Dear Readers,
This little post is just to say exactly what the title says, I care.
Today I received an email from a woman we'll call C. Like many others i've heard from, and indeed myself, she often feels that she is alone, and that no-one cares for her. I do. I care. I care about each and every person who has been through the horror of Rape or Sexual Abuse. I care for you all. I open my heart to you all, I only hope that I can provide some support and comfort. I'm here. I'm here if anyone wants to talk. I don't need to know your name. I don't need to know your story if you don't want me to, but i'm here.
Email me if you want to talk or share your story, or if you need someone just to say ''Hey, you know what, you're really not alone.'' theonewhodefies@live.co.uk
Ev xx
Saturday, 26 May 2012
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Baby Got Broken
I want to write about what is going wrong inside my head. But I don't quite know how to start. I just feel like i'm broken somehow but I
don't know how to explain it.
I almost
wish I had never been born because living like this doesn't seem like
living.
I live every day wondering
whether the people around me notice how broken and wrong and ill fitting I am
in their society. I stumble over my
words when doing such small things, such as even ordering coffee in Costa, or buying a dress in New Look. I must seem like I'm drunk
or under the influence of drugs or maybe just crazy when I am out in
public. I hate feeling like this, like
the world around me is normal and that it's just me who is so out of
place.
I almost wish that I had killed myself
when I was younger and naive, before I realised how much it would hurt those
who love me if I gave up. I suffer every
day, yet I know I could never commit suicide now. I don't really want to be taking pills for
the rest of my life. They don't really
seem to be helping me anyway, they make me angry. But I don't know what else there is that
could help me except medication.
Apparently, this is called Derealisation. Apparently it's also influenced by my Borderline Personality Disorder, especially the anxiety and depression elements of it. My brain just feels like it's been taken over by this collective of things known as 'It'. It is responsible for almost every slightly negative thing and even some of the positive things that have happened in my life according to the Professionals. This makes me distrust myself, it makes me feel like there's something else in my brain that has been living my life. I no longer know which decisions have been mine and which have been It's. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know which of the things I like and enjoy are really my likes or It's. I don't know whether my times of happiness, my smile and my laughter have been mine or It's.
I know this post may sound as if i'm worse than I have been for a long time, but in many ways i'm better. Although this stuff is really hard for me to deal with and understand, at least now I kind of know where to start from. I know how to start getting better. Writing like this is just one of many things that helps me work through these feelings. I hope one day I know who I am, and that I can trust my thoughts and feelings. Until then, i'll just keep on truckin'
Stay Safe,
Evvy xx
I know this post may sound as if i'm worse than I have been for a long time, but in many ways i'm better. Although this stuff is really hard for me to deal with and understand, at least now I kind of know where to start from. I know how to start getting better. Writing like this is just one of many things that helps me work through these feelings. I hope one day I know who I am, and that I can trust my thoughts and feelings. Until then, i'll just keep on truckin'
Stay Safe,
Evvy xx
Thursday, 15 March 2012
I Was A Victim Of Domestic Violence
Hi readers!
Again, sorry that i've been away for so long. Life has been really hard over the last year. Due to issues with an ex-partner, I was forced to leave my home and flee to a Refuge for survivors of Domestic Violence. It hasn't been easy once again being far away from all my friends, my family and my support network of professionals. I've also been having a lot of difficulty with my Mental Health, and have spent some time in hospital. I've been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder which, whilst it's a relief to finally know what's causing these difficulties, feels like a life sentence. I'm finding it quite hard to come to terms with this diagnosis to be honest as i've only heard negative things about the possibility of recovery and holding down a home and a full-time job.
Being in the refuge is also challenging in itself. There are so many different people in there that there are inevitably arguments and even full physical fights, the police attend on a regular basis. It's also difficult to live with the restrictions of curfews etc, especially with the kind of work I do. However I will be forever indebted to the staff there for the support they have given me, both practically with things like housing and restraining orders, and also incredible emotional support. They've really helped me to begin to accept who I am and what has happened to me.
Yes i've been through and extremely difficult year. I've overdosed, i've self-harmed, at times the police have even been called to protect me from myself. I'm certainly not proud of my behaviour but I feel I should be honest. I've been sectioned twice, spent numerous nights being treated for overdoses and cuts and acted like a bitch, for want of a better word. I've been beaten and belittled by my ex-partner, forced to flee my home and leave my life behind once more. But I feel now that i'm finally beginning to come out the other side of it all. I'm beginning, very slowly, to accept my illness by learning about it and about how to try to help myself. I'm trying to be as positive as possible because I know without hope I won't get better.
I will try to be more present, both here and on Twitter,
Stay Safe,
Evvy <3 xx
Saturday, 30 April 2011
In Today's Society, Why Do So Many Subjects Remain Taboo?
The world in which we live today accepts many things that not so many years ago would have been considered wrong or 'taboo', especially if discussed openly and frankly.
