Meeting

Today there was a multi agency meeting about my children.  There were 8 different people there, plus me.  It was hugely intimidating.  They were talking about my life at home, and how my youngest child is a massive challenge & the effect this is having on my other 2 children.  
My daughter is a very unhappy 9 year old, who wishes her little brother had never been born - she screamed that at me last week when he had provoked a reaction out of her.  She said that we don't pay any attention to her & her elder brother, that we only pay the smallest one attention.   It cut me to the core when she asked if she could go into foster care, as she didn't want to live in the same house as her younger brother.  I try so hard to pay each of them attention, but the youngest one is incredibly demanding & often interrupts / destroys activities.  He doesn't understand, his autistic view of the world is that he is the most important person & his demands should be met, instantly.  
My elder son, aged 12, is a very mature young chap - wise beyond his years.  He worries (in a similar way to me) about his brother, and also about me.  he is waiting for some counselling, as he becomes very angry with the world and blames himself for things that he has no control over.   I am concerned that he could head down the same awful route that I have travelled with my mental health, so I hope that the counselling will help him to overcome his feelings and help him deal with them in a controlled way.  
Did I do this to them?  Are they able to sense my negativity.  Do they believe my stories about all the injuries that befall my arms?  They aren't stupid, I'm sure that they pick up on the feelings that invade my every thought.  I don't want that for them, I want them to be happy, and to lead full and enjoyable lives.  Someone said at the meeting "happy mum = happy kids", but I can't remember what happy feels like.  

Dirty Little Lies

We all tell lies, every day.  I was thinking about this and decided to make a list of all the lies I told in a day.

• I'm fine thank you
• I've had my breakfast
• You have to go to school today 
• I don't have enough petrol to run that errand
• I'm not hungry, thanks
• I will phone them tomorrow
• I got scratched by the cat, my skin is paper thin
• My back is feeling better
• That's fine, I don't mind you going out after work, and missing the children's bedtime
• I'm busy this afternoon, sorry
• I'm going out to the tumble drier
• I'm having an early night, I'm exhausted

What I actually meant was

• My world is falling apart and I'm powerless to stop it
• I have eaten chocolate when you weren't looking
• You have to go to school today, because I can't cope with you at home
• I have enough fuel, I just don't want to leave the house
• I'm ravenous, but I can't eat in front of anyone
• I will not make the phone call, I can't talk to anyone on the phone
• I slashed my arms with razor blades
• My back hurts, but I can't bore you with moaning about my pain
• I can't believe you would organise to go out over teatime, bathtime, pick up from club time.  Now I must do it all on my own
• I need to be on my own, I'm terrible company
• I'm going into the garden to smoke
• Please don't make me have sex with you

So my life is pretty much a tapestry of untruths.  That makes me feel dreadful.  My life is a big fat lie.  No one really knows what goes on in my head & I don't feel able to share it with anyone.  Pretty poor really.  

3 Weeks On

It's 3 weeks since my surgery.  I developed an infection in my stitches, and stubbornly refused help, as I felt that I had brought it on myself - which is absolutely true.  Eventually my MH social worker dragged me (almost literally) into Minor Injuries and found someone to look at the mess on my wrist.  Again, no harshness, no nasty glances, just gentle words and reassurance that it was ok to be there.  The infection has cleared now, just a slightly red scar now.   I wish I could say that was the end of it all.  But still, I dwell on self harm many times a day.  I wish I knew why?  I wish it wasn't like that.  I suppose it is my way of coping with the images and pictures that are flashing through my mind, the thoughts and feelings that they provoke - and the anger which they raise within me - though I direct it on myself, as I don't know what else to do with it. 


No2 son has been incredibly challenging for the last few weeks.  He is medicated for ADHD, but they only see the benefit of it at school.  It has worn off by the time he gets in, and in the unstructured setting of the weekend, he is as hyper as ever.  I think it is the feeling of utter helplessness that I find hardest - it doesn't matter what strategies I try to employ (distraction / bribery etc) he does not respond.  He is locked in that autistic state where he is the only one who matters, who has feelings and who has needs.  He doesn't care about how others feel as a result of his words or actions.  When he is being violent to me it is bad enough, but it is so hard for his siblings to bear the brunt of his physical behaviour.  I wish that there was a pill to take away all his problems, but then, maybe he wouldn't be the boy he is now?  I don't know. 


It all feels a bit overwhelming today.  

