Extreme self-harm

Writing this, it’s shocking how unwell I was.

The events that led to the act of extreme self harm were as followed; I had confronted the person who abused me as a child, about 3 weeks before. About 2 weeks after this I had discovered that; without my permission, Hannah had told my Dad about the first lot of abuse I faced as a kid. She didn’t tell me she told him, instead when looking through her phone I stumbled upon their messages and was very angry with her, feeling betrayed even. On reflection, I know it had to be done, she was trying to protect me. She’s forgiven now of course. At the time it felt suffocating and embarrassing, everyone suddenly knowing what had happened to my body. It made me feel extremely exposed and uncomfortable in the presence of extended family. When going to see my Nan I would be terrified as to who would show up whilst there. Over the week it had just built up and up.        

My headspace was far from a normal 21 year old’s. Sitting on my bedroom floor, trying to fight the voice by watching something on Netflix. Nothing triggering, just a series. The voice got louder and more aggressive and I found myself giving in to the voice. It was convincing me I had to do it for Hannah as it was what she wanted & that I was being selfish for not doing it for her. Did what exactly? I cut my labia. With scissors. 

Still influenced by the voice, I told Hannah what I had done so proudly. She was astounded and horrified. Like any sane person would be. She told me to tell mum, so I did. After a little while, she came home from work and we went to A&E.  The nurses& doctors told us they could not reattach the part that was cut off. I bled a hell of a lot, and fainted when they took my bloods. When told surgery was necessary it didn’t faze me. 

I was moved to Eastwood ward & had to wait ages for availabilty for surgery. Having to wee in a pot after not eating or drinking for 8 hours seemed impossible, but apparently they couldn’t do the operation without it. Being wheeled in on a bed into an operating room felt alien-like. I couldn’t wait for the anesthetic to kick in so I didn’t have to think or deal with my current state of mind.  

When I woke up it was in a recovery suite,  my mum was there and left soon after I told her to go to bed and get some rest. I had Phillipino nurses, straight away started talking to them about my flatmate who has routes in that country. They were very surprised that the morphine dosage hadn’t sent me to sleep. Instead, I kept asking for more water.  It was around 5.30am when I was wheeled back on to the ward. A nurse told me I had between 4-6 dissolvable stitches. Some external and some internal. When discharged, I was told to come back every 5 or so days for a check over.           

The healing process was laborious. It was painful to walk, and when I did it was wonky. It was extremely swollen down there and was still bleeding through the stitches even 2/3 weeks after the surgery. Not much, but still unpleasant. I had to put a dressing on it, even during the time I was in hospital.