For instance, the idea that women could be more than homemakers and mothers seemed absurd not so long ago. That they could raise children alone, outside of marriage, or be the breadwinner for their family seemed outrageous. Yet today the 'traditional' nuclear family is just one of many accepted households, from single parents, to gay and lesbian parents, to divorced parents. Households that a relatively short time ago would have been shunned, shamed and labelled as wrong.
Homosexuality, whilst homophobes and discriminatory law still remain, is much more widely accepted within society than it was even 20 years ago.
So why, in such a progressive, diverse and accepting world, are many subjects still considered off-limits or 'taboo'? Subjects such as sexual assault and mental health. Issues which should be more publicly addressed. These issues need to be accepted, and discussed openly and frankly if anything is too change. Women didn't get to vote until they fought for it. Racism wasn't considered wrong until it was brought into the public eye by people such as Rosa Parks. Gay and lesbian people had no legal rights until they did something to get those rights. Until they took a stand and spoke about the issues. We as a society should be trying to change things. Some fight for animal rights, some fight for the right to abortion, some fight for lower student fees. We all need to take a stand for ourselves. We need to fight the stigmatism attached to mental illness, rape, domestic violence and a whole host of other wrongs. But to do so we have to be honest and willing to tell our stories. We have to be brave enough to face adversity and stare it down. We have to voice our opinions. We have to come together as a worldwide community to have any kind of change realised.
Would you tell your story? Would you stand up and make yourself heard? Would you be willing to be heard? I get at least one email a day from survivors and current sufferers of domestic violence, sexual assault, child abuse and mental illness and it hurts to feel other people's hurt. But i'm glad that i'm reaching people. I'm glad that I can hear these people's stories and support them. I hope to hear those stories told one day, publicly, by all of us, by all survivors. I hope one day all these seperate stories can stand together as one and we can all use our voices to make a change.
For a light to burn brightly, there must first be darkness. Let our darkness give rise to a light of hope, hope for other people, hope for a future free of 'taboo's' and stigmatism.
Stay Safe, xx
For instance, the idea that women could be more than homemakers and mothers seemed absurd not so long ago. That they could raise children alone, outside of marriage, or be the breadwinner for their family seemed outrageous. Yet today the 'traditional' nuclear family is just one of many accepted households, from single parents, to gay and lesbian parents, to divorced parents. Households that a relatively short time ago would have been shunned, shamed and labelled as wrong.
Homosexuality, whilst homophobes and discriminatory law still remain, is much more widely accepted within society than it was even 20 years ago.
So why, in such a progressive, diverse and accepting world, are many subjects still considered off-limits or 'taboo'? Subjects such as sexual assault and mental health. Issues which should be more publicly addressed. These issues need to be accepted, and discussed openly and frankly if anything is too change. Women didn't get to vote until they fought for it. Racism wasn't considered wrong until it was brought into the public eye by people such as Rosa Parks. Gay and lesbian people had no legal rights until they did something to get those rights. Until they took a stand and spoke about the issues. We as a society should be trying to change things. Some fight for animal rights, some fight for the right to abortion, some fight for lower student fees. We all need to take a stand for ourselves. We need to fight the stigmatism attached to mental illness, rape, domestic violence and a whole host of other wrongs. But to do so we have to be honest and willing to tell our stories. We have to be brave enough to face adversity and stare it down. We have to voice our opinions. We have to come together as a worldwide community to have any kind of change realised.
Would you tell your story? Would you stand up and make yourself heard? Would you be willing to be heard? I get at least one email a day from survivors and current sufferers of domestic violence, sexual assault, child abuse and mental illness and it hurts to feel other people's hurt. But i'm glad that i'm reaching people. I'm glad that I can hear these people's stories and support them. I hope to hear those stories told one day, publicly, by all of us, by all survivors. I hope one day all these seperate stories can stand together as one and we can all use our voices to make a change.
For a light to burn brightly, there must first be darkness. Let our darkness give rise to a light of hope, hope for other people, hope for a future free of 'taboo's' and stigmatism.
Stay Safe, xx
Saturday, 23 April 2011
Love Me, Love My Scars
Firstly, sorry i've been silent for so long! As many of you know my mother is very ill, so i've had to spend a lot of time juggling looking after her and my little sister so life is pretty hectic at the moment! Since my 'Turning Point' post i've also been wondering what to write about as up until then I had told my story and had told of all the negative things in my life thus far. So after the turning point I wanted to bring this blog back around to more positive posts, and also post on broader topics, but being that this blog has always been about sexual assault and the impact it has had on my life I wasn't sure how changing the direction of the blog would go down with you guys. I would really love to hear your opinions, and learn what you want to see on this blog. Feel free to email me anytime with comments, questions, your stories, anything really that you just want to discuss at theonewhodefies@live.co.uk.
This post is called 'Love Me, Love My Scars'. The 'love' part refers to not just boyfriend/girlfriend type relationships but to everyone around me. To new people I meet, to friends old and new, to family, to professionals who see me. The 'scars' part goes to both my physical scars from self-harm and past abuse and emotional scars from my life experiences. This post is a bit of a vent, and another post about what I wish people did and said, rather than the actual reactions i've experienced.
