Let me tell you about the  party – it was amazing. Everyone was so happy, and I didn’t sleep with anyone, so massive improvement on, well, most partys! I did have a little private cry, which the world seemed to walk in on. And I told one of my friends (incredibly drunkenly) about why I was upset. Saying that I was scared I’d do what AA did. I told her about the fact that I had self harmed for so many years, and that I hid it from everyone. Oh dear. So shameful. She didn’t seem to understand at all. Hopefully it didn’t really register with her and she’ll think I was just drunkenly rambling about scratches when I was 15 or something.

I’m looking at what to do next year – might to a masters.. exciting! I can only do one if I find the funding for it though, not made of money!

God I’m bored. My brain seems to have just stopped. I feel really distanced. I have to pack for tomorrow and I just can’t keep my mind on it for long enough to do it. It’s very wierd. I don’t really have anything to blog about.

this made me cry!

I think I fancy him. Scrap that, I’m completely in love! He’s so cheeky looking – no? And I do love a bit of skinny jeans.

I’m off to my flatmate’s birthday party this weekend. I’m very worried that I’ll freak out at some point. Going to try to keep a logical head. On the upside, DT is going to ring me tomorrow, we never talk over the phone, only text. So should be nice. Plus we’re both gonna have been drinking, which will be funny (and not a disaster at all you cynics!). He took me on holiday btw.. we went camping together a couple of weeks ago. It was really nice, but he’s “concerned” that I’m “not at all emotionally stable, are you?!” Ummmm – what gave it away? But I did my best impression of a sane person and said I was fine. Seeing as he has seen my pretty bad AA ladder, I don’t think he fell for it, but likes me all the same.

I’m so happy about DT today.. I was feeling a bit shitty after sleeping with SA, but I think I could maybe do this once we get back to uni.

Omg, imagine if someone who knows me stumbled on my blog. They would be so so shocked to even realise how crazy I am. I hope noone ever does, cause they would definitely recognise me!

I’m really happy with how well I did at work too, I think I really achieved a lot today.

Anyway, I think that’s quite enough happy blurbling for one day.

Anyway, one of the things that I felt really described him was the symptoms for borderline personality disorder. Alarmingly, many of the symptoms echoed in my own way of thinking. Could it be that the symptoms are just incredibly vague to the untrained eye, or is there a chance that I could finally get diagnosed with something. I don’t know why, but it would just help me so much to get some closure on why I feel and act the way I do. I just want to know that other people have felt the same way I do.

I get these incredible painful attacks of emotion. I’ll be sitting on the train and then suddenly I feel like my world has collapsed, that I’ve ruined everything and that nobody cares for me. Or I’ll feel that I just want to punch everyone. The adrenaline in the anger attacks is very difficult to control. I have to blank out the world entirely, if I let it go, I would definitely do something illegal.

I also get these incredible highs, when I think that something somebody has said, or something they’ve done, proves they love me. That soon dissapates, and as soon as they do something less than mind-reading, I hate them. I litterally can’t stand them. If they are a partner, I’ll cheat on them. If they are a friend, I’ll turn others against them.

Also, if someone is nice and compliments me, I’ll get this incredible ego for a bit. I’ll think I’m incredible. And then at other times I’ll have no idea what I am good at or why anyone would like me. Sometimes I think I’m the joker, and sometimes I think people can’t stand me for wingeing.  

I do ridiuclously stupid things on impulse – self harm, drinking too much, sleeping with men I don’t want to.

I never want to lose anyone. That’s my worst fear, is that I’ll upset someone, or anger someone.

And the worst thing is the attacks, they never last, and I never know when they’ll come. So I’ll be fine all day, and then lull into painful anger for twenty minutes. Or I can have a half day of emptyness, and then as soon as I see others, it goes away.

I know this one sounds stupid, but I binge eat like crazy too. Today I had 2 cooked meals, 2 cereal bowls, sandwhiches and about 10 snacks. But then sometimes I’ll eat just once a day. Again, it just depends on how I feel at the time.

I’m going to write some stuff that I never told anyone before too. Only AA knew some of these even. Sometimes I feel like I’m completely invisable, like so empty I’m not even here. Sometimes I feel like I am/or want to be a guy. That’s rare, but it does happen. I don’t really want to go into it right now. Then  I realise there is no point in even entertaining the thought, so I stop. I get really really scared and frigid during sex. Then I just carry on till the guy is satisfied, and I feel relieved once they are asleap. The only way I really come with a guy in the room is by imagining they are forcing me to, like seriously fantising about rape. It’s terrible and leaves me feeling like shit. I’m a lot better on my own.