Resurrection Eyes

Just back from church. A really interesting sermon about seeing the world with Resurrection Eyes, as the priest felt that the disciples were able to see beyond the crucifixion, and feel the hope for the future - and that we should try seeing the world with Resurrection Eyes. I thought about this long and hard as the service went on. I wish that I could feel that positive about things. He talked of people who forgave the murderer of their son - how they moved on and made good come from a terrible situation.

Forgiveness is a funny thing. I want forgiveness for all that I do wrong (which feels like a lot at times) but I find it terribly difficult to forgive others. I wish I could, but I really don't seem to have the capacity. I don't hate anyone, I may hate their actions or dislike their attitude, but I don't hate them. I still want approval from everyone - affirmation that I am ok, that I am "doing it right" whatever that means. People have hurt me deeply in the past, but I still want their love and approval - I just can't get my head round it all. I think that is a lot of my problem, that I am unable to move past what has been said and done.

I kind of need to move forward - to get away from this place I am stuck in. I think I would like to see the world with Resurrection Eyes - to feel the hope rising out of despair, so see a future beyond tomorrow.

Being Organised

I have had the urge this week to plan my funeral. I don't know why, but I really want to make sure that plans are in place. There is this constant feeling at the moment, that something is very wrong.

So I thought I would put down my funeral plans

Coming in Music : Pachelbel's Canon

Coffin : bamboo / willow - something sustainable.

Songs / Hymns : Shine Jesus Shine

The Servant King

Here I am to Worship

I will offer up My Life

Our God Reigns

Cremation : Ben Folds - Landed

Going Out : They Might Be Giants - Birdhouse in your Soul

Charity Collection - NO FLOWERS (except my husband who may buy 5 orange gerberas)

In aid of National Self Harm Network & The Samaritans

Party afterwards at the Campsite - Only vegetarian food to be served. Lots of drink, and an 80's disco.

Kind of sad that I won't be there to enjoy it.

Aftermath

I spent the whole weekend in hospital. Oh the shame. Self inflicted injury made surgery a necessity to maintain function in my hand. I was really scared / ashamed / horrified about it all. The hospital is over an hours drive away, so we had to get someone to stay in our house so that my husband could drive me there, leaving at 6 a.m. without waking the children. He dropped me at the hospital entrance and I made my way to the ward. I was shown to a side room next to the nurses station. I was spoken to kindly and asked if I would like to be Mrs.... or my first name, to which I replied first name please. Then a man arrived - he was an older man, probably the age of my dad. He introduced himself as a MH nurse from the hospital psych unit - and he had been allocated to me for the day. Basically I was not to be left on my own. I don't know what they thought I was going to do, but I was not going to be alone. At this point I shut down completely and withdrew into myself. I couldn't string a sentence together or get any words out. He tried to make conversation, but I couldn't engage with him at that point.

The nurse came in and was so kind. She was not judgmental or shocked by the state of my arms. The surgeon came and explained what they were going to do and again was kind and understanding and very dismissive of my stuttering apologies. It was a long day - there were lots of emergencies so my operation was put back and back. As the day went on I began to chat to the MH nurse. He was lovely, we talked about MH, but also about religion, faith, church, children, history, politics and education! I finally went down to theatre at about 8pm. The anesthetist was a bit scary and business like - though I did have to laugh when they drew a huge arrow pointing to the damaged wrist! Just in case they forgot which one to work on!!

When I came round I was very groggy and remember very little of it. My arm was heavily bandaged and felt very heavy.

Once back on the ward I was yet again not to be left alone, this time it was a Healthcare Assistant. I couldn't sleep during the night - I was wide awake - the HCA however, put her feet up and slept the time away - with some healthy snoring thrown in.

I was discharged in the morning and my mother in law came to collect me.

Reflecting on my hospital stay I was struck by how caring, kind & considerate all the staff were towards me. So often there are tales of people who have self harmed being treated like second class citizens, not so for me. So the guilt at taking up all these good people's time is great.

I have had to work hard not to interfere with the wound - the urges are great. But for all those who put themselves out for me, I will not do it. I will not undo their work and give in to the devil called self harm that lives in my head.

Guilt

I was thinking today about all the things I feel guilty about. There are quite a lot, so I decided to make a list.