As you know, between the ages of 13 and 16 I self-harmed on my arms pretty much daily. At first the marks faded within weeks but as the severity of my injuries escalated I inevitably ended up with a great many scars. All but one scar from that 3 year period are on my forearms and, now that they've healed, i'm confident enough to wear short sleeves in public.
The only problem - the stigma around self-harm and mental health problems in general.
I can go out feeling really confident, pretty and happy and come home feeling upset, and almost guilty for inflicting my scars on others. I receive all sorts of crass comments, from the innocently meant but still upsetting to the downright nasty, and when I try to talk to people around me about these feelings I just get told I should wear long sleeves, hide my scars instead of 'showing them off'. It's been 2 years since I cut on my arms, 18 months of which were spent wearing long sleeves. I don't like my scars, i'm not 'showing them off', but I have to accept the scars i've given myself, and i've accepted that I will have to live with them for the rest of my life, but I won't accept that I can't wear a t-shirt in summer for fear of offending someone. I won't accept that I can't wear a pretty sleeveless strapless dress on a night out because of others problems with my scars.
How long does Joe Public expect me to hide behind jumpers and long sleeved hoodies? Or should I just be sequestered in my home for the rest of my life because I cut myself, so obviously i'm completely crazy?!
As well as Joe Public I find my scars even effect the way friends and family treat me. They treat me as though i'm made of fragile sugar glass, especially my family. So long as my scars are hidden away my family treats me as per usual, but dare to wear a short sleeved top and they look at me awkwardly, like they don't know how to talk to me just because they can see my scars. Sometimes I just want to shake them and tell them ''I'm still Khlo!''.
I guess my emotional scars don't effect my familial relationships all that much because I don't think my mother understands how much she has hurt me in the past, how many scars she's given me. The emotional scars I have do effect the familial relationships from my point of view but because my family, especially my mother, don't realise I have these scars they don't pick up on how they affect the family dynamic. She genuinely doesn't seem to understand what she's done too me and my sister in the past. Also none of my family (bar my 2 best friends/honorary brother and sister) know anything of the sexual abuse i've been through so they misinterpret my reactions in certain situations as rudeness, which just leads to tension and arguments and makes things difficult between us all.
Meeting new people is always difficult for me because i'm most likely too meet new people when i'm out on a night with friends. Obviously going out for the night i'm normally in some kind of dress, my favourite being anything strapless and sleeveless, which is fine in a dark nightclub because my scars aren't noted but i'm more likely to be found in a pub or bar where the first thing people notice is my scars. Then you see that awkward look on their face, and most make a swift escape with an excuse on par with 'The dog ate my homework, Miss'.
If I do get past them noticing my scars without them making an escape or some crass comment and begin to form a friendship it normally fizzles out after a few weeks or maybe months if i'm lucky because as we get closer the scars become harder to avoid and eventually they either want to know so I give them the full story, they freak, and I never hear from them again or they avoid it for so long the air just becomes tense between us as they steal glances at my ugly scars but don't want to get involved, don't want to know the vulnerable side of me, so eventually we just stop talking.
With old friends, minus my 2 best friends/brother and sister, it's more a case of they get frustrated if they see a new scar or cut, or they feel some kind of responsibility like they have to protect me, keep me safe, stop me cutting, they feel almost as if they have to parent me which just leaves them feeling that they can't talk to me when they have problems, leaves them frustrated and irritated when they can't stop me cutting, and again it just becomes tense between us and we end up not really talking anymore. They also, like my family, often feel like i'm being rude or ungrateful too them because if they put their arm around me in a certain way or say the wrong thing I react defensively on instinct because of the emotional scars left by sexual abuse and it just leads to them feeling like they're giving me their everything and getting nothing back from me.
I've only attempted one serious relationship, which lasted around 18 months, most of which were spent arguing over my self-harm, with him feeling the same kind of frustrations and responsibilities that a lot of my old friends felt. He also would spend a lot of time telling me how ugly I was, how i'd destroyed my beautiful body with all these disgusting marks, blemishes and scars. Also he wanted a more physical relationship, which wasn't something I was ready for yet after all the sexual trauma i'd experienced and he would spend a lot of time putting me down and making me feel awful because he was doing so much for me and I wasn't giving him what he wanted. After 18 months I gave in to him but he had no respect for what I had been through and didn't take any care to make sure I felt okay, so the same day I left his place and never went back.
As for 'professionals' they're just as bad as the gawpers on the street, they steal glances at my scars but don't talk about them, ask me about them, or just ignore them. I expect a better reaction from mental health professionals and even my GP who must have seen at least one self-harmer in her career!
Especially with MH professionals, you would think they would have more respect for me as a person, for my feelings, to either ask me about them upfront or to just ignore them but not to just stare at them and make me feel uncomfortable and awkward. Again they just reinforce the feeling of guilt I still hold for inflicting my 2 year old scars on people. I have a lot of nervous issues, I feel a burden just for calling the doctors surgery to ask for an appointment, I feel like i'm a problem taking important people away from their real patients.
