'Runaway train, never going back. Wrong way on a one way track. Seems I should be getting somewhere. Somehow I'm neither here nor there' Soul Asylum

It's been over a week and I still haven't posted... More and more things keep happening which I need to post about so this is just the first of a (hopefully) fairly rapid string of posts detailing what's been going on for me. I'm still very confused and don't really know how to feel or what to do about anything so please bare with me if I seem a bit emotionless, factual, rambly and/or constantly contradictory.

On Saturday 8th March I went out for a friend's birthday... I got drunk and got myself into a situation whereby I became unattached from my purse, maybe it was stolen or maybe I lost it? I rang my mum so that she could cancel my debit card and proceeded to burst into tears on the phone. She knew that something was up so I jumped in a taxi (very kindly paid for by a friend) and screamed down the phone at her about how shit my life is at the moment. I told her that I wanted to die. She then spent another night of her life driving a 120 mile round trip to retrieve her state of a daughter. I threw my life into a suitcase and swore to myself that I would never return to my university city. When Mum arrived I couldn't speak to her, I couldn't even look at her. The journey was spent in silence as I sobbed quietly whilst staring straight ahead. When we got home I sat on the wall in the garden and cried as I smoked, my Mum came and sat beside me and I just held her as though I would never let her go. I don't care if you think your Mum/Dad/Dog gives the best cuddles, you're wrong; my Mum gives the best cuddles in the world. The only problem with my Mum's cuddles is that they force honesty which lead to the next 3 hours being filled with cups of tea and very sobering conversation. I told her how I feel about absolutely everything that's ever happened to me, I told her how I feel towards her as a direct result of the past, I told her the full extent of the abuse that I endured at the hands of her 'lover'... Needless to say, it was very emotional for both of us. She apologised to me for the first time ever and confirmed that she had no idea what was happening to me. That was kind of a big deal as there was always a part of me that suspected that she knew what I was going through but didn't intervene due to some desire to protect the bastard, or perhaps, more realistically, protect herself from the bastard. It was great to talk about everything but in other ways it highlighted how selfish she actually is; she kept asking me who I had told about the abuse and when I told her that I was having counselling she was pleased because 'it can't get out in the open because of confidentiality'. I swore to her that I hadn't told my friends much at all, I lied to her but I don't want her to think that I'm shaming the family; my Mum is a proud woman and she would hate me if she knew that I spoke about it with friends and even if she knew that I write this blog. Even if the worst happened and I ended up dead I wouldn't want anybody to tell my Mum that they know what I went through. She has pretty much said, in not as many words, that she wouldn't support me if I decided to go to the police.
The next day was weird. There wasn't any alcohol in my system and it was almost as though everything that had been said the night before was instantly forgotten. However, my Mum did decide that she should speak to my sister to find out if she had also been a victim at the hands of the bastard. She confirmed that although he had tried to touch her, she had been much stronger than I and hadn't allowed him to abuse her. I have very mixed feelings about this because I feel as though I should also have stopped the abuse from happening. I'm angry, jealous, hurt, confused and happy all at the same time. For me there has always been a big question mark over my sister's asexuality and I have always wondered if it may have been the result of years of the same abuse which I endured. I am happy that she hasn't had to go through all of the shit and I'm jealous that I didn't have that inner strength to take control of the situation and stop bad things happening to me. Maybe everything was all my fault? Maybe I do deserve everything that happened to me? If I didn't stop what was happening did that mean that I wanted it to happen? I'm angry that she didn't suffer when I did which makes me confused because I love my sister and I would never want anything bad to happen to her. I guess there's no 'Handbook on how to Emotionally Deal with Being the Abused Sibling' - somebody should definitely write one because it would be extremely helpful right now.
I spent the next week at home and it was obvious my Mum was scared shitless of what I might do next. She hid everything sharp and the paracetamol suddenly disappeared from it's normal convenient location. She stalked me around the house and requested that I didn't shut the door to my bedroom or lock the bathroom door when I was in there. I don't know what she thought I might do. I have explained to her so many times that such actions will not prevent me from hurting myself but are just more likely to lead me to self harm in a much more unsafe way. She won't listen. She's known about my self harming tendencies for nearly 10 years and has never done anything to help her to understand, why would she suddenly change her mindset and want to be supportive, why would she want to understand something that's so fucked up.
All in all it was a difficult week. I don't feel as though anything was resolved during that time and maybe, in a really bizarre way, it made things worse. It certainly seemed to be what stimulated everything very rapidly getting very out of control.... I returned to university on the 13th March only for things to get serious and messy on the 14th but I'm tired and want to not be writing about that right now so I will save that wonderful installment for tomorrow.

