TW: contains references to self-harm. Please proceed only if you are comfortable with the subject matter.
What do you think would help? What would you like to happen? I loathe these questions.
Let me put it to you this way; if I suffered from Cancer, or Diabetes, no one would be asking me such questions. They would simply tell me what was going to happen, recommend an appropriate course of treatment, prescribe medication…whatever. They wouldn’t be putting the onus back on me. They wouldn’t be copping out and telling me that they didn’t know how to help me.
I saw my GP this morning, an appointment I was banking on. I have a good relationship with him, we’re on the same wavelength and he usually makes me feel better. Even if he doesn’t do anything, we have a good chat and I come away feeling cared for. But I think my illness has reached a level beyond that of General Practice and, today, my GP couldn’t even pretend to know what he was doing. I cut myself quite badly last night, and again this morning. I no longer get the same relief from cutting my arms, so have moved on to my tummy. The Dr told me this morning that I wouldn’t have to cut very much deeper to risk nicking my bladder, bowel or another vital organ. Upon hearing this, I felt only apathy. The cuts don’t scare me, nor does the blood. I have urges to cut just the same. He asked me whether I felt I ought to be admitted to Hospital, but this is not something I want. Surely that isn’t my only option? I left the appointment feeling none the wiser. I’d been hoping for more, but perhaps this was naïve of me.
I thought it might be a good idea to check in with my CPN, keep her in the loop, so to speak. She was unavailable so I asked for the Duty Service. There, I was met with the usual rigmarole, the only advice being to go for a walk, have a cup of tea, take some Diazepam and that pet hate of mine…’what do you think would help…?’ Even now, I berate myself for having made the call in the first place. I feel only shame at trying, and failing, to convey my vulnerability. And just before you think I’m one of those non-compliant types, I sit here having been for a walk (in the rain), taken 5mg of Diazepam and nursing a cup of tea. So I’m doing my fucking best.
I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know what, or who, can help me. I don’t feel as though this is happening to me. I feel as though I’m watching it happen to someone else.