I think I worry so much about being a burden or inflicting my problems on people because I have in the past been bullied and called a faker or an attention seeker if one of my cuts was seen accidentally while I was changing for P.E in school or trying on a top in a shop. It only makes it worse when even a professional looks at my scars like it's attention seeking or just wrong to have them uncovered.
I don't know if the stigma surrounding self-harm and mental health in general will ever be completely gone. I don't know if anyone will ever look at me as the person I am rather than the scars I have. Considering 1 in 4 people in the UK will experience mental health difficulties at some point in their life you would think there would be less of a stigma surrounding these issues. I hope one day sufferers of mental illness will not need to hide, I hope one day all sufferers of a mental illness can just be accepted for who they are. I hope one day there won't be normal and 'abnormal' when it comes to mental health. I hope for a society where having a mental illness doesn't make you an outcast. I hope to help a little to foster that society by speaking openly and honestly about who I am and the issues that effect my mental health. I hope you will help foster that society in some way, in a way right for you.
Stay Safe, xx
This post is called 'Love Me, Love My Scars'. The 'love' part refers to not just boyfriend/girlfriend type relationships but to everyone around me. To new people I meet, to friends old and new, to family, to professionals who see me. The 'scars' part goes to both my physical scars from self-harm and past abuse and emotional scars from my life experiences. This post is a bit of a vent, and another post about what I wish people did and said, rather than the actual reactions i've experienced.
As you know, between the ages of 13 and 16 I self-harmed on my arms pretty much daily. At first the marks faded within weeks but as the severity of my injuries escalated I inevitably ended up with a great many scars. All but one scar from that 3 year period are on my forearms and, now that they've healed, i'm confident enough to wear short sleeves in public.
The only problem - the stigma around self-harm and mental health problems in general.
I can go out feeling really confident, pretty and happy and come home feeling upset, and almost guilty for inflicting my scars on others. I receive all sorts of crass comments, from the innocently meant but still upsetting to the downright nasty, and when I try to talk to people around me about these feelings I just get told I should wear long sleeves, hide my scars instead of 'showing them off'. It's been 2 years since I cut on my arms, 18 months of which were spent wearing long sleeves. I don't like my scars, i'm not 'showing them off', but I have to accept the scars i've given myself, and i've accepted that I will have to live with them for the rest of my life, but I won't accept that I can't wear a t-shirt in summer for fear of offending someone. I won't accept that I can't wear a pretty sleeveless strapless dress on a night out because of others problems with my scars.
How long does Joe Public expect me to hide behind jumpers and long sleeved hoodies? Or should I just be sequestered in my home for the rest of my life because I cut myself, so obviously i'm completely crazy?!
As well as Joe Public I find my scars even effect the way friends and family treat me. They treat me as though i'm made of fragile sugar glass, especially my family. So long as my scars are hidden away my family treats me as per usual, but dare to wear a short sleeved top and they look at me awkwardly, like they don't know how to talk to me just because they can see my scars. Sometimes I just want to shake them and tell them ''I'm still Khlo!''.
I guess my emotional scars don't effect my familial relationships all that much because I don't think my mother understands how much she has hurt me in the past, how many scars she's given me. The emotional scars I have do effect the familial relationships from my point of view but because my family, especially my mother, don't realise I have these scars they don't pick up on how they affect the family dynamic. She genuinely doesn't seem to understand what she's done too me and my sister in the past. Also none of my family (bar my 2 best friends/honorary brother and sister) know anything of the sexual abuse i've been through so they misinterpret my reactions in certain situations as rudeness, which just leads to tension and arguments and makes things difficult between us all.
Meeting new people is always difficult for me because i'm most likely too meet new people when i'm out on a night with friends. Obviously going out for the night i'm normally in some kind of dress, my favourite being anything strapless and sleeveless, which is fine in a dark nightclub because my scars aren't noted but i'm more likely to be found in a pub or bar where the first thing people notice is my scars. Then you see that awkward look on their face, and most make a swift escape with an excuse on par with 'The dog ate my homework, Miss'.
If I do get past them noticing my scars without them making an escape or some crass comment and begin to form a friendship it normally fizzles out after a few weeks or maybe months if i'm lucky because as we get closer the scars become harder to avoid and eventually they either want to know so I give them the full story, they freak, and I never hear from them again or they avoid it for so long the air just becomes tense between us as they steal glances at my ugly scars but don't want to get involved, don't want to know the vulnerable side of me, so eventually we just stop talking.
With old friends, minus my 2 best friends/brother and sister, it's more a case of they get frustrated if they see a new scar or cut, or they feel some kind of responsibility like they have to protect me, keep me safe, stop me cutting, they feel almost as if they have to parent me which just leaves them feeling that they can't talk to me when they have problems, leaves them frustrated and irritated when they can't stop me cutting, and again it just becomes tense between us and we end up not really talking anymore. They also, like my family, often feel like i'm being rude or ungrateful too them because if they put their arm around me in a certain way or say the wrong thing I react defensively on instinct because of the emotional scars left by sexual abuse and it just leads to them feeling like they're giving me their everything and getting nothing back from me.