There is so much I need to write about that it will be impossible to cover it all in one sitting... The last two and a half weeks have been the most turbulent of my life, possibly the most scary as well. But I'm finally starting to get the help that I need... I wish that everything hadn't needed to become so damaged in order for me to get that help.

I've been to places both emotionally and physically that I would have rather avoided at any cost, I've permanently damaged friendships with people that I love and appreciate more than anyone in the world, I've entered the world of secondary psychiatric services which could potentially damage my career... but I've also realised that there are a lot more people who want to support me than I ever imagined. I have never been able to face the truth and fully accept that I need help but now, I have had to.

I'm going to write about the events in chronological order, even if perhaps this isn't how I would necessarily prioritise their significance. I'm just a bit anal like that. Bare with me as there is an awful lot that I want to say so I'm just playing catch up at the moment.

'You need to talk to your mum'

Dear Mum,

There’s so many things that I want to talk to you about but I can’t. They always say it’s therapeutic to write letters that you’re never going to send, just as a way of getting things off your chest and I feel like this is one of those occasions.

I know over the years I have sent you letters as a way to tell you things and it seems to have worked for us. A couple of years ago you showed me the one that I wrote to you when I was about 7 to say sorry for calling you a twat; I had heard it at school and thought that it meant the same as twit. I have no idea why you kept it but it’s hilarious and I’m glad that you did.

I guess the first important letter I sent you was when I told you that I was gay, like I somehow thought that you didn’t already know. I remember being on the bus with my friends when I got your text saying that you weren’t surprised and as long as I was happy and loved you didn’t care. I remember bursting into tears; it meant the world. But for some reason, I still didn’t come home for 3 days, or let you know where I was. Which perhaps on a subconscious level brings me onto my next point.

The thing is Mummy, I wasn’t happy as I told you in the next letter that I sent you not long after the first. That was when I thought I was going mad. I didn’t tell you why I was going mad and I should have. The thing is, you never actually asked what was wrong and it wasn’t something I could just announce. You tried to get me help but I guess I wasn’t ready. I must have been awful to live with. I remember you telling me once that you were scared of me and that I made you feel like a prisoner in your own home. You never knew when I was going to be aggressive (throwing shoes and crockery at you from the top of the stairs seemed to be my forte) and you never knew when I was going to cut myself again or try and take an overdose. But you never stopped loving me even when to everybody else I was unlovable.

I remember sitting at the dining room table at 3am making a collage of a rainbow with food on your favourite table cloth. I remember hearing you on the stairs and thinking that you would be angry. When you came in there was food everywhere; spaghetti hoops, mustard powder, potato peelings… It was absolutely ridiculous and I remember looking at you and sobbing because I couldn’t think of what to make the purple layer out of; you went to pick some damsons off the tree in the garden for me. I never thanked you for that but it’s all those little things that make you so amazing.

The week I started university was a week like no other. I thought I was free of you and I didn’t appreciate just quite how much I needed you; how I still need you. Things were okay for the first few days and then I decided to tell you what had happened; what he’d done. That week is all a massive blur but I remember walking out of a party, buying a bottle of vodka and a packet of razorblades and going to sit on a bridge over the river. I had every intention of ending my own life; I thought my plan was fool proof – if I drank the vodka and then cut myself really badly and jumped into the river there would be no way I would survive. I would be too drunk and in too much pain from the cuts to swim and I would drown… At that point, that was exactly what I wanted. But then you phoned. I nearly threw my phone into the river but I could see you in my mind’s eye, sitting in the house where I grew up and I had to speak to you. I told you where I was and what I was about to do and you came to get me… You drove 150 miles in the middle of the night to make me feel better. You took me home and I slept in your bed and didn’t let go of you all night. I’m a bastard to sleep with; I know I grunt, I know I snore, I know I wriggle but you didn’t mind, you were glad that I was there and you were glad that I was safe.

You kept me safe that night but the truth is there have been so many nights where you haven’t. You always tell me that you are a light sleeper so the why the fuck did you not know what was going on? Maybe you did know and you were as scared of him as I was… I feel really fucking angry with you sometimes and I think you know that but neither of us really knows how to address the issue. You’ve never been very good at coping with my mental health and always manage to turn it around to be about you and how you feel. You need to stop doing that because it is entirely counterproductive and makes me feel even worse. You don’t understand why I cut myself; you always insinuate that it’s shameful. I remember when we were arguing when I was 15; it was probably over something minor and ridiculous as it normally was but I told you that I wasn’t surprised that dad left and that living with you was unbearable. You responded by telling me to go and cut my arms open like I always do when things don’t go my way. Even to this day it makes me sick when I think about you saying those words and I don’t think I will ever forget that argument; the way you said what you said, the pure venom in your voice, and the childishness of your retort.

