SI

Yeh we had pages and pics, took them down. We're back again as
you can see. This is about Self Injury. SI. Hurting yourself for any
number of reasons. Making it better. Emptiness. Depression. So,
yeah, we do this. Been doing it since the body was 17. Course I
am only 19 and stuck there. Back before people had a cute name
for it. They just thought you were trying to kill yourself. Were
that the case, we'd be long dead. Attention? No, we didn't want
to let anyone see... our pain...how much we hurt...How we
screamed to be someone else..or something else...just *not*
us. Nonetheless, we got caught by our friend, who took away the
coke can we had flexed until we could break it in half and have a
free sharp in the back seat of his car... Fisher-Price's my first
razor blade. Just scratches, we were new to this.

Time flies, Guess we buried our SI in S&M, getting other people to
hurt us. Genty, mind you. Most the time anyway... That could be a
whole nother page..err book.. Many years later... playing with the
Saran wrap... "This isn't sharp." While poking our thumb at it...
"See?" *whack across the inside of the arm, pulling slightly...* A
serrated steak knife couldn't have done better. "Kewl, we're
bleeding". Our friend shook her head and helped us fix it.
We blame it oor my blondeness. She knows how we are.

We had a dresser with a hutch. It had a 3 X 3 plate glass mirror.
Note the past tense... Monica hit it one day and it cracked. She
continued, over about a month to hit it. She reduced it to ground
glass. We have some small scars on our knuckles from that. We
have a vague memory of our friend walking in on us (she was
good at that) and spending most of a half hour picking fine glass
slivers ou of our hands. We moved. She's not hurting us anymore.
She's another book. Her sister was our roomie for a little while
too. Let's just roll our eyes on that one.

Time again rolls onward and things are stable and happy until
they blow up. With the onset of more stress than we can imagine,
we go to pieces. Literaly. Fragmentation of the brain into some 11
people. That's when the cutting really started. We were fortunate
no one ever cut really deep, though we did a lot of it. We had the
presence of mind somehow to make and play with stage blood
when we felt the need to be covered in it. Dropcloths were a wise
investment as well. Lost most of the friends we had during that.
Carted ourselves to the hospital I forget how many times, but we
had a therp and they kept letting us go. Idiots. we're sending you
a message here. That was when we found out we had DID.

Felt like cutting one night, didn't want to, though, and we were
on the phone trying to talk to a professional about how we were
feeling. They, not knowing us well, thought we were gonna kill
ourselves, next thing we know there are cops and paramedics
filling our bedroom doorway, and we're going for a ride. They
gave me no choice. We were laughing when we showed up at the
hospital. The whole thing was such a misunderstanding. The
hospital let us go. We had some converations an online friend.
She said "It sounds to me like you are tryingto get put in the
hospital". We nodded. That was indeed it. Talked to our therp.
She recommended a nicer than state run places hospital. We took
ourself there for eval. They signed us up for intensive outpatient.
We wanted inpatient. Just going there 8 hours a day wasn't going
to get us away from the stress sources. We spent 3 weeks in a
nice motel down the road, and went to our classes every day
there, mostly group stuff. We did have some incidents with
cutting there, both at the motel, and when we skipped one class
to sit on the patio, smoke, and then cut. Someone saw us driping
blood off our wrist and we had ppl taking us away so fast our
head swam. We got to talk about what was bothering us. They
were ready to let us out, and we knew it wasn't time yet. When
they found out we were paying for the motel, the insurance co let
us stay another week, and it made a big dfference. We got
the You were here outpatient coffee cup, and the You were here
inpatient coin, since we effectively were. Remembering all this
pain makes us want to cry. Guy we met there. found out later he
hung himself. No one listened to him this time, it seems. They let
him go home and he died. Even this place wasn't perfect.

Scars. We have some, and Doctors ask us about them, and
comment they look old. We tell them they are. But recently, We
got stressed again. And cut again. We have lots of new scars.
Some worse than than the last time this happened do us.
Dammit... Guess it never goes away, does it. We may post some
pix of our arms and breasts sometime. We only have a couple
small scars on our legs. So Yeh, we still feel the urge to cut, and
for almost 7 years we didn't. Now we want to again. We also
don't like to hide it. Unfortunately the public is not so educated,
and someone would be bound to 'try to help' and make our life
worse than it is. So here's a pic (or more) for whatever you get
from it. Our advice? If you don't SI, don't start. If you do, try to be
careful and treat your wound promptly if at all possible.
And yeh, Still...I could watch myself bleed out. Scary thought,
isn't it? Unfortunately, we still cut. it's not getting better. Spent 6
days inpatient in Aug of 2008. Helped some, but, not really.

We can't write anymore now...Haven't we screamed enough?