Typical stories of people who sometimes hurt or harm themselves

 It began in the children's home; Mum died and Dad was in the Merchant Navy.  Late at night, in the dormitory I began to scratch my arms. It hurt a bit, but not as much as the big hurt that came in the dark.

Twelve years later I lost my job through no fault of my own, my girlfriend said she couldn't stand my moodiness and left me, that's when the loneliness and the hurt all came back.  This time I used a Stanley knife, and the next time and the next.

I don't want to remember all the struggles I had to try and keep just a little bit of self respect. I am sure I would have gone down and down and finished up a total wreck if I hadn't joined the Army.  It wasn't an easy life but I made some really good friends, saw a bit of the world, ended up a warrant officer.  In my time I've seen some young lads that reminded me of myself back in the days at the home, couldn't say anything, but kept an eye out for them.

Because of an accident  was invalided out, and I wondered if the bad times would come back.  I managed to buy a little cottage with quite a lot of garden in rural Shropshire, and set about looking for things to do. People have been really friendly, I've joined one or two clubs, and that's where I met someone from Shropshire Mind.  It made me realise that there was someone there who could help me, and now we meet every couple of months just for a bit of support.

It was seeing other women, mothers with babies. I loved my husband, it wasn't his fault, it was mine. He often complimented me on my slim body, but inside I despised myself.

One day I broke a glass in the kitchen and there was blood dripping from my thumb and it felt so good. Since then there has been a series of "accidents". He doesn,'t suspect, just thinks that maybe I need an eyesight test.

My husband is really busy with the business you see. We do have quite a good social life, and of course we visit his family, mine are in another Country. He is very generous and tells me to go shopping and buy myself something nice. He likes to see me looking smart with my hair done and my nails manicured.

I was listening to the radio in my bedroom and trying to think of some distraction when I heard the words "self-harm, that's what I do, I thought. The interviewer and the speaker from an organisation called "shropshire Mind" seemed to spend a long time talking about the different ways in which people harmed themselves, some of the reasons why, and then how people could be helped. When the interview finished I found myself ringing the studio and asking if I could talk off air and in private to the speaker. It seemed that a number of people had taken up that invitation because I had to wait a while, but when we did talk I began to understand that I was certainly not alone in my difficulties and that there were opportunities for me to share my problem and have some support.
 
There never seems to be the right time to talk to my husband, so he has no idea yet, but I'm reading and researching all I can about self harm. I keep in touch with the speaker from "Shropshire Mind" and feel so much better when I can talk so openly about how I feel.Maybe I can find a way of visiting the group she talked about.        

Cigarettes carry a health warning, that's a laugh!  For me they save my life.  Depressed?  Have a ciggy.  The dark cloud which decends making life meaningless day by day leading to doing nothing feeling nothing, feeling nothing lifts briefly when red embers meet flesh..........

Well that sounds a bit melodramatic I know, and those feelings aren't with me all the time.  It's usually when I've been out drinking, pretending to be having a good time with my pals, and then go home to my grotty bed-sit.  Where did my life go?  Why should I be the only one in my family to have mental health problems?  I was as bright as my two older brothers at school, now they've got good jobs and I spend my days in and out of hospital and going to drop-in day centres.

Not that I'm knocking places like Shropshire Mind's Observer House, it's good to have somewhere like that where no-one's judgemental and there are people with the same sort of problems.  They're offering to set up a special self-harm support group for men, or a mixed group, and I know they have been running one for women for some time.  I'm not sure about a group for me yet............but I do really appreciate the support I get from experienced volunteers.

My mind whirls  I don't know what to do for all the people who have such sad lives. I don't have any money to spare, and I don't feel well enough to help anyone physically. I don't sleep much, the state of the world and my own shortcomings plague me so muchI'dlike to go to sleep and never wake up. But there is a sort of peace waiting, such a little razor, just a few cuts. I know that without going all the way my mind will stop whirling and life will become more manageable for a while
 
Since wrote that paragraph I have had some Good Things happen. Not all at once,you understand, and I don't know whether they are going to last of course. but for now, well I have made friends with a group of women who don't seem to think I am silly, and what's even more important, seem to understand about the cutting.