You always talk about self-harm as though it’s something that children do and that they mature out of it. You don’t think I hurt myself anymore, now that I am an adult you think that I must have established better coping techniques. You’re wrong. Self-harming is as much of an issue for me now as it ever was, and although the frequency and severity has decreased, I use it to address issues that nobody sane would ever describe as childish and immature. I guess it’s a really hard concept to accept if it’s something you have never experienced but I just wish you had tried a little harder to understand rather than freaking out and making it a shameful secret that I wasn’t allowed to discuss with anybody outside of the house. You were so worried about what other people may think of you as a mother that you failed to notice my real ‘shameful secret’ that was being formed in front of your eyes. And even though you now know about the real shameful secret you still won’t address it – you never involved the police, you never told him that you know what he did, you never checked to see if he did the same things to Holly, we never ever talk about it. It’s buried. Along with everything else shit that’s ever happened in our family. Why are you all so bad at supporting each other? Why don’t we talk to each other? Why do we have to hide everything? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SCARED OF? Mum, maybe it’s you that needs to grow the fuck up and face the truth. SHIT HAPPENS.

It can’t have been easy for you. Single mum of two little girls, one of whom is so intent on destroying herself and everyone around her that you fear for both of your safety. I know that you tried to get me locked up. I read the emails that you sent and the information that you printed off about detaining children. I read the criteria and I noticed how you had carefully highlighted and annotated the information to make me look like some kind of a monster. Bollocks to you. Do you know why I never got detained mum? It certainly wasn’t because I wasn’t ill enough because at that point I was absolutely fucking bonkers. No, it’s because you didn’t want anybody to know that we weren’t fucking perfect after all. You’re a coward mum but I’ve known that for a long time. No self-respecting woman allows the father of her children to throw an iron at them and then beg them to come back when they do a midnight flit. You don’t even know I know about all of that. Well, guess what, even as a fucking 8 year old I was more perceptive then you were as the stupid middle aged woman that you turned out to be.

I didn’t want this letter to turn into a stream of abuse, calling you out for every mistake that you’ve ever made in your life. I just kind of wish that you were more able to acknowledge your mistakes and fix them. When I was a very little girl you could make everything better but then I realised that actually the world is an incredibly shit place and you are completely powerless within the system, just like everybody else. Your hugs still help though. I wish I could have one right now. I just want to hold you and never let go. Even though I’m 4 inches taller than you and twice as wide you still seem able to envelope me in affection and take away all of the pain.

I love you so much and you’re my best friend, I need you to know that this isn’t your fault. I need you to know that I forgive you. You’re my favouritest ever but don’t tell the others ;)

I love you to the moon and back,

Your lost, lonely, terrified little girl

'Help. I have done it again. I have been here many times before. Hurt myself again today. And the worst part is there's no-one else to blame' - Sia

It had been building up inside of me for a while. I couldn't deal with everything and I needed some kind of release. I had become obsessed with cutting myself; it was at the back of my mind all the time and it was interfering with my everyday life. I tried to fight it, I really fucking tried but the voice in my head telling me that it would make me feel better just wouldn't go away.

I caved in. I know that makes me such a weak fucking person but I just couldn't help myself.... It wasn't impulsive, it was very deliberate. I went to the pharmacy to buy a packet of blades and as I went to pay for them I felt relief. I was in control... I am so in control of my own body that it's up to me if I want to slash it. People seem to think that self harm is a side effect of being out of control but they are wrong. I may not have much power in life but I have the power to decide what happens to my body. I didn't used to have that power when I was being abused but now I do have it and nobody can take it away from me again.

As soon as I got home that day (Tuesday), I ran up the stairs to do the only thing that I could think of that would numb my emotional pain. Initially, I tried to do very small and very superficial cuts and although it helped it just wasn't quite what I needed. I felt angry with the world for putting me in a place where I had no control and no power. I felt alone. The cuts became slightly bigger and slightly deeper but that was okay, I didn't mind, it made my pain feel real. Physical pain is a lot easier to accept and control than emotional pain.

I wish I could say that it didn't help but I can't. For over as hour I felt relief. For over an hour I was actually distracted as I cut myself and then stemmed the bleeding. For over an hour I 'cared' for myself.

Of course, the shit didn't stay hidden for long. Emotionally I was back in the same place as I had been before I cut myself within a few hours. I wanted to do it again but I didn't then and I still haven't but that's certainly not to say that I won't.

I am able to acknowledge that things are getting worse. My heads a mess and now my skin is a mess too. I contacted the lady who did my initial assessment at the counselling service first thing on Wednesday morning to explain that I was struggling. She left me a voicemail later that day to say she couldn't get through but she would try again later. I heard nothing throughout the rest of Wednesday, I heard nothing throughout Thursday, I heard nothing throughout Friday and I've heard nothing today.

What's the fucking point in any of this?