This post contains graphic talk about blood, needles and a little about self harm so please don’t read it if you’re feeling like that kind of talk could trigger you.
Yesterday I mentioned that there was something I wanted to write about but my mind just wasn’t in the right place to try and explain it all at the time. Long term readers of my little blog will know that every so often I go through phases of thinking (then believing) that my blood is bad. I have confessed to some quite bizarre behaviours surrounding blood in the past, I recall writing a post quite some time ago when I was going through phases of having what I called daily “blood showers”… there was something about cutting and watching the water run all over my body so that everything going down the plug was bright pinky red water. I felt like I was releasing the bad blood and watching it all wash away.
I had an episode of psychosis at one point where I believed there was something actually wrong with my blood. It was somehow infected, diseased, it contained a lot of bad things and I had to get them out of me.
I have cut shallow little scratches. I have written words all over my body at various times but written them with blades. I have cut to stupidly deep levels where I have literally been sitting with a huge gaping hole on an arm or leg. As a result of those moments my body is just an absolute mess. Damaged forever, permanently scarred.
I have cut whilst crying, I’ve done it when shaking with anxiety, when I’ve been angry and frustrated and confused and in complete self loathing mode where everything about myself disgusts me.
I never thought that very first time I cut when I was 12 or 13 years old would be the start of an on/off lifetime addiction that I’d still be doing aged 31 (and in the last two years it’s been at it’s most severe.)
So what is this new crazy confession I’d like to make? Well yes it has to do with blood and with self harming strangely enough. Although it’s probably not something that would be considered self harm as I’m not cutting or burning or anything, I’m not doing anything that is causing me physical pain… but I have been fighting as hard as I can over the past weeks, desperately trying not to do another deep angry cut and trying to ‘allow’ myself to do some shallow cuts just to see if it would get the urge out my system for a little while.
I swear what I’m about to tell you was not intentional. I was clearing one of my kitchen cupboards out maybe a week or two ago and right at the back of it I found a little bag. The bag contained five sterile needles and syringes, alcohol wipes and yes, spoons to ‘cook up’ on. For those of you who haven’t been reading that long, in January 2012 I was in an extremely low, desperate and suicidal place and made the stupidest decision ever which was to try heroin. I can’t explain how much of a dark place I was in to make a decision like that, to ask the guy who thought I just smoked the occasional bit of pot if he could get me some heroin wraps. I think half of me hoped I’d overdose the first time I took it (and die) and then everything would just be over with. The other half of me was desperate to feel medicated and completely numb. I never ever thought I would try heroin, I have seen it destroy lives and take away lives far too soon, but I will say it again… I was desperate. Maybe beyond desperate.
I used heroin for 15 days in a row. On the 15th day I went to my GP and broke down, told her everything and actually asked to be admitted into the psych hospital because I needed to get away from here and away from that horrible drug before I became addicted or killed myself. Within a couple of hours of seeing lovely GP I was in the back of an ambulance and being taken to the psych hospital. I have never touched it again. I won’t lie and say there haven’t been a couple of temptations along the way, but on the whole I don’t really think about it any more. That was until a couple of weeks ago when I came across that half full bag containing everything your typical junkie would need.
If I’m honest I got a bit of a shock when I saw the orange tipped needles again, it has been almost a year since I last handled a needle. But it was like out of nowhere this idea rushed through my head – I could make use of them to take the badness out of my body rather than put any in. And before I knew it I had taken one sterile needle and syringe out the packaging, made a tourniquet using a belt and was feeling for a nice juicy vein. Found one almost immediately and for the next ten minutes or so I sat on the toilet seat with my arm in the sink and just watched my blood quickly fill up the syringe… I gently slid it off the needle and squirted it all into the sink… and then repeated the process another five or six times until I finally felt a sense of being ever so slightly calmer. The sink was covered in blood and I sat there swirling it all round the sink, watching my fingers turning red, then washing it all away. I put the cap back on that needle (safety first) and disposed of it.
Later that night and the next day there was no big angry wound with stitches inside and out, there was simply a little red dot. And it felt more like I’d done some kind of cleansing as opposed to harmed myself in any way. Even though I know they’re sterile and it’s only me who is using them I only like to use a needle and a syringe once. So the second part of the confession is that I went to the drug and alcohol centre last week and got another bag of them. Thankfully it was no one I knew who was working that day and the woman I saw seemed to buy my story that I was just picking them up for someone else. She even asked me how many I wanted. They come in batches of ten. So I took two packs (twenty needles and twenty syringes) and I only have about four left. It’s helping me in a way that I can’t really explain without sounding totally mental yet I also still feel as though I’m stuck in that pressure cooker and want to self harm badly…deeply…angrily and aggressively Like I say, I don’t think I view this as a type of self harm, more a removal of badness inside of me.
Sorry if this post offended anyone, but you see that title up there ‘My Crazy Bipolar Life’ … well sometimes it’s just that… crazy…