Please don’t judge me for anything in that last paragraph, I just had to write it down somewhere.

Oh, I don’t know. I don’t even know if other people do the stuff I’ve written above or not. Is that how normal people think? Am I just normal and a cry-baby?

Here’s a list of the BPD symptoms:

People who are diagnosed with borderline personality disorder have at least five of the following symptoms. They may:⁴

• Make frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.
• Have a pattern of difficult relationships caused by alternating between extremes of intense admiration and hatred of others.
• Have an unstable self-image or be unsure of his or her own identity.
• Act impulsively in ways that are self-damaging, such as extravagant spending, frequent and unprotected sex with many partners, substance abuse, binge eating, or reckless driving.
• Have recurring suicidal thoughts, make repeated suicide attempts, or cause self-injury through mutilation, such as cutting or burning himself or herself.
• Have frequent emotional overreactions or intense mood swings, including feeling depressed, irritable, or anxious. These mood swings usually only last a few hours at a time. In rare cases, they may last a day or two.
• Have long-term feelings of emptiness.
• Have inappropriate, fierce anger or problems controlling anger. The person may often display temper tantrums or get into physical fights.
• Have temporary episodes of feeling suspicious of others without reason (paranoia) or losing a sense of reality.

Not everyone who has five or more of these symptoms is diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. For a person to be diagnosed with any personality disorder, the symptoms must be severe and must go on long enough to cause significant emotional distress or problems functioning in relationships or at work.⁴

Sound like me? I’m definitely going back to the counsellers at uni, for grief counselling about AA. I might mention some of the symptoms I’ve never talked about with them before. I never knew that they were a problem.

Seriously? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA – not the result of 4000 years of agricultural selection?

and then I showed my mum, just to try to open her eyes to the sort of arguments that religion uses. Her response was this: “yeah, those american fundementalists are crazy. but still, I just can’t get the niggly idea of where did the big bang come from out of my head”..

mum… if you try to explain where HE came from be my guest.. it’s just that saying you don’t know where things came from is NOT a valid arguement for yet more things exsisting.

A valid evolutionary argument however was aired this month on British tv:

Thankfully thinking logically is celebrated in the majority of the british media.

I’m definitely aiming to make this blog a lot more coherant over the coming months. Hopefully you will be able to get a real insight into how another persons mind works. That’s the idea anyway, a frank discussion of who I am, why I am, and how I think.

I’m personally excited to see if I can begin to understand why I make the awful decisions I do in my private life, while my work and learning go so successfully.

If you have been reading through the posts below, and you want to know more about a certain topic, then let me know, and I’ll write about it in more detail!

I thought that while I have a clear head, I would try to describe the last time I cut. Hopefully if you’re a cutter reading then it will mean you feel less alone, and if you are a friend of a cutter it will help you understand. And even if I’m the only person to read this, hopefully it will help me!

Background

 AA hung himself in May. I think that he was probably borderline, because he had all of the sympoms, including gender confusion. He thought he ended it because he couldn’t imagine/didn’t want life after his girlfriend, MP, broke up with him. I think it was just a very low point for him, and he didn’t have the emotional capacity to pick himself up. It wasn’t her fault, he was screwed up before he even met her. It was awful for everyone involved.

Afterwards I felt such strong pain, confusion and rage. “I could have saved him..”, “I should have let him stay over that time..”, “how could he do this to MP..”, “why didn’t he come to me..”. It kind of resulted in these panic/crying/anger attacks. I’d try to shower, and then I’d be crying. I’d make myself listen to the songs from the funeral, because I hoped that crying would stop me from cutting. I desperately didn’t want to cut. I mean, who wants to be friends with the girl who scarred herself after her friend/ex/confidance committed suicide. That’s just a little too fucked up.

