Self harming dyke
Ad 2:
2002-07-03 09:35:48 (UTC)


It has been... oh... ages since I wrote.

I didn't write for so long because I was in hospital here
in Brussels-in a psychiatric ward. On St Patrick's Day
(17th March), my life fell around my ears. All the shit
that had been building up for so long - that which I wrote
about in this diary and elsewhere - came to a head and I
just couldn't go on any more. I didn't do anything hugely
dramatic, and I didn't even have the force in me to
consider suicide, I just stopped being rational. It is hard
to explain, but I have since learnt that it was a nervous
breakdown. I had lost 3 and a half stone by then, was weak
from lack of proper food for the past 4 months, and had
become so addicted to Self Injury that I couldn't get
enough of it. I was cutting at home and work and even in
the toilets in pubs when I went out. It didn't even happen
as a reaction to bad things anymore - was just something I
needed to do all the time in order to feel that I was
really alive. I felt like I didn't exist and needed some
proof to the contrary.

Here I would like to make a comment about the messages I
received from 6 of you readers. There were several which
were very caring and sweet and would have been nice to have
received when I felt so low. There were others which
clearly came from some unpleasant individuals.

" Why don't you try to help yourself? You know it's
stupid. There are better ways to express pain or a desire
for attention. And by the way, that doctor is not going to
rx you sedatives in a million years. "

This is not helpful. Whoever you are, you should be more
open-minded or stay away. I didn't ask you to read my
diary, and comments like this are not nice. Also, if you do
want to "advise" someone who si's, maybe you should read up
on the subject first.

So anyway. I went to my therapist on the day after St
Paddy's Day and she saw my arm and said I had to go to
hospital. The day is a blur, but I ended it in a bed in a
crisis centre, on sedatives, arm stitched up. I was
transferred from there 4 days later and spent the next 2
months in a most fantastic place which showed me my life
and me again. (Think "Girl, Interrupted" in french!)

I will not say that all is perfect now, but I don't know
that I would want it to be. It is through imperfections and
tough times that we enjoy the good bits of life. All in all
I am very lucky indeed to have got through and come out the
other side. I have a great job now and am still in
Brussels, still in the same flat. I banished a lot of
demons and am prepared now to live.

I have not cut myself for 7 weeks and 4 days.

Cat x