I've only attempted one serious relationship, which lasted around 18 months, most of which were spent arguing over my self-harm, with him feeling the same kind of frustrations and responsibilities that a lot of my old friends felt. He also would spend a lot of time telling me how ugly I was, how i'd destroyed my beautiful body with all these disgusting marks, blemishes and scars. Also he wanted a more physical relationship, which wasn't something I was ready for yet after all the sexual trauma i'd experienced and he would spend a lot of time putting me down and making me feel awful because he was doing so much for me and I wasn't giving him what he wanted. After 18 months I gave in to him but he had no respect for what I had been through and didn't take any care to make sure I felt okay, so the same day I left his place and never went back.
As for 'professionals' they're just as bad as the gawpers on the street, they steal glances at my scars but don't talk about them, ask me about them, or just ignore them. I expect a better reaction from mental health professionals and even my GP who must have seen at least one self-harmer in her career!
Especially with MH professionals, you would think they would have more respect for me as a person, for my feelings, to either ask me about them upfront or to just ignore them but not to just stare at them and make me feel uncomfortable and awkward. Again they just reinforce the feeling of guilt I still hold for inflicting my 2 year old scars on people. I have a lot of nervous issues, I feel a burden just for calling the doctors surgery to ask for an appointment, I feel like i'm a problem taking important people away from their real patients.
I think I worry so much about being a burden or inflicting my problems on people because I have in the past been bullied and called a faker or an attention seeker if one of my cuts was seen accidentally while I was changing for P.E in school or trying on a top in a shop. It only makes it worse when even a professional looks at my scars like it's attention seeking or just wrong to have them uncovered.
I don't know if the stigma surrounding self-harm and mental health in general will ever be completely gone. I don't know if anyone will ever look at me as the person I am rather than the scars I have. Considering 1 in 4 people in the UK will experience mental health difficulties at some point in their life you would think there would be less of a stigma surrounding these issues. I hope one day sufferers of mental illness will not need to hide, I hope one day all sufferers of a mental illness can just be accepted for who they are. I hope one day there won't be normal and 'abnormal' when it comes to mental health. I hope for a society where having a mental illness doesn't make you an outcast. I hope to help a little to foster that society by speaking openly and honestly about who I am and the issues that effect my mental health. I hope you will help foster that society in some way, in a way right for you.
Stay Safe, xx
Thursday, 10 March 2011
My Self Harm & My Attempt At The Butterfly Healing Method
Hey guys, so i've only briefly mentioned self harm in a couple of past posts but I just wanted to touch on it again in a little more detail. Not least because for the past 3 days now i've been trying an alternative distraction/avoidance tactic; The Butterfly Effect.
I decided to take a stab at The Butterfly Effect as i've tried every other distraction method in the book, holding ice, elastic bands, using marker pen to draw red lines where I want to cut, the 15 minute rule, 'surfing'the urge.... None of them have been very effective for me at all in the past so I thought ''okay so it seems a bit weird but i'll try it''when I saw it discussed over on suicideforum.com and also on nshn.com/forum.
It's basically where you draw a butterfly on yourself, in the area you're most likely to self harm, and wait for it to fade of natural causes and at least until it fades you cannot do any form of SH or you will kill the butterfly. Some people find it helpful to dedicate it too a loved one, I just dedicated it to Moi :) Also, over on the recoveryourlife.com shop you can get really cheap temporary tattoos for the same purpose which last at least a week, if you're not so into doodling upon yourself! They're like 50cents each!
So I drew mine on 3 days ago now, it's still there, and I still have yet too give into the urge to cut. It's getting very hard but I think the butterfly works for me because it's a visual reminder in the first area I would self harm so before I get too a blade it's staring me in the face, and I kinda compete with myself, because obviously you're supposed to really try your hardest to wait until the butterfly fades naturally.
Beginning to wonder why I chose a semi-permanent marker :)
But honestly, for anyone who responds to visual inspiration, or really for anyone who's tried and failed with so many other coping methods, The Butterfly Effect is definitely worth a shot! I really recommend it!
Like i've mentioned on Twitter, the mother is really ill at the moment, she came home from hospital today after a minor heart attack (at 36!) so i'm doing a lot around her house at the moment and with looking after my younger sister, so this is just a random out of the blue post, because I just HAD to share The Butterfly Effect with you guys!
I will try my hardest to make some time very soon too write a more relevant blog post, and let you in on all the details of Project 7/7/One which launched almost 2 weeks ago now!!!!! I feel so bad, i've been so excited to spread the word about this project but my family life has really taken over, but I promise to update you guys really soon! Honest!