A lot of the time, the grief overcame me at the most random of times, collapsing on the stairs and just wailing seemed a favourite. I felt like the neighbours could hear me, because I was just so loud. I would scream with the pain of it all. It felt like the world had just collapsed. I was frightened my friends would all die, suicide or accident. I would ring my friends just to check they were alive. I would ring my exs just to check they were alive. I screamed that I hated him, and then cry because I didn’t mean it. I would hope he would come to me, that he could tell me what happened. Unfortunatley I’m a grumpy old atheist, and I don’t believe he ever will.

http://www.forsuicidesurvivors.com/for-new-survivors.html I think this helps to explain what it’s like to lose someone in this way. One day he was there, the next he was not. And it was his CHOICE. It’s a difficult thing to come to terms with. I still cry almost every day. If I catch myself happy I feel unworthy, and slump into a depression. Most of the time I feel like I am going to throw up, and like there is a dark cloud inside my head, stopping anything from happening.  When I do sleep, I dream of him. I dream of other friends dying. I dream a lot of not being able to care for children thrust into my care, or that someone is trying to kill me.

Anyway. I lost track of where I was in the story.

So I was feeling this intense waves of grief, I definitely couldn’t drink, but I think I may have a problem, because I drank anyway.  Every time I tried to go out to a club, I thought I saw him. It would send me spiralling, and I would have to go home.

The night of the ladder

And we reach the dreaded day – results day. It’s early July, less than 6weeks after his death, and I’m out in a club celebrating results that he’ll never get; continuing with a life he’ll never have. (Still now, just writing this, I feel like he’s lied and he’s fine, laughing his head off at all of us for grieving him).  It’s about midnight, and the bottle of wine, 4 ciders, and 6 vodka redbulls are more than I can take. I think I see him walking towards the smoking area, and I flip. I have to go home, and I get in a taxi with two girls I don’t know. All I can say to them is that I’m upset because my best friend died, AA, and did they know him? Yes, he was on their course, they were shocked to find out what happened.]I took his virginity. I just had to tell someone. They say they could understand why I was so upset.

And then it was my house. I get out, pay, wipe my eyes and go into the empty house. One friend is still out, and the others have gone home or to visit friends. I collapse on the floor in the hallway. I don’t even make it to my room. And I wail. I scream. I don’t understand what has happened and I’m angry that he’s ruined everything. I start kicking the hall/my bedroom wall (I live in the front bottom floor room).  I kick it so hard the plasterboard breaks. I kick right through to the radiator on the otherside. I’m still screaming, I try not to but I’m overcome.

And then the door knocks.

I stop.

Who could it be? Is my flatmate home? Why would he knock?? My god, the neighbours heard. The neighbours want to check I’m ok. I’ve never spoken to anyone who lives near me and now they want to check I’m ok. My brain goes at a million miles an hour. You will not believe who I find on the other side of the door.

The police are walking into my house.  The POLICE have been called. They think there’s been an attack. The neighbours called, they thought there was an attack in your house. Is there anyone else in? No, you can go check if you like. They do. They tell me to call someone, to talk it out. They hope I feel better, and they walk out. Just like that. 

Who can I call? I call my parents. Who’ve been there for me the whole way through. It’s about 1am and they are shocked to get the call, but try to console me. They tell me I should try to stop crying.

As soon as I’m off the phone I’m crying again. This is the moment that my logical mind really gives way to the cutter. I don’t know what/who she is, but when I get in this state anything  is better than other people knowing I’m damaged. So I give way, and I start talking to myself. It’s odd, but I always talk myself through cutting. I remember everything I ever did and what I told myself it was for. Normally I’m punishing myself for something that has happened. Sometimes I’m proving to others that I’m in pain. Other times I am branding myself. An S for slag. Or a F for fucked up.

Sometimes I’m just getting myself to shut the fuck up. This was one of those times:

Find a knife. Find a razor. Stop. Stop. Concentrate on the razor. Here’s one. New one. Bite it open. BITE IT. Yes, it’s open. Yes throw the plastic. Fucking plastic. Trousers off, this will help. SHUT THE FUCK UP. SERIOUSLY. Police. Police. Police. Ok, good. on the bed. Yes there, on the badge.

The “badge” is a branding I did when I was much younger. A set of horisontal parrallel lines on the outer side of my left thigh. I have gone over it so many times, I don’t even know what is from when any more.

good good. now follow the blood. concentrate. follow the drip. cut along the drip. all the way down. down to your ankle. follow the other. yes. see? concentate on this. now you’re quiet. now you don’t have police at your house, do you?

