self-injury.net

Unfortunately I have been hospitalized before, a few times actually. The problem is that my time there only made my condition worse.

Before I was hospitalized the first time, I worked so hard to hide what I was doing. I wanted to be perfect - the perfect student, daughter, friend. Part of that perfect-ness was making sure that no one found out what I did to cope with life. After my Mom found my SI things, everything changed. The therapists told me I didn't have to try to be perfect anymore, so I didn't. I learned nothing in there, no coping skills - only how to do more damage (and maybe hide it better). It was like daycare, only we slept there, had no privacy, and weren't allowed out for recess. When I got out, not only did I do more damage, but I stopped caring if I left a mess. Somehow everyone knew then that I had been inpatient and they called me crazy. The stigma that being hospitalized gave me was too much to take. I stopped caring and instead of trying to be perfect, I became incredibly self-destructive.

The pattern continued for a number of years, from age 16 to age 21. It wasn't until I was taken to a treatment center that used something called Dialectical Behavior Therapy that my life began to get better. Best idea ever.

Had been drinking the night before and lost a lot of blood...was drifting in and out of consciousness so my friend took me to the ER. They put 75 staples in my leg.  Hurt more than anything I've ever experienced. It turns out that scar tissue doesn't really take up the numbing medication very well and since my leg was already covered with scars, every staple they put in hurt.  Had to get escorted out of the ER and to a crisis counselor by a cop.  Overall, a fairly humiliating experience.

My "friend" told my mom when I was 16 that I cut myself.  I had been doing it for about a year and a half.  She kept me out of school the next day and brought me to the Emergency Mental Health Ward.  I was interviewed by a psychiatrist or psychologist or whatever.  I was already afraid of hospitals - doctors, needles, crazy patients like in the movies - so I lied.  I lied through my teeth about why I cut myself.  I said I didn't know.  I said my friends convinced me to do it.  I said anything I had to in order to not be committed.  My mom thinks I haven't cut myself since.

I'm 23 now.  The last time I cut myself was 2 years ago I think.  It's hard to remember because it all blends together.  Time, I mean.  I am still depressed.  I still want to cut myself, but I don't want to disappoint my fiance.  So instead I hold it in.  Read more »