Stay Safe,
Evvy x
I decided to take a stab at The Butterfly Effect as i've tried every other distraction method in the book, holding ice, elastic bands, using marker pen to draw red lines where I want to cut, the 15 minute rule, 'surfing'the urge.... None of them have been very effective for me at all in the past so I thought ''okay so it seems a bit weird but i'll try it''when I saw it discussed over on suicideforum.com and also on nshn.com/forum.
It's basically where you draw a butterfly on yourself, in the area you're most likely to self harm, and wait for it to fade of natural causes and at least until it fades you cannot do any form of SH or you will kill the butterfly. Some people find it helpful to dedicate it too a loved one, I just dedicated it to Moi :) Also, over on the recoveryourlife.com shop you can get really cheap temporary tattoos for the same purpose which last at least a week, if you're not so into doodling upon yourself! They're like 50cents each!
So I drew mine on 3 days ago now, it's still there, and I still have yet too give into the urge to cut. It's getting very hard but I think the butterfly works for me because it's a visual reminder in the first area I would self harm so before I get too a blade it's staring me in the face, and I kinda compete with myself, because obviously you're supposed to really try your hardest to wait until the butterfly fades naturally.
Beginning to wonder why I chose a semi-permanent marker :)
But honestly, for anyone who responds to visual inspiration, or really for anyone who's tried and failed with so many other coping methods, The Butterfly Effect is definitely worth a shot! I really recommend it!
Like i've mentioned on Twitter, the mother is really ill at the moment, she came home from hospital today after a minor heart attack (at 36!) so i'm doing a lot around her house at the moment and with looking after my younger sister, so this is just a random out of the blue post, because I just HAD to share The Butterfly Effect with you guys!
I will try my hardest to make some time very soon too write a more relevant blog post, and let you in on all the details of Project 7/7/One which launched almost 2 weeks ago now!!!!! I feel so bad, i've been so excited to spread the word about this project but my family life has really taken over, but I promise to update you guys really soon! Honest!
Stay Safe,
Evvy x
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Doctor, I Need You To Know Something
Doctor F, when I come to your office I sit quietly in the reception area, waiting for my name to be called. My heart races as I try to rehearse what I want to say to you, I have written it down because I know when I am with you my mind will race and I won't focus. I sit and review what I have written. I can't concentrate. The play of children in the reception area increases my anxiety, my stomach is tied in knots. I have checked that only a female doctor will be able to see me, and ensure I come to the surgery at a time when only you will be avaliable for walk-in patients.
You appear at the door and call my name. I smile sweetly at you as you lead me into your office. My heart skips a beat when you move out of my field of vision, but you are only closing the door. It is important to me that you don't know about the tremendous turmoil I feel inside; I try to appear cool and calm. You motion for me to sit down on the chair beside you when I really wish to take the chair furthest from you. I try to act normal as we exchange small talk for a moment. I mention my back pain. ''Stand up'' you say. I do.
The already small room closes in on me as you pull up my top without telling me first. To me it's rough and dirty, to you i'm sure it is just another routine procedure. I feel smothered, trapped. Your hands burn like fire, they make me feel like a helpless, fearful child, waiting for the Horror to come, waiting in your prison for the Horror to come.
You finally release me, removing your hands from my back and tugging my top back down. I sit back in the chair like an obedient child, You are so close I feel your breath stinging my skin. So many things in your exam room cause me to drift back in time. The walls papered with medical charts depicting human anatomy, organs, skeletons, diseases. I feel certain that people like you could never believe I first saw the insides of a human body when I was still a child. How could you, or anyone, believe that people intentionally forced me to see and touch these things?
I shake my head almost imperceptibly and twist my hands, trying to keep myself in the present. Next my eyes fall on the medical apparatus casually strewn around your room. The innocent instruments you use to examine your patients. A blood pressure cuff, tools for examining the eyes, ears & throat. Rubber gloves. My mind again goes to the past, to a 14 year old girl strapped to an exam table so similar to yours. I think there are 4 men and 2 women present, though I can only hear their voiced and see the strips of faces above the surgical masks and below the scrub caps. I see only one woman who is not wearing a mask and scrub cap and she smiles sweetly down at me and promises I will be just fine. They all wear rubber gloves. The men look down upon me with lustful satisfaction in their eyes. In the womens eyes I see the hesitation, yet still they reach for the array of tools on the trays beside the exam table. That 14 year old girl is overwhelmed with fear, she doesn't know what she has done wrong. Too afraid to move she lies there, stiff as a corpse, awaiting her punishment.
No, I bring myself back to the present. That's in the past I tell myself.
Praying you won't hurt me like they did, hoping that you'll care about me, and wishing you would fold me into your arms and tell me I was safe with you. I need very much to stay present, I want to speak to you like the intelligent person I am. But the anxiety is winning and I feel like a terrified little girl again. The reminders all around me drag me to the past.
I wish you knew how eerily similar you look to the unmasked woman who hurt that 14 year old girl. The similarity is so striking that I even wonder, for a fleeting moment, if you are her. I wish you knew your hands on my back were following hers. I wish you knew how much you terrify me.
