*possible trigger*


I ended up cutting. Just a few cuts on my stomach again. I wanted to cut deep, but it hurts too much on my stomach for some reason. I can't wait until I can go back to cutting my arms and legs. I could always numb my skin a little first, but that takes planning, and my cutting lately has been impulsive. Besides, if I go deep, I might need stitches, and then I'd have to let someone know.

I wiped up the blood with some tissue, then covered the cuts with some of the first aid supplies I had lying around. I stared at the tissue for ages, at the bright red blood, and it felt good to see my blood outside of my body again. Blood means I am here, I am alive, I don't consist of nothingness. There's something freeing about blood flowing out of my body, like I'm bleeding out all of the feelings and thoughts trapped inside me that I can't give voice to.

I've been thinking about suicide. I know exactly how I'd do it, and I am almost certain that this would kill me. It's not something that might or might not work, it's something I've researched at length.
When I attempted suicide before, I convinced myself that nobody truly cared. Now I know that's not true. I am loved, I am cared for, I make a difference in the lives of others (small as it may be). I always thought that coming to accept that would rule out suicide in my mind. I was wrong though. All it does is add a layer of guilt when I'm suicidal, but that's not enough to change the way I'm thinking.

I wish I could cut again. Do more damage, lose more blood. I have to resist though. The more I do, the more I have to keep hidden from the nurses at the hospital on Monday.

I have anti histamine pills that should make me drowsy. No guarantees though, sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. I think I'll take a couple tonight. I have other pills that would knock me out, but not many, and I'm saving them for when I really need them.

It's after 2pm on a Saturday afternoon, and I'm still in bed. I have no money to go anywhere, and nobody to hang out with.

My best friend lives on the other side of the country, and although I've been hinting that she should invite me to stay for a few days soon, she doesn't seem to want to. I worry constantly that she's replaced me, and no longer considers me her best friend.

My 2 closest friends here are A and AM. A always seems to be busy or going through some sort of crisis that means she can't meet up with me. I've seen AM quite a bit lately, always at my suggestion. I don't want her to feel I'm too clingy, so unless she contacts me, I probably won't see her again for a while.

I have no food in the apartment. I had a choice between buying books and buying food, and I chose the books. My mother doesn't live far, so I've been eating at her house every day lately. I should probably go over there soon, as I'm starting to feel hungry.

I told my cats about what I have planned last night. Merg meowed at me, and Kitten turned her back. They are being more affectionate than usual though.

I just finished reading "Screaming In Silence: Suicide, Attempted Suicide and Self-Harm Recovery" by Katy Sara Culling. The book annoyed me. First of all, it was very badly written. Half of the sentences were left unfinished or didn't make sense. Second of all, it felt like she was bragging about the things she'd done. It was like, "Oh look at me, I'm so great, I've managed to hurt myself worse than anyone else."
She never got her haemoglobin down to a life-threatening level though, she was never held down and sedated for a court ordered blood transfusion, she was never mentioned in a newspaper article (I wasn't named, but it was about me), she never had to have surgery to repair nerve and tendon damage. I've done all of those things, and still I know that there are people who've hurt themselves worse than I have.

I saw my therapist today. I get on so well with her, and I look forward to seeing her.

Anyway, I hinted at what I'm planning to do. I didn't say it outright, because I didn't want to put her in a position where she'd have to tell someone, but I think she has a good idea of what I have planned.

I told her I feel empty. She asked if that was bad. I told her it's very bad. She asked if it's worse than when I'm experiencing intense negative emotions. I told her it is, because while I don't act on impulse while feeling empty, I obsess over things and plan them, and they end up being more dangerous that way.

I told her I really appreciate everything she's done for me. She said "If you appreciated me, you'd try to keep yourself safe."
I replied, "I don't appreciate you that much."

She said I worry her. I asked if I frustrate her, and she said no.

Anyway, I got 8 more of the books I ordered today. Books about self injury, suicide and borderline personality disorder. I'm just waiting for 3 more to be delivered.

I lied to my psychiatrist today. I lied by telling her I had lied previously.

I told her a while ago that I had self destructive plans for when I left hospital, but refused to tell her what they were. I suppose part of me wanted to see if she'd find a way to stop me. Part of me didn't want to be stopped though, which is why I wouldn't go into detail.