By this point I’ve cut (and I know because I’m counting the scars as I count) 14 horizontal cuts into my thigh, ranging from one to two inches long each. Half of these are down to my fat, although I don’t know this at the time. I don’t even think of this at the time. I’m just concentrating on making the best cuts I can. The blood has run down my leg to my foot in 2 lines about an inch and a half apart. And I follow these lines with my razor. I want to mark the journey I went on during this night. I want people to see. Although I’ve learnt from my counseller that nobody else understands the language of my cutting, it doesn’t matter right now. I don’t recall it until literally typing this down.

make a ladder. make.a.ladder. ladder. ladder to alex. ladder to yourself. alex can’t climb ladders he’s dead. SHUT THE FUCK UP. MAKE A LADDER.

I cut 23 horizontal lines on my outer shin. Joining the 2 “blood run” cuts together in a picture of a ladder. I don’t know why I drew a ladder. It just calmed me down at the time. 3 or 4 of these are down to the layer of fat. It’s dangerous. Not that I know that at the time either.

As I do this endorphines rush into my body, I think it’s your bodies reaction to pain. My body calms down, as does my brain, and the cutting slows. eventually I make my last cut. I know it will be my last cut before I make it. the top of the ladder and I am content. It’s the same feeling you get after you come. Crude, but true. That sigh of relief and the end. I want to sleep now, but I am covered in blood. I’ll stick to the duvet, which hurts a lot when you toss and turn (believe me)!

So I rip up a t-shirt and bandage myself up. I know that I’ve picked a clean t-shirt, and it does the job-ish. I still stick to the bandage, and through that to the duvet. But it hurts less and I can turn as I sleep. I’ll worry about taking the bandage off tomorrow.

During the night, my flatmate returns home after finding frantic texts on his phone from me. He brings me chicken, but he’s a bit shit with emotions, and I’m pretty sure he sees blood. He ignores it. I go back to sleep.

The morning after the night before

Shit.

Fuck. Shit. I did it. I burst into tears. I make myself some tea and try to think about taking off the bandaging. I’m limping with the pain of what I’ve  done. I’m cripled with the shame of what I have done, and begin to take of the bandages, using warm water and cotton pads I try to assess the damage. I can see yellowy fat under the cuts. This is bad. Very bad. I’m still crying, and listening to the saddest music I know. It’s like a ritual. But this time something is different. I’ve really scared myself by the depth of cuts.I’ve had over 100 cuts on my legs in one session before now. But never so many this deep. They are splaying open, and look like they need stitches.

I ring my mum. I explain what happened. I’m scared and shaking.  She trys to calm me down. I rang her because I know that this time I can’t hide it, and that I shouldn’t. I ask her if I should go to the doctors, but she doesn’t know. It hurts too much to walk even to the chemist down the road, let alone the half hour treck to the GP. I ring NHS direct. The nurse is really helpful. She says that it sounds like I’ve done everything I should. If I can’t walk I should probably stay at home and let them heal on there own. Yes the scarring will be bad.

I ring a friend who brings round tcp on his way to football. He can’t stop, but is very upset with what I’ve done. He’s one of a few who knows that I do. I told him because I knew his ex-girlfriend did, and I wanted someone who understood to know. I’m so ashamed when he comes round that I keep my hands covering my face the entire time. I do this whenever I’m crying. Nobody ever sees me cry, they just see my hands in front of my face and hear me sobbing.

It hurt to walk on my leg for around 3 weeks, and I had to wear support bandages until the scabs came off at about that time.

And now…

I’m scarred for life and deadly ashamed of what I do. I cannot wear skirts, or even short leggings, in front of my friends. I carry round a permenant reminder of how I cannot cope with bad situations, and of the situation itself.

I’m not proud of what I do, but it takes over. It really is a last resort for me. The ones from that particular night (about 2 months ago) are just beggining to turn red from the purple they were before. They still itch when I get embarrassed or do something wrong, or feel ashamed.

Please, don’t think that all self-harmers are attention seekers. That is the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to internalise my problems and deal with them alone, quiet, without damaging anyone else. Something takes over when I cut.. and that scares me.

I hope you found reading this artical, if anything, thought provoking. Please let me know what you felt now that you’ve read to the bottom. I can’t believe that you did!  If anyone does comment, then I might be tempted to write another 2000 word essay, instead of just using this blog just to rant.

its not fine that i go for men who either treat me like dirt or put me on a pedalstool, and then cheat on everyone. its not fine that i hurt myself. its not fine that i hate people for no reason. the amount i drink is definitely not fine.

i’m not fine. can i tell my friends or will they think im just attention seeking? my leg is so bad. i dont want to bring them down, but i’m fed up of them thinking im just a bitch and i dont care. thats not true. im so deeply ashamed of almost everything ive done outside of professional work and accademic grades.

i make such poor decisions. I slept with SA again, cause he let me cry about AA. how does that even make sense? I’m a terrible person.