I try to shake it off, force myself to focus on reality. I silently beg you not too hurt me. I know you could not begin to imagine what a doctor can do with an innocent tongue depressor. I know you could not believe the horrors a fellow GP could inflict on a child. I try my hardest to stay here, in the present. This is now, I am a grown woman, no longer a 14 year old girl. I try to remind myself of reality.
But I feel like such a small girl in the presence of your authority. I like you, although this is the first time we've met, and I want to trust you, but you look so much like Her.
''No, that's the past'' I tell myself again.
I focus on your face, force myself to take in your image and recognise that you are not Her. I cannot look you in the eye because i'm afraid of what I will see there Doctor F. I am also afraid of what you may see in my eyes. I wonder if you see the pain, I wonder if you saw how much your touch hurt me.
Being in this room I feel as though i've done something wrong, like a child who has disappointed her mother. I've fallen short of expectations. I'm no good. My fear rises.
You ask the usual questions about my state of mind. I try my very best to answer the right way, how I think you want me too. I wait for you to respond. Again I feel like a child, waiting to hear in your voice whether you are pleased or displeased with me. My mind goes back to you examining my back. You asked if there was any bruising, I simply answered ''No'' and didn't show you my ribs, my buttocks, or my legs.
I didn't tell you it was my mothers husband who hurt me, instead I convinced you it was a girl on the base, and when asked by you told you there were no problems at all at home. I let you think the self-inflicted burn you saw on my back was my only self-injury, when in fact my breasts are peppered with burns and slices, and I fill my body with all sorts of pills. This is my apology for lying to you, although in all likelihood you'll probably never know I lied to you.
You tell me I should come back in a few weeks if I continue to self-harm. You think we should consider another CMHT referral if I keep self-harming. I force myself to smile and say okay. You don't know how much the unpredictability of that scares me. The unpredictability of who I will have to talk too. You don't know that I checked the practice website too see who would be on Monday morning walk-in, or that I then checked all avaliable information on you before I came.
You don't know that I did that because I only feel comfortable with a very specific type of Doctor. Female, caucasian, slim build, but taller than me, age 30-50. I told you I didn't like Doctors, but you don't know the internal war that was waged when you asked me why. I wanted to tell you the truth, believe me, I wanted you to know that i'm terrified of Doctors because 6 of them did the most twisted, disgusting things to me. Because the 4 male Doctors raped me before abusing their medical knowledge to torture me. Because the 2 female Doctors made me trust them before violating me with speculums and other tools of your trade. You don't know. Nobody knows.
I do know why I self-harm even if you don't. Because I want someone to mother me. I want someone to stitch my cuts and soothe my bruises. I want someone to care about me, to look after me. I want to trust one single doctor, and not have to be terrified every time I need to make an appointment with you. It started as a coping mechanism, my secret relief, when I was 13. Just cutting at first, then burning as well, and now pills. Sure, I still self-harm to cope when i'm stressed or upset, but I do it most often when i'm really low and upset and craving a moment of safety, a few seconds with someone who gives a damn. I may be 18, but inside i'm a broken 10 year old girl, longing for someone to hold me, to care, to keep me safe. Longing for a pair of arms safe enough to cry in.
Doctor F, all of this went through my head in the short 15 minutes that I was with you, whilst for you it is a routine consultation that you could probably do in your sleep. I would bet my life that you didn't see all of this running through my head. If I could I would tell you all of this, if I was brave enough and you weren't an amazingly busy Doctor. By now you don't even remember my name, but I wish you would become the one single Doctor who knew all of this, the one single Doctor I could trust, because i'm not going to get any better until I find that Doctor, until someone knows all of this.
You appear at the door and call my name. I smile sweetly at you as you lead me into your office. My heart skips a beat when you move out of my field of vision, but you are only closing the door. It is important to me that you don't know about the tremendous turmoil I feel inside; I try to appear cool and calm. You motion for me to sit down on the chair beside you when I really wish to take the chair furthest from you. I try to act normal as we exchange small talk for a moment. I mention my back pain. ''Stand up'' you say. I do.
The already small room closes in on me as you pull up my top without telling me first. To me it's rough and dirty, to you i'm sure it is just another routine procedure. I feel smothered, trapped. Your hands burn like fire, they make me feel like a helpless, fearful child, waiting for the Horror to come, waiting in your prison for the Horror to come.
You finally release me, removing your hands from my back and tugging my top back down. I sit back in the chair like an obedient child, You are so close I feel your breath stinging my skin. So many things in your exam room cause me to drift back in time. The walls papered with medical charts depicting human anatomy, organs, skeletons, diseases. I feel certain that people like you could never believe I first saw the insides of a human body when I was still a child. How could you, or anyone, believe that people intentionally forced me to see and touch these things?