• being overweight & unable to lose it
• being a crap mum
• shouting at the kids
• not being a good wife
• having been a terrible daughter
• not earning a living
• not contributing to the family
• feeling so down all the time
• hating myself
• feeling depressed, when there are other people who don't have half of what I have, who are happy with their lot
• keeping secrets
• feeding my family healthy food, but not being able to sit and eat with them
• being grumpy
• being distant
• being anti social
• self harm
• not being sure of my faith, but making my children come to church with me anyway
• not being able to accept compliments
• wasting professionals time

So there are just few of the things I feel guilty about. Don't really know what I have achieved by making a list, but now I can see them there, I do see that I have a lot of guilt.

I'm going to see the specialist trauma team at the weekend. I feel guilty about that too.

Trouble is, I don't remember a time when I didn't feel guilty. Even as a little girl I felt guilty about even being alive. I was told from as far back as I can remember that I was unplanned & had come at a very inconvenient time & made things very hard for my parents.

If someone waved a wand and magicked away my guilt, I don't think there would be anything of me left.

Hard Day

It all started with me taking the children to school. The small one wanted to show everyone the bandage on my wrist - he kept pulling my sleeve up. I was mortified. It strikes me as odd the folks who say that self harm is attention seeking, as those who do it go to such extreme lengths to hide it. I have woven a story involving a broken plate and clumsy catching - it's so convincing I almost believe it myself. I then had to go back to A & E to get myself checked out.

I sat in the car for 20 minutes trying to psych myself up to go in. I eventually crept in and took my place in the queue. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and a kind voice asking if I was ok. It was my Mental Health Social Worker. Often these people get a bad press, but I think this is often unfair. She has been off sick since October, so I have had to see random other people in the interim. I'm not keen on new people - I tend to withdraw and clam up, not ideal when you are supposed to be talking. She was so kind this morning, taking the time to talk to me and reassure me. But still I feel guilty about using up professionals time. After my wrist had been checked the nurse marched me off to the Mental Health Department, as she was not happy that I was still refusing to see the plastic surgery team. All of a sudden my MH SW appeared. She is still off sick, but again took the time to talk to me. She is back to work tomorrow and has already booked me in to see her. I feel terrible taking up her time when she is on a phased return.

I feel so very sad about the way I feel. Lost almost, joyless.

Failure

So I cut. Again and again. Then I panicked. One cut was really big & deep. I made it worse and worse. It wouldn't stop bleeding. I knew I had to seek help - but how the hell was I going to explain away what I'd done? It was plainly obvious - right on the edge of my wrist. I know - smashed plate. There are advantages to being incredibly clumsy - people will believe anything of me - even the far fetched tale of clumsiness that I concocted.

At A & E they were so kind. I didn't really want kind, I wanted them to shout "time waster" "idiot" "attention seeker" But the nurse was gentle and took the time to talk to me. He listened and said I didn't need to say sorry - but I did need to apologise, over and over again. Then he scared me witless by declaring that he thought I had cut through a tendon. OMG I nearly threw up when he said that. He said it needed stitching, but he was reluctant to do it, as I really needed to see the plastic surgeon. At that point I could have sunk through the floor - I really didn't mean to waste anyone's time - certainly not specialists, dealing with people with real and genuine injuries. The unit is over an hour away - I just couldn't do it. So I had to self discharge against medical advice. I feel so bad. He was so kind and thorough, and I rejected his kindness.

So here I sit. Bandaged. Damaged. Lost.

Urges

And so the urges go on. I'm sat here in the pitch black - terrified to put the light on. If I put the light on, then I'll be able to see. If I can see, then I can find my sharp things, then I can cut, and cut and cut. Really bleed - that is the only relief I get at the moment. Seeing the damage I can inflict on myself. It must sound really weird to someone who has never self harmed. But to me, it's the norm. It's the only way that I can feel real emotions. Unfortunately the emotions I feel are negative, and are directed purely at myself, but it's better than nothing I suppose.

Everyone is sleeping, all I can hear is the ticking clock. Each tick says "cut, cut, cut" but my head is saying "don't" the inner battle is so difficult and I really just want to sleep. Maybe forever, but maybe to wake up in a place where I feel happy and content, and my inner demons are banished for good. That would be nice. Please let me find it someday.

Faith, Plans & Shame

I have spent all day planning how to self harm tonight, in a way that can be explained away as accidental. I can't get the thoughts out of my head. They have been at the back of my mind whilst I cooked, cleaned, ironed. I thought about ironing my hand, but I'm not sure even I could explain that away as pure clumsiness. Self harm makes a terrible liar out of one. "Silly me" "I'm so clumsy" and so on. Unfortunately, anyone catching a glimpse of all the scars would probably be able to work out that this woman is more than clumsy.

