Self-Injury Support Group
Whether you or someone you know or love struggles with self-injury, this is the community to discuss your experience, find support, meet others going through the same, and get advice on how to stop. Working together, we can help find alternative coping skills to reduce the urge to self-harm.
Sooo...Where to start this lovely situation that I have found myself in...
Alright, I guess I should just swan dive right in and start with this little factoid- I work in a bagel shop/bakery combo thingie and my coworkers all know that I self harm. I never explicitly told them, but working in food service means cleaning, and cleaning means dishes. I avoid doing the dishes if I have fresh wounds for obvious health concerns, but if all I have are scars then fuck it I'm washing dishes.
Well because my SI has been very bad lately, I haven't rolled up my sleeves in quite some time. The other week I was cleaning the bake room and it was a "fuck it it can't be helped situation" where I was the only one who could clean that night.
Well there I am sleeves hiked up, not paying attention to anyone because again, my coworkers know but have never said anything about it. To them it is just something about my personal life that they don't question. My boss pulled me aside the first time he saw my scars and make sure I wasn't going to stick my head in the oven or some shit. I informed him that I was perfectly stable (in other words I lied through my pretty little teeth) and no one has ever said anything since.
Enter my newest coworker, a seventeen year old who obviously has never seen self-harm scars before. Or has and thinks she can save the entire world by saying "I love you" either way she looks at my arms and literally gasps out loud. Who does that I ask you? She then questions me into the ground; I give my stock answer of "I'm seeing a therapist for this, but that you for your concern" but she is like a damn dog with a bone, bitch wouldn't let it go.
Eventually my shift supervisor drags her away from me and tells her to mind her own beeswax. Which I am grateful for because I was about ready to smack the shit out of a bitch.
Fast forward to today when I am getting ready to leave and go home. As per usual I reach into the front pocket of my messenger bag to touch the packet of razor blades I keep there. No particular reason I do this, it is just a nervous tic, I like to make sure they are there. Only surprise surprise they are not there.
I hit the roof and dump all of my shit on the floor. Cigarettes, sanitary napkins, and the entirety of Dublin fall out of my bag but not goddamn blades.
The only rational explanation is that either A) I left them at home or B) someone took them. Well I know for a fact that I didn't leave them at home so that leaves option B.
I don't care who goes in my bag. I have an open door policy when it comes to my stuff because my coworkers are all cool and would never jack my wallet or anything. I have gum, candy, and the like in my bag at all times so I just let people grab whatever they want. The last person to go into my bag was miss priss herself so I grab her by the hair and hold her over the toilet asking her if she took SOMETHING from my bag. She then deadpans that yes, she took my blades.
And the cunt threw them away.
Again, because she is seventeen and a child I don't smash her head against the wall and ask her why. Her answer is that she wanted to help me and that was the only way she could think to.
I'm kind of Natalie Imbruglia'd over the whole debacle because I know she was trying to help me and a part of me is very touched by that. But then another part of me is pissed that she basically treated me like a child. I just don't know how to feel tbh.
Alright, I guess I should just swan dive right in and start with this little factoid- I work in a bagel shop/bakery combo thingie and my coworkers all know that I self harm. I never explicitly told them, but working in food service means cleaning, and cleaning means dishes. I avoid doing the dishes if I have fresh wounds for obvious health concerns, but if all I have are scars then fuck it I'm washing dishes.
Well because my SI has been very bad lately, I haven't rolled up my sleeves in quite some time. The other week I was cleaning the bake room and it was a "fuck it it can't be helped situation" where I was the only one who could clean that night.
Well there I am sleeves hiked up, not paying attention to anyone because again, my coworkers know but have never said anything about it. To them it is just something about my personal life that they don't question. My boss pulled me aside the first time he saw my scars and make sure I wasn't going to stick my head in the oven or some shit. I informed him that I was perfectly stable (in other words I lied through my pretty little teeth) and no one has ever said anything since.
Enter my newest coworker, a seventeen year old who obviously has never seen self-harm scars before. Or has and thinks she can save the entire world by saying "I love you" either way she looks at my arms and literally gasps out loud. Who does that I ask you? She then questions me into the ground; I give my stock answer of "I'm seeing a therapist for this, but that you for your concern" but she is like a damn dog with a bone, bitch wouldn't let it go.
Eventually my shift supervisor drags her away from me and tells her to mind her own beeswax. Which I am grateful for because I was about ready to smack the shit out of a bitch.
Fast forward to today when I am getting ready to leave and go home. As per usual I reach into the front pocket of my messenger bag to touch the packet of razor blades I keep there. No particular reason I do this, it is just a nervous tic, I like to make sure they are there. Only surprise surprise they are not there.
I hit the roof and dump all of my shit on the floor. Cigarettes, sanitary napkins, and the entirety of Dublin fall out of my bag but not goddamn blades.
The only rational explanation is that either A) I left them at home or B) someone took them. Well I know for a fact that I didn't leave them at home so that leaves option B.
I don't care who goes in my bag. I have an open door policy when it comes to my stuff because my coworkers are all cool and would never jack my wallet or anything. I have gum, candy, and the like in my bag at all times so I just let people grab whatever they want. The last person to go into my bag was miss priss herself so I grab her by the hair and hold her over the toilet asking her if she took SOMETHING from my bag. She then deadpans that yes, she took my blades.
And the cunt threw them away.
Again, because she is seventeen and a child I don't smash her head against the wall and ask her why. Her answer is that she wanted to help me and that was the only way she could think to.
I'm kind of Natalie Imbruglia'd over the whole debacle because I know she was trying to help me and a part of me is very touched by that. But then another part of me is pissed that she basically treated me like a child. I just don't know how to feel tbh.
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