“A common form of self-injury involves making cuts in the skin of the arms, legs, abdomen, inner thighs, etc. However, the number of self-injury methods are only limited by an individual’s inventiveness and their determination to harm themselves; this includes, but is not limited to compulsive skin picking (dermatillomania), hair pulling (trichotillomania), burning, stabbing, poisoning, alcohol abuse and forms of self harm related to anorexia and bulimia.”

i’ve been thinking.. if this is true, then just by stearing clear of eating glass and cutting i’ve not stoped self-harming.

i constantly pick my skin, cet covered in red bumps which i tell people is a heat rash. i am also completely obsessed with my tweezers, i have been fighting the urge to pick out my hairs from my legs for about 2 hours now. i mean, it can’t be healthy to spend hours and hours every day removing hairs that only you can see.

i drink an obsene amount, safe in the knowledge that i am hurting myself.

i used to undereat, but now i struggle to control myself at all. i eat so much. i’m hating my figure atm. think i’m going to go on a diet.

on a plus note i’ve never stabbed myself!

i hate AA today. i hate DT today. do you think sex with innapropriate people should be added to the self harm list?

just found this photo http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Dermatillomania_fingers.JPG - i was wondering what was on my knuckle.. its cause i’ve chewed it so much. shhhhiiiitttt. i’m going to go find my tweezers

I found out what AA did. he hung. he meant it.

also, from what his flatmates said, he was very bipolar(what does very bipolar mean rach? I mean seriously), which explains how he could be so happy the weekend before he died.

his funeral is on friday, i have to find a dress tomorrow. what the fuck do you wear to a 20 year olds funeral?

there is no world after this – he’s gone forever, he was alive and now he’s dead and thats it.

i want to take him his skirt and top – the ones he liked, but will probably offend the family “i’m sorry for your loss, ps he wanted to be a girl”

i took his virginity on a night i was angry at JE. the blood stained the wall where my hip rubbed as i moved up and down. i ate glass that night.

but him – he was happy. he’d just had sex with the person he felt closest to at the time. and now he’s gone dead dead dead dead dead gone.

dead dead dead dead dead gone.

like duck duck goose. that game is now ruined.

why didnt he let me stop him. he seemed so happy at the weekend – had he already resolved? was his happiness because he knew he would go?

was it on purpose or a cry for help gone wrong. its pretty resolute to actually do it. i mean – sitting on the ledge and jumping are 2 very different actions. i dont think he jumped though. i dont know how he died. i just want the police to tell us. TELL ME. AA TELL ME. WHY DIDNT YOU LEAVE ME A MESSAGE YOU BASTARD.

MP broke up with him. he cheated on her. he was bad to her, but he was human. no human is inherintly good – we’re all mistakes. thats why we die – if we were perfect we would be forever. its natures way of resetting the balance, allowing things to begin again.

MP had an abortion. her ex’s child.  no girl should have to go through this much pain and suffering. it’s cruel.

the boys he lived with bullied him. they didnt want to let him live with them next year. he was going to stay round mine for the rest of term. i should have done more. i didnt know what to do. i said i would go round and beat them up. i should have. now they have guilt beyond their age on their shoulders. guilt beyond anyones age. this will fuck them up.

i’ll hate them if it doesn’t, but its not fair if it does.

i wish our friendship had been less private. not many photos together – you dont take photos of arguments, or nights in, or cuddling in a bed. you dont save texts asking for help in the middle of the night. you can’t record someone knocking on your window at 3am.

i feel like an awful friend.

when i tried (and failed monumentally – see how i’m still ALIVE AND TYPING) he was there to clean me up. to ask how my scars were doing, to cuddle as i cried.

i really didn’t want to die as badly as he did – he managed it. he.stopped.

stopped.

i feel awful for ever hating him. maybe if i kept loving him he wouldn’t have done this. maybe me feeling better meant that he felt worse. i don’t think it was about me though – i think it was MP and the boys and the way that nobody accepted him for who he was.

he’s dead dead g___.