I went to church today. I go most weeks, but this week I didn't take the children. I am really struggling with my faith at the moment. My darkest hours feel so lonely, I don't get any sense / feeling of God at all. It's an empty feeling. Lonely. Like my life. As we sang hymns and read prayers I was desperately trying to feel God - the Almighty, the one who will save us - but nothing. I am just a cold empty shell of a woman. I wonder if that is why self harm seems so important in my life - it's a way of feeling something - anything is better than nothing. Pain beats numbness, at least there is a feeling there.

One website I use makes a lot of noise about distraction - things you can to do distract you from self harming. Have a bath, do a crossword, make a drink, colour a picture, and so on - all very safe activities - but nothing that makes you feel something. Whether it's the initial pain or the shame and self hatred that inevitably follows - at least you can feel.

I am going to do it. I just haven't decided how, yet.

Friends

I was asked this week about my friends, what I did with the youngest child when we went to other people's homes? I was very embarrassed to admit that actually, I don't have any friends any more. Not the close, being able to talk to type friends. I have always been on the anti social side, but now, I appear to be a complete hermit. No friends to speak of, my world revolves around my husband, children & their needs. My only friends are virtual friends, people I have met online, in the forums where anonymity is a shield for my being. Imagine, a 43 year old mother of 3. A governor at the children's school, very active on the PTA, sitting for hours on end, talking to strangers online - yet she can't pick up the phone and tell someone who has known her for years, just how bad she is feeling.

I self harmed this week. It has been a couple of months since my last episode, but the urges have been there. I am now trying to explain away the terrible mess I have made of myself. The cuts are large and quite open, but I am too ashamed to seek medical help - taking up the time of health professionals whose time should be spent with people who deserve help. So I console myself with the faceless internet. People who say kind things - like, "you're a lovely person" But they don't really know that, it is gleaned from an online persona, designed to hide the flaws, the real person behind the words.

I have met people from the internet (I know, I know!) they were lovely - not 30 stone truckers or axe murderers! Real, genuine people, with their own set of problems, but who too find solace in talking online.

So for now, they are my friends. I bare my soul and talk about some of my darkest feelings. I don't even know if it helps, but I am very thankful for my online friends, and they'll probably never know just how thankful I am.

Ending it

I came closer this Sunday just gone, to ending my life, than I have done for a long time. Being a parent is hard. It's not just hard, it's tiring, exhausting, humiliating and many other emotions that feel amplified when you are in the Mum role.

Parenting a child with additional needs is challenging. It can be rewarding and exciting, but at the moment it is mostly devastating. To all those that say ADHD is a made up label to excuse bad behaviour - come and live in my house for a week. It is a very real, and extremely distressing condition - not just for the sufferer, but for the sufferer's family. Couple it with autism and you have a little chap who can't stop moving, but can't tell you why. You have a child so delightfully loving and yet so horrendously violent & vicious. You never know who you are going to wake up to.

His siblings are fiercely protective of him, but loathe him in equal measure. His behaviour towards them can be of a devoted disciple or a hitting, biting, pinching demon. They are not old enough to understand why he does these things, and are coming to hate the little boy they really want to love as their brother. It is so difficult as a parent - I am accused of "making excuses" for his behaviour, I am told that I am soft on him. But, being angry / upset / annoyed with him has no effect - he doesn't care. He really genuinely doesn't care - because at the moment he doesn't have that capacity. He is locked in this autistic state, where he is the centre of the universe, and it all revolves around him and his needs. Other peoples needs or emotions do not feature in his world.

I am feeling particularly inadequate at the moment. As a wife, mother, as a human really. It feels that things are slipping out of my control and I am clinging on to life with the tips of my fingers. I go through the daily motions, packed lunches, clean clothes, clean children, healthy diets for them, but deep down inside I am numb, dead almost. I have a headache that just won't shift and I wonder if today will be the day that I fall asleep and don't wake up. Released from the weight of life, allowed to be free.

I often wonder what it feels like to be happy. I can't really remember ever feeling really happy - really carefree. I think back to the frightened little girl hiding in the wardrobe in the dark, desperate to be invisible, and realise that those feelings are all still there, that actually I still want to be invisible, not noticed, unseen. If no one could see me then maybe I wouldn't exist, maybe this oppressive feeling of depression would lift.

I have to stay in this world for my children, I could not leave them wondering why their mummy left them, worrying it was something that they had done or not done. I brought them into the world, I have to be here for them.

But sometimes it would be nice to be free. To be happy. To be a real person.