I shake my head almost imperceptibly and twist my hands, trying to keep myself in the present. Next my eyes fall on the medical apparatus casually strewn around your room. The innocent instruments you use to examine your patients. A blood pressure cuff, tools for examining the eyes, ears & throat. Rubber gloves. My mind again goes to the past, to a 14 year old girl strapped to an exam table so similar to yours. I think there are 4 men and 2 women present, though I can only hear their voiced and see the strips of faces above the surgical masks and below the scrub caps. I see only one woman who is not wearing a mask and scrub cap and she smiles sweetly down at me and promises I will be just fine. They all wear rubber gloves. The men look down upon me with lustful satisfaction in their eyes. In the womens eyes I see the hesitation, yet still they reach for the array of tools on the trays beside the exam table. That 14 year old girl is overwhelmed with fear, she doesn't know what she has done wrong. Too afraid to move she lies there, stiff as a corpse, awaiting her punishment.
No, I bring myself back to the present. That's in the past I tell myself.
Praying you won't hurt me like they did, hoping that you'll care about me, and wishing you would fold me into your arms and tell me I was safe with you. I need very much to stay present, I want to speak to you like the intelligent person I am. But the anxiety is winning and I feel like a terrified little girl again. The reminders all around me drag me to the past.
I wish you knew how eerily similar you look to the unmasked woman who hurt that 14 year old girl. The similarity is so striking that I even wonder, for a fleeting moment, if you are her. I wish you knew your hands on my back were following hers. I wish you knew how much you terrify me.
I try to shake it off, force myself to focus on reality. I silently beg you not too hurt me. I know you could not begin to imagine what a doctor can do with an innocent tongue depressor. I know you could not believe the horrors a fellow GP could inflict on a child. I try my hardest to stay here, in the present. This is now, I am a grown woman, no longer a 14 year old girl. I try to remind myself of reality.
But I feel like such a small girl in the presence of your authority. I like you, although this is the first time we've met, and I want to trust you, but you look so much like Her.
''No, that's the past'' I tell myself again.
I focus on your face, force myself to take in your image and recognise that you are not Her. I cannot look you in the eye because i'm afraid of what I will see there Doctor F. I am also afraid of what you may see in my eyes. I wonder if you see the pain, I wonder if you saw how much your touch hurt me.
Being in this room I feel as though i've done something wrong, like a child who has disappointed her mother. I've fallen short of expectations. I'm no good. My fear rises.
You ask the usual questions about my state of mind. I try my very best to answer the right way, how I think you want me too. I wait for you to respond. Again I feel like a child, waiting to hear in your voice whether you are pleased or displeased with me. My mind goes back to you examining my back. You asked if there was any bruising, I simply answered ''No'' and didn't show you my ribs, my buttocks, or my legs.
I didn't tell you it was my mothers husband who hurt me, instead I convinced you it was a girl on the base, and when asked by you told you there were no problems at all at home. I let you think the self-inflicted burn you saw on my back was my only self-injury, when in fact my breasts are peppered with burns and slices, and I fill my body with all sorts of pills. This is my apology for lying to you, although in all likelihood you'll probably never know I lied to you.
You tell me I should come back in a few weeks if I continue to self-harm. You think we should consider another CMHT referral if I keep self-harming. I force myself to smile and say okay. You don't know how much the unpredictability of that scares me. The unpredictability of who I will have to talk too. You don't know that I checked the practice website too see who would be on Monday morning walk-in, or that I then checked all avaliable information on you before I came.
You don't know that I did that because I only feel comfortable with a very specific type of Doctor. Female, caucasian, slim build, but taller than me, age 30-50. I told you I didn't like Doctors, but you don't know the internal war that was waged when you asked me why. I wanted to tell you the truth, believe me, I wanted you to know that i'm terrified of Doctors because 6 of them did the most twisted, disgusting things to me. Because the 4 male Doctors raped me before abusing their medical knowledge to torture me. Because the 2 female Doctors made me trust them before violating me with speculums and other tools of your trade. You don't know. Nobody knows.
I do know why I self-harm even if you don't. Because I want someone to mother me. I want someone to stitch my cuts and soothe my bruises. I want someone to care about me, to look after me. I want to trust one single doctor, and not have to be terrified every time I need to make an appointment with you. It started as a coping mechanism, my secret relief, when I was 13. Just cutting at first, then burning as well, and now pills. Sure, I still self-harm to cope when i'm stressed or upset, but I do it most often when i'm really low and upset and craving a moment of safety, a few seconds with someone who gives a damn. I may be 18, but inside i'm a broken 10 year old girl, longing for someone to hold me, to care, to keep me safe. Longing for a pair of arms safe enough to cry in.
Doctor F, all of this went through my head in the short 15 minutes that I was with you, whilst for you it is a routine consultation that you could probably do in your sleep. I would bet my life that you didn't see all of this running through my head. If I could I would tell you all of this, if I was brave enough and you weren't an amazingly busy Doctor. By now you don't even remember my name, but I wish you would become the one single Doctor who knew all of this, the one single Doctor I could trust, because i'm not going to get any better until I find that Doctor, until someone knows all of this.
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