I have not written my blog for over a month! It has been a strange month - a month with days as dark as my mood, and as wet as the tears I have cried. I have narrowly avoided being put into a psychiatric hospital, my depression has been so bad. I have struggled to function, pain from my joints has been magnified by the pain in my heart and soul. In my darkest moments I have considered leaving life behind, however I would never willingly leave my children & husband.

I stood on the motorway bridge. The cars and lorries whizzed past beneath me - totally unaware that the woman above them was considering a journey far further than their supermarket trip, or holiday destination. As the wind blew my hair across my face, getting stuck in my eyes and mouth, I leaned forward and the dirty smell of diesel fumes hit me. The stench of engine oil, grease and exhaust smoke rose upwards, as if repelling me. I realised what I was considering and took a step back. Slowly I hobbled away from the barriers. I sat in my car, breathing more regularly, trying to avoid a panic attack which appeared to be close. Vomit filled my mouth as enormity of my actions sank in. I looked at my smudged face in the mirror. I brushed my hair down flat with my fingers. I took a swig of water, splashing some into my hands and wiping them roughly across my face. I started the engine. Music filled the car. I drove the 2 minute drive home. My key in the door heralding shouts of "Mummy, mummy - where did you go? Did you bring me sweets? Where are my cards? " The bridge seemed a lifetime away.

After the visit to the bridge, my experience with self harm seem more frequent, more brutal, more necessary. I need to purge myself of the guilt for having considered what I did that dark night. I need to cut away the bad person. My skin is sore and marked, razor blades peel layers off, like a vegetable knife peels a carrot. I feel nothing. Blood pours to the floor, but there is no pain. A fleeting sting as the skin breaks, the only pain. Numb is the only way I can describe myself at the moment. I do not understand why I am drawn to do this to myself ? Violent thoughts intrude on my waking hours. A sarcastic voice, critical of any actions - "is that all you could manage?" rings out in my mind. A voice that narrates the images played in my head - images of a life past, images of life to come - who knows?

I have been troubled by these flashbacks and intrusive images for some time. I have been searching for a reason for them, why? why me? Why now? I see the little girl, she is lonely & sad. She is confused by the vicious behaviour of the grown ups who should have cared for her. I want to take care of her, but it is all too late. The damage is done, she is wounded.