I was in the library and came across this leaflet for something called "Sapphire" self-help group for women with issues of self-harm with a Shrewsbury number (Shropshire Mind 01743368647). It seemed to be a message just for me, so I plucked up enough courage to ring.

They were very kind and helpful and put me in touch with the organiser who met me and answered some of my questions, like did I have to explain everything about myself to the group, and what would happen if someone got really upset?

Well everybody was really welcoming, no-one has to talk if they don't want to, and the facilitator was so good at including everyone. What really surprised me was the way everyone was so supportive of one another. It made me feel that I could trust them and be part of something really special.

A tea break halfway through gave me the chance to talk to the experienced volunteer, who soon got me interested in the art and craft session that ended the afternoon. She told me about the other sessions when there were speakers and other kinds of activities and some of the visits already made by the group.
So now I feel I really am not alone with all this worry and the things I do to myself. People do have sad lives, but they can have good times too. The group is really helping me andI look forward so much to being a part of it, maybe in time I can even help other people like me.

 People paint themselves don't they, and have tattoos?  all over the place they do, they do.   Think it makes them look good.

Well my decorations add rubbish to rubbish, that's how the world sees me.  SO a little slit in the leg, and a biro worked in, that's my kind of adornment.  It's not as though I haven't seen anyone, well they see me really, social workers, doctors, shrinks, substance misuse workers, they look, they talk, I don't.

I think they were getting short of ideas of what to do with me, or maybe it was because I'd  had two spells close together in Shelton hospital that I decided for myself to pick up the phone and call the number I'd seen on a sort of brochure from Shropshire Mind.  I didn't know what to expect, but they asked if someone could call me back.  I said "sure" and gave them my mobile number but didn't really expect to hear.

It was a couple of days but yes someone did call, and we did talk a bit about what I did to myself, and when I did it.  We've talked quite a bit since then and I go to a drop-in at Observer House from time to time.  I seem to think more about myself, maybe I'm not all rubbish, only bits of me.  There is no problem with the people there, even the volunteers don't make remarks or anything, and I've got one or two mates there now.  They talk to me about a group, like the one they have for women who self-harm, but we'll have to see.  That's a big step. 

University was fun at first, but somehow I began to fall behind on assignments.  When my fellow students were out in the Uni bar I lay on my bed and cried with homesickness.  Mummy and Daddy were so proud of me, I couldn't upset them.  I ate all the goodies grandma sent and felt better.  Next day I didn't go to lectures but went to the supermarket and bought loads of treats.  I ate all of them.  Then I was ashamed of myself and made myself sick.  You can guess where this is going...a bit better. Next day I didn't go to lectures, instead I went to the supermarket and bought lots of treats. I ate them all, then was so ashamed of myself I made myself sick.

That was twelve months ago, and so much has happened since. My tutors gave me chance after chance, but things went from bad to worse and I finally had to leave Uni.  I went home at first but no-one there understood, they decided I was upset over a relationship that had gone wrong. I was always making excuses to slip out to the supermarket, and would smuggle stuff in and eat it in my room at night. My Mother caught me vomitting in the bathroom and thought I was pregnant. We had an awful row and I moved out.

I got a job in a residential care home. I really did try to get it together, but now I found myself scratching and pinching myself as well as that other aweful thing.  The manager there was a registered nurse and one morning after I had had a particularly difficult twentyfour hours she called me into her office. I thought she was going to tell me to leave, but instead she handed me some leaflets on eating disorders and one headed "Sapphire"with details of a self-help group for women with issues of self harm, hosted by Shropshire Mind which meets weekly offering support to self-harmers.  Did I really need support?

Yes I did, and I found not only support understanding and friendship but a growing sense of my own worth in the time I attended.  So much so , that although I still have some food issues, I have been able to apply for re-entry to University and have been accepted.  I shall look for support from the Counselling services there and be much more open about my difficulties.  In the meantime, I'm still at the Care home, but have made it up with my parents.