... "How can harming yourself be addictive?" now made perfect sense.
I was at uni at the time, being careful not to cut my arms. As a student nurse, my arms were on show whenever I had my uniform on. And it wouldn't look good to parents on the poorly kids I was looking after if I went over with cuts all over myself. On the outside I looked fine. I was able to put on my regular "happy" face and fool everyone around me into believing I was a carefree, blissfully happy teenager! My thighs told a very different story.
Looking back the cutting was the first sign of things to come. Though I didn't realise just how much things were going to change.
Within a few weeks my anxiety levels were causing havoc wherever I went. I found it difficult to hide my anxiety. If I was walking down the street and saw somebody coming towards me, I would cross over the road to avoid walking past them. I couldn't empty my bladder in public or if somebody was near the bathroom in the house. On nights out, I had to leave early because I felt claustrophobic in pubs. I began isolating myself, refusing to answer my phone because I was too anxious to speak to people.
Mainly because of the anxiety, I started seeing a counsellor at the uni I was at. It took me a good few weeks to tell her about the self harm - I felt so ashamed and confused. I was terrified she'd tell somebody or think I was attention seeking. And also, I didn't want anybody to make me stop - the thought of living without self harm made me feel sick. I wanted it to go away, yet I couldn't live without it!
Over a few months, my state of mind gradually deteriorated. My counsellor had to inform my tutor of the self harm as she was growing increasingly concerned about it getting worse. I was assessed by a psychiatrist at Occupational Health and suspended from practice on medical grounds.
Only a few weeks after that, my counsellor arranged a meeting with her, my GP and myself. I remember sitting there, staring at the same spot on the floor as I told him that I just didn't want to live any more. It was the same doctor who wanted to put me on antidepressants, but Id refused, for fear of becoming addicted to them. My GP referred me to the Community Mental Health Team for assessment, and that afternoon I met with a social worker.
This was now becoming terrifying. More and more people were getting involved. It was hard enough that my counsellor knew about the self harm, but now, there was my tutor, occupational health, my GP, the CMHT. I started to freak out.
More time passed and soon enough the crisis team were involved. I was now dreading going to bed at night, the worst time, where I would lie in bed dreading waking up in the morning to face yet another gruelling day. I couldn't explain my feelings - I still struggle to verbalise the distress I felt at that time. The one question that everyone desperately wanted an answer to; "why do you feel so bad?" was the one question I asked myself every minute of every day. I hated my life. I hated that my friends coped and I couldn't. I hated that nobody know how bad I felt. I hated myself for lying to my family and hiding it all from them. Unbeknown to me, they would soon find out about the self harm. But how would they react?
My next post will reveal all. xxx
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