After thinking it over, I decided that the urge to go ahead with my plans outweighs the part of me that wants to be stopped. And I want to get out of hospital for good.
So I wrote her a letter. It went something like this (I don't have the letter, she put it in my file, but I remember most of what it said):

"I am writing this because I am too ashamed to say it. I am not really planning something major for after my discharge. I made it up.
I was worried that because I haven't been hurting myself, everyone would think I'm ok, and stop trying to help me. I thought if I lied and said I was planning something major, it would show that I'm not ok.
That's why I never gave you any details of what I was planning - because there was no plan.
I probably would have kept lying, at least for a while, but being at home over Christmas reminded me of how much I miss not being in hospital. Continuing to lie would just keep me in hospital longer.
I'm really sorry for any trouble I've caused by lying. I hope you can understand why I did it, and possibly even forgive me."

I gave her the letter, saying, "Please don't read it out loud. I don't want to hear it said back to me."
She read the letter, and asked if I was telling the truth. I said yes. At this point I was shaking and digging my nails into my hand. She thought I was shaking because I'd admitted to lying, but I was shaking because I wasn't sure if she'd believe me or not.

She told me I looked distressed. I replied, "That's because of what I wrote in the letter. I'm afraid you'll think less of me for admitting I lied." She pointed out that I've lied before, and I said, "Yes, but this was a big lie. And I've never lied about something like this before. I don't want you to think badly of me." I started crying then.

She reassured me that she's never thought badly of me, that when I lie to her, it's because of my "illness" which she still believes is more than just a personality disorder. She congratulated me on not cutting for so long (nobody found out about my cuts from the other day), and told me that she really hopes this is a turning point for me. She went on to tell me about people who were self harming badly, who spent years in hospital, but eventually things got better for them, and they ended up having really good lives. I was still crying, which she probably thought was because what she said had touched me in some way. In reality I was crying because I felt guilty about deceiving her, about convincing her I'm ok, when I'm actually not.

She's having another case conference in 2 weeks, to discuss my discharge with the team. She let me out today, and I don't have to go back until Monday.

*possible trigger*


I was talking to my dad today. First time in a while, although I did get a Christmas text (after sending him one).
He was telling me about their dog, who I've met on several occasions, and thought was lovely. Apparently they discovered a lump on his back just before Christmas, and he wasn't eating properly. They brought him to the vet, and it turns out he had cancer, so they had to get him put down. They now have his ashes in their living room.

Anyway, he was then asking how I'm doing. I told him I'm doing really well. He was like "Are you thinking positive? I'm sad about the dog, so I don't really want to hear any bad news. And I definitely don't want any more ashes in my living room." He then started laughing. Sounds slightly insensitive I suppose, but that's my dad, and that's how he deals with my issues.
When I was staying with him last time, he kept joking when I was on the internet, "What are you looking up? Cutters Anonymous?"
Then another time he took out a set of kitchen knives in front of me. He started telling me how sharp they were, and how they could cut through anything. I mean, he knows I'm a self-harmer, would it not occur to him how triggering that was? His partner came in from work a little while later. She's a mental health social worker, so even though we don't talk about my cutting, she'd be more clued-in than my dad. First thing she did when she came in was put away the knives, without a word.

I cut last night. A few scratches on my stomach. Scratches, because I couldn't do anything requiring treatment, in case I got found out. On my stomach, because the nurses only check my arms and legs. It hurt more than I remembered, but it did make me feel better.

Thinking about my dad's dog, makes me think how lucky I am to have my 2 cats, Kitten and Mergatroid (Merg for short). They're both 3 years old. Kitten was a rescue cat, and originally belonged to my sister, but when I moved into my apartment, 2 1/2 years ago, I adopted her. Her original name is Lily, and she's still registered as Lily with the vet, but I got into the habit of calling her Kitten, and it stuck.
Merg belonged to my best friend, who had 6 cats at the time. My friend said she wanted to get rid of some of her cats, as she had too many. I'd known Merg since she was a kitten, and she was there when I lived with my best friend for 6 months, so we sort of had a bond, and I offered to take her a few months ago.

Kitten very much likes cuddles, but only on her own terms. She'll lie on the floor when I come in, waiting to be picked up, and crawl under the covers with me at night. However, she's very independent, goes out during the day, and runs away from cuddles if she's not in the mood.
Merg is a complete attention seeker. She's very vocal, and sometimes won't shut up unless you start stoking her. She loves being stroked, and sleeps on the pillow next to me at night, but she doesn't like to be picked up or to crawl under the covers.